Chapter Twenty-Two Evan
Scarlett has been here for three days, and I don’t know how I haven’t freaked out yet. Having her here feels normal. Natural. It’s like this is the place we’re supposed to be together.
Her spirits have definitely lifted over the last few days.
I don’t know if it’s because she’s done nothing but watch movies while I’ve been endlessly bringing her plates of food.
She tells me more than once that she likes my cooking and I joke that she must be coming down with a cold.
Compliments from her don’t feel like they do with everyone else. They feel different. Special.
Or maybe it’s because of the three-hour-long phone call she had with Wren and Kennedy yesterday, talking about what happened at Christmas and how she’s feeling.
Maybe it’s because I found some paper and sketching pencils in the storage room, and she’s spent most mornings sketching designs at the dining table.
The house feels like it’s full of loose paper now, pencil shavings piled neatly beside her stacks of paper.
It looks like she’s putting together a good portfolio, and even though I’ve only managed to sneak a few glances, I can tell they look incredible.
Now that she’s no longer doing the line for Voss, I don’t know what she’s putting them together for, but it’s keeping her happy and that’s all that matters.
Maybe it’s because there’s still something unsaid between us.
The line we keep crossing when we make out instead of watching a movie, exploring each other before getting too far and stopping.
I feel like a teenager all over again. Those same nervous and excited feelings bubbling up in me whenever she touches me or kisses me quickly before pulling away and going to her own room.
Maybe it’s because she’s getting slightly better at being my sous-chef and we managed to make an incredible lasagna for dinner tonight. After dishing up our plates with a side of garlic bread, we made our way through the house to the back porch.
We’ve spent all of our evenings here like this, sitting by the large table with the built-in fireplace and a blanket, watching the stars appear in the sky.
It’s quiet out here. Nothing but the sound of trees rustling, the occasional bunny or squirrel scurrying across the yard.
We don’t have any neighbors, so I play a Sade vinyl at high volume from the living room, keeping the door slightly ajar so we can hear the sounds of her soothing voice carry through.
Scarlett adjusts the blanket in her lap, pushing her empty plate toward the middle of the table. “Don’t ever quote me on this, but I think I could live here forever.”
My heart stutters in my chest. “Yeah?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents’ house, but this . . . This is cozy. Warm. Safe.” I nod, turning to her, and our eyes snag. There’s a slight twinkle in her eyes, a shine that isn’t covered in sadness. It’s like there’s hope swimming in there. “Is this the house you grew up in?”
“Yep,” I say, popping the ‘p.’ “My dad never wanted to leave, even after my mom left.”
Scarlett nods, shuffling closer to me and dropping her head to my shoulder. She’s been doing that a lot over the last few days. It’s a simple, sweet exchange that says ‘I’m here. I’m listening.’ It makes my heart race every time.
“You never talk about your mom.”
“There’s not much to say—she left when I was a kid and we don’t talk much anymore. My dad is still in contact with her, but I’m not interested in having a relationship with her.”
“Is it better for you that she’s not around?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“I can imagine a little you running around here,” she says, laughing softly.
“You can, huh?”
“Yeah, but not for long. I take it you didn’t like being outside much as a kid.”
“Yeah,” I say, chuckling softly. “My dad has always been an outdoorsy person. I think it’s why he loves Vermont so much.
I couldn’t deal with all the activities he’d rope me into as a kid, but in high school I joined the track team, and I fell in love with running and being outside.
Gyms have always freaked me out, but being able to run in the open air is something I don’t take for granted. ”
Scarlett nods. “Do you still run?”
“Most mornings.”
“How come you didn’t do it competitively at college?”
I shrug. “I did in high school, but I wanted to have more time to focus on my studies at college.”
“Interesting.”
“Interesting indeed.”
My phone buzzes on the table, the security app notifying me that someone’s at the front door. I frown, looking at the delivery guy’s face pressed close to the camera. “I’ll be right back.”
Scarlett nods and I walk through the house to the main door, opening it to the red-faced delivery guy. He’s not really wearing weather-appropriate clothes for the end of December, but I don’t say that—I just look around to see what he’s actually delivering.
“Just sign here,” he says, pointing at the tablet in his hands. I sign and he puts the tablet back in his pocket before he leans over to the side of the house beside the door and hands me two oversized golden balloons in the shape of a ‘2’ and a ‘1’. “Happy new year,” the guy says.
“Thanks. You too,” I reply, smiling as I retrieve the balloons and get them through the door. I don’t even have to read the note attached to one of them to know who they’re from. I shut the door and walk back into the kitchen with the balloons to see Scarlett loading our dishes into the dishwasher.
She turns when she hears the squeak of the decorations. Her eyes widen before she bursts out into uncontrollable laughter. “What the hell is that?”
I sigh, letting the balloons stand by the fridge. “A birthday gift from my dad.”
I swear she almost smashes a plate onto the ground as she screams, “It’s your birthday?!” She rushes over to me, her socks sliding on the hardwood floor and I catch her around the waist before she almost collides with my chest. “Like, today?”
“Yeah . . . ?”
“And you didn’t tell me?” she all but screams at me, hitting me on the arm.
“I didn’t think it was important. You’ve got your own stuff going on and—”
Scarlett cuts me off, standing on her tiptoes, and presses her lips to mine. She kisses me like it’s the first time. Her hands travel across my chest and around my neck, pulling on the curls at the nape of my neck. I moan into her mouth when she tugs on them, dragging her nails across my scalp.
She pulls back, just enough to whisper against my lips, “Happy birthday, Evan,” and suddenly, I hate my birthday just a little less.
Having a birthday around Christmas is always hard, but having it on New Year’s Eve is even worse.
I’ve never made a big deal out of it, but every year my dad tries to convince me that I should go out and celebrate when all I really want to do is treat it like a normal day.
The thought of getting older is scary enough.
Mixing that with a whole new year the next day is never good for my anxiety spirals.
Scarlett brings me back to the moment with another kiss to my lips, and then my jaw. “Thank you,” I finally respond, gripping her hip.
“What do you want for your birthday?” she whispers, kissing down my neck. She bites and sucks on my skin hard enough that there’s going to be a mark. I don’t care. I’d have the outline of her lips tattooed onto me if I could.
“Right now?” I ask, swallowing.
“Mmhm.”
“You. In my bed. Naked.”
For a second I think I’ve said the wrong thing, trying to rush this thing going on between us. But she pulls back slightly and grins at me, beautiful brown eyes staring into mine.
“We can make that happen.” She drags her hand down my back slowly, her fingers trailing over my spine as she works her way lower and brings her hand around to my waist. She does the same thing on my front, her fingers travelling under the fabric of my sweater before coming back down and resting on the button of my jeans.
“I-I think we should both shower first. Just . . . you know. We’ve been sitting in these clothes all day and I—”
“That’s okay,” Scarlett whispers, tugging on my jeans and pulling me with her as she walks backward. I let her tug me along, completely entranced. “I think you just want me to smell like you.”
I grin, leaning down to kiss her. “That too.” She hums happily and I pick her up in one swift motion, wrapping her legs around my waist as we make our way to the stairs.
“Just so you know,” I murmur, still kissing her, “we don’t have to shower before and after we have sex.
Not every time anyway. Not that I’m assuming this is going to happen a lot, I just .
. . When I’m already feeling overwhelmed and stressed, I feel better knowing that we’re clean. ”
She nods, her eyes softening. “That’s okay. Sex is supposed to be good for the both of us. If you’re comfortable, I’m comfortable.”
I wish I could tell her how much it means to me that she’s listening to me. How much it means that she actually cares enough to make sure I’m comfortable.
“I just don’t want you to think I’m crazy,” I say, stopping at the bottom of the stairs.
“I’ve always thought you were crazy, Ev.” She laughs when I squeeze the sensitive spot on her hip. I can’t help myself and I dip my fingers into the waistband of her leggings, and she pulls at my jeans. I circle my fingers around her wrist to stop both of us, spinning her around to face the stairs.
“Get in the shower first,” I mutter, and I slap her ass playfully before she sprints up the stairs. I prowl after her, a fire burning in my chest when I get to the top.
She walks backward slowly toward the bathroom, lifting one shoulder before dropping it. “Why don’t you come join me?”
I swallow. “I don’t think I could handle you all at once.”
She laughs and the sound is so fucking beautiful I want to bottle it up and keep it forever. “I don’t think you can handle me at all, Branson.”
I grip her hip, backing her up into the bathroom door. “What do you think you’ll get out of being a brat?”
“Sex, hopefully.”
She tugs on my shirt, pulling me into the bathroom with her before I can argue. I switch on the light, and she stands by the shower, shimmying her leggings down her legs as I watch her. She doesn’t take her eyes off mine when she takes off her tank top and drops it to the ground.
Fuck.
I knew she would be gorgeous naked, but holy shit. Her tits are perfect. Her stomach. Her thighs. Everything about her is perfect. She doesn’t hide a single thing from me, and she just stands there casually in nothing but her panties like she’s trying to test my self-control.
“Shower. Now,” I grunt. She raises her eyebrows in surprise, propping her hands on her hips. I scrub my hand down my face. I need her. I need her more than I’ve needed anything in my entire fucking life. “Please, Scarlett.”
“So demanding, yet so polite.” She tuts, shaking her head. I reach behind her and turn on the shower, setting it to the right temperature. “It’s cute.”
“You’re cute.”
She snorts. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”
“No. A fact.” I turn back to her, and she’s standing naked. In my bathroom. And I’m fully clothed. Fuck it. I pull off my shirt, folding it before picking up her discarded clothes and putting them into two separate piles.
“I am a lot of things, Branson, but I am not cute,” she says, crossing her arms against her chest, looking . . . well, cute.
“You are,” I say, ushering her into the shower before I take off the rest of my clothes. I watch in awe as she stands under the showerhead, her back to me as she tilts her head back and runs her hands through her hair. God, this woman.
I step in behind her, and she rubs the water out of her eyes. I drop my lips to her shoulder and murmur, “So fucking cute.”
She groans—or more like she growls at me. “Call me cute one more time, I dare you.”
“Cute, gorgeous, stunning,” I say, trailing my finger down the middle of her chest and she backs up into me, her ass resting against my hard cock.
I gather her hair over one shoulder, lean in closer.
“Devastating.” I dip my finger lower, skimming her belly button until I cup her pussy. “Fucking perfect.”
Scarlett drops her head back on my chest, shutting her eyes. “Kiss me, please.”
I spin her around until her back is against the wall, and I kiss her.
It’s deep and drugging and perfect. My hands cup her face, angling it up to me so I can kiss her deeper.
Her nails dig into my hair, scratching my scalp, before she drags them down my back.
The water pelts down on us, a calming and relaxing rhythm that grounds me to this moment.
I kiss down her neck, biting the soft flesh until she whimpers.
I continue my journey down, pulling her nipple into my mouth until she moans, arching off the wall.
I press my hand against her stomach, keeping her in place before I sink to my knees in front of her.
I kiss the butterfly tattoo on her hip and then the crescent on her thigh.
I need to spend an entire day exploring her body, finding all these secret tattoos she has hidden.
I tap the outside of her right thigh. “Put your leg on my shoulder.” Her chest is already heaving, and she licks the droplets of water from her bottom lip. She complies, lifting her leg onto my shoulder. “Good girl.”
She shudders when I bring my mouth to her heat, finally getting a taste of something I’ve only dreamed of. Her body instantly reacts to mine, her back arching off the wall again, and her fingers dive once more into my hair, tipping my head up so she can look me in the eye.
I suck her clit into my mouth, enjoying the delicious sounds that escape her lips in response, but it sounds like she’s holding back. For someone that loves to run their mouth, she’s too quiet.
“You okay?” I ask, slowing down my pace.
“Yes. God. I’m fine. Just . . . trying to breathe.”
“I like it when you talk to me, okay? Don’t get shy or quiet. Tell me what you like, Scarlett. Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”
“I need you to put your piano fingers to use and make me come,” she whispers, her breathing shallow.
I tease two fingers at her entrance, playing with the arousal that has gathered there before slowly entering.
I pause, teasing her just enough that she bucks forward, gripping on to my shoulder for stability. “Please. I need it. Please.”
I tut. “What’s ‘it’, baby? Tell me.”
“You. My God, Evan. I need you. Please.”
The sound of her begging should not spur me on this much, but it does. I push two fingers into her tight heat, feeling the way her inner walls grip me tight. “That’s my girl,” I mutter with a satisfied hum.
“I’m not your girl,” she bites out.
“Not yet, by the sounds of it,” I murmur. “You will be after I make you come, though.”
She says only two words, and I’m a goner. “Prove it.”
She’s going to ruin me.
And I can’t fucking wait.