She tasted my apology in the way I kissed her back, the way my hands found her hips, fingers digging in tight. The years of training melted beneath her touch, leaving nothing but instinct and want. I pressed her to the wall, one hand braced beside her head, pinning her in place with my body. She arched into me, defiant, demanding, alive with the kind of fury that made her so goddamn irresistible.
“I hated you for leaving,” she gasped. “I still hate you.”
I buried my face in the side of her neck, breathing her in. “I’m sorry,” I said, voice almost breaking. “I’m so fucking sorry, Evelyn.”
Her hands moved to my shoulders, then lower. My stomach muscles contracted as her knuckles brushed against my abs. “Don’t,” she warned, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Don’t say it unless you mean it this time.”
“I mean it. I mean all of it.”
Then my mouth was on her again. She let me unbutton her shirt, let me trace the line of her collarbone with my tongue. She trembled beneath my hands, not from fear but from the electricity running between us, the charge that had always threatened to spark out of control.
She gasped when I bit gently at the tendon in her neck, then tangled her fingers in my hair and yanked me back for a kiss that tasted of salt and anger and desperate need. I slid my hands beneath her shirt, palms flat against the warmth of her skin, and felt her shiver at the touch.
She made a noise, half protest, half plea, and her hands stopped me at her waist. “Sophia,” she said between panting breaths. “She’s at school?—”
“We have time.” I pressed my forehead to hers. “We have time, Evelyn.”
Her fingers dug into my biceps, greedy for more. She let me lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carried her to the bed. I lay her down and followed, her body already moving under mine, her hands pulling at my waistband.
I’d always prided myself on control, but there was nothing controlled about this—about the way our hands tore at each other’s clothes, the way my breath caught as her nails raked down my spine.
It was a mistake. I knew it, and in that moment, with her half-naked under me, hair askew, eyes glittering with rage and something rawer than lust, I didn’t care.
She flipped us, straddling my hips, pinning my arms to the mattress. She pulled my jeans down just enough to free my cock, then settled over me, the slick heat of her making every nerve ending spark. I tried to grab her hips, to guide her, but she pinned my wrists again, baring her teeth in a vicious, perfect smile.
“No,” she said, voice hoarse and unsteady, “you don’t get to control this.”
I settled back and let her take what she wanted. Hell, I wanted it just as bad. Maybe worse.
And when she sank down on me, her body gripping my cock like a fist, my head dropped against the pillows. “Fuuuck.”
She rode me like she meant to break me, hands on my chest, fingers digging in, and I realized she was shaking too. She was angry, and aroused, and terrified—maybe that last part most of all. I deserved her anger, but I didn’t know what to do with the fear.
Every time I tried to touch her, she pushed my hands away.
“No,” she breathed, “just... let me.”
There was a ferocity in her then that bordered on violence. Every time my hands strayed, she batted them away, until I just let them hover at my sides, fists clenching the sheets. The mattress creaked with her rhythm, and every time she slid down, every time she ground her hips, a jolt of pleasure spiked through me so intense I had to grit my teeth to keep from coming. Her pussy gripped me like a vise, hot and slick and perfect.
“Jesus, Evelyn,” I groaned, watching her body move above mine. “You feel so fucking good.”
She didn’t answer, just closed her eyes and rode me harder, her thighs trembling against mine. Her breasts bounced witheach movement, nipples hard and pink in the harsh afternoon light slanting through a crack in the curtains. I couldn’t take it anymore—I reached up and captured one in my mouth, sucking hard.
“Fuck,” she gasped, her rhythm faltering. “Trent?—“
I took advantage of her momentary distraction to flip us over, pinning her beneath me. Her eyes flew open, flashing with indignation, but before she could protest, I thrust into her so deep she cried out.
“Let me,” I growled against her ear, nipping the sensitive skin beneath it. “Let me fuck you properly.”
Her answer was to wrap her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper. I braced myself on my forearms and drove into her, hard and steady. Each thrust pulled a little gasp from her throat, a sound I’d dreamed about for months.
“That’s it,” I murmured, watching her face. “Take my cock. Show me how much you missed it.”
“Shut up,” she hissed, but her body betrayed her words, clenching around my cock with every thrust. I could feel her getting wetter, hotter, her inner walls squeezing me tighter.
“God, I can feel how much you want this,” I growled, sliding a hand between us to find her clit. “So fucking wet for me.”
She arched beneath me when my thumb found that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling it with just enough pressure to make her gasp. “Don’t stop,” she panted, her nails digging half-moons into my shoulders.
