“Here.” I gasp, reaching down and behind the couch, searching for the bag I first brought inside. When my fingers find the little foil package, I produce it for him, and his lips quirk up into a smile.
“Prepared,” he says, and it has two effects—making me blush from the compliment and making my skin hot from the insinuation.
“It’s not like I’m—” I swallow, words hard to summon as I watch him open the package and roll on the condom, his hands moving deftly, confident. “It’s just for emergencies.”
“Would you call this an emergency?” he asks, lowering himself down so his cock notches in my entrance. I gasp at the sensation, the whisper of a touch, the offering of some pressure, but not nearly enough.
“Yes,” I hiss out, shifting my hips, trying to get more of him, but he moves away, a playful look cutting through the lust on his face. “It is.”
He lets out a low hum and dips down again, angling my chin back so he can kiss my neck, biting along my jaw, making me gasp. He spreads one hand out over my stomach, my hip, his fingers splaying possessively in a way that makes me tighten, my core already hot with a molten kind of wanting I’ve never experienced before.
Everything is happening, and yet it feels like I’m getting nothing I want.
Raising my hips up to his, I close my eyes and whine out, “Evan,please.”
The sound that comes out of him is somewhere between a chuckle and a moan, and when I reach down, wrapping my hand around him, the sound cuts off halfway through the middle, turning into a choke.
I can’t help it when I gasp at the size of him. I pump my hand once along his length, loving the way his body reacts on top of me, how he closes his eyes, his breath coming shallow, that chocolate-brown hair hanging down over his forehead, more loose and boyish than how he styles it.
It’s like I’m unlocking a different side of him.
“All right,” he breathes, leaning back, taking his cock and lining it up with my entrance. With his other hand, he presses his thumb to my clit, which scrambles my thoughts so deliciously that his first thrust inside me is what I imagine people feel when they try heroin for the first time.
A rush, endorphins and chemicals straight into my bloodstream. And when he’s fully seated inside me, his hands shaking like it’s difficult for him to restrain himself, our eyes meet.
Evan lets out a sound that’s almost a,huh, like he’s pleasantly surprised.
And then, he moves, thrusting deliciously slowly, careful and practiced, always leaving me right on the edge of wanting more. Our mouths come together, hot and ready, and I can’t remember the last time my brain turned off like this with a man.
When I get to the edge and fall right over it, tightening around him, he lets out one final shuddering breath, thrusts once more, and collapses, turning us to the side so he doesn’t crush me.
“Fuck,” he whispers into my neck. “Amy…”
But nothing follows. We lie like that, breathing hard, and Evan rises to clean up, coming back with a warm cloth for me. I start to come back to myself, the reality of what I’ve done settling in.
Evan climbs back onto the couch with me, wordlessly maneuvering me so I’m resting my head on his chest, impossibly comfortable. His hand runs up and down the length of my bare spine, making me shiver.
Just before I drift off, he presses an errant kiss to my forehead, and the flutter in my chest turns into a warning shot.
I can’t stay for another perfect day with this man, or I’m going to fall in love with him.
CHAPTER 13
EVAN
Exactly five days from the morning I wake up to find Amy gone, I get a call from a random number that I know has to be her.
I’m in the living room, bringing in the rug from shaking it out on the porch, when my phone starts to buzz in my pocket. Since the day she left, I’ve been even busier than usual, forcing my body to stay in motion. If I sit for even a moment, I start to think about her.
About her body in this living room. That look in her eyes, the firelight playing over her face. And when I think about that, I suddenly feel incapable of getting anything done.
I don’t know how I know. It’s a Denver area code. It could be anybody in the city. But something in my chest tugs, and that’s all the proof I need. Normally, if I get a call from an unknown number, I let it ring through.
But this time, I answer.
Even though she left without saying goodbye—and no, a note does not count—and even though I’ve told myself a million times this week that I’m not going to entertain her if she comes back.
Not out of ill will. But from the fact that it’s definitely not a good idea for me to see her again.
