“It's not much,” Evan said, suddenly nervous in the way that suggested he was showing me something precious and fragile.
“It's everything,” I said, stepping closer until I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “It's honest.”
I watched something shift in Evan's expression. Some last wall crumbling, some final defense giving way to want that had been building for longer than either of us had been brave enough to acknowledge.
He kissed me with a hunger that bordered on savage, mouth slanting over mine, tongue pushing past my lips, tasting, claiming. Six years of distance collapsed all at once. There was nothing hesitant or careful about it now—he pressed me into thewall, his body hard against mine, one thigh between my legs, grinding slow and deep until I was gasping, hips rocking in time.
His hands were everywhere—palming my jaw, dragging down my throat, skimming over my chest. I fisted his shirt, hauling him closer, desperate to get more, to take and give in equal measure. His scent filled my head—pine, clean sweat, something wild and electric. I moaned, clutching him tighter, feeling the heat of his skin bleed through the thin cotton.
“Six years,” he growled into my mouth, voice so rough it vibrated in my teeth. “Six fucking years, Nate. You have any idea what it’s done to me? Wanting you, knowing I couldn’t have you?”
He crowded closer, pinning me between his body and the wall, both arms braced beside my head. His chest heaved, muscles flexing under my hands. I pressed my lips to the strong column of his throat, kissed and bit, tasting the wildness simmering just beneath his skin.
“You could have had me,” I managed, voice muffled against his neck. “You just had to ask.”
He laughed, harsh and desperate, biting down on my jaw, tongue soothing the sting before he pulled back, eyes burning. “You weren’t ready. I couldn’t risk it. But you’re here now. You’re mine.”
He lifted me—literally lifted me, palms gripping my thighs as I wrapped my legs around his waist, his mouth crashing into mine again, messy and possessive. He walked us through the place like I weighed nothing, every step a reminder of just how much power he kept leashed beneath the surface.
We crashed into the bedroom door, breathless and reckless, mouths never parting. Evan pinned me there, his body huge and burning, hands everywhere—one gripping my thigh, the other fisting the back of my shirt, keeping me caged against him like he thought I might disappear. We kissed like we werestarving, like we could make up for six years of wanting with a single desperate touch, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, breaths coming hard and ragged.
For a long, suspended moment, the world narrowed to the rough scrape of stubble on my jaw and the low, needy sounds he made when I tugged at his hair. I let him take everything, let myself take too, mouth open, greedy, chasing the taste of him. He tasted the way he always had—wild, a little sweet, sweat and pine and something I didn’t have a name for but would have killed to taste again.
I didn’t know whose hands moved first, but suddenly my shirt was riding up and his were dragging it higher, callused fingers slipping beneath the hem to touch bare skin. I arched into him, desperate, shameless, letting him feel every inch I had to give. He pulled back just enough to stare at me—his eyes dark and raw, full of a kind of awe that made my heart hurt.
“You’re real,” he whispered, voice thick, thumb stroking over my ribs like he had to memorize me by touch. “You’re really here.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My own hands were clumsy, shaking, but determined—I fumbled with the buttons on his flannel, yanking it open, fingers brushing the smooth, solid muscle underneath. He hissed, like the contact hurt, then pressed closer, pinning me so tightly I could barely breathe.
He kissed me again, slower this time, like he wanted to savor it. His mouth gentled, lips softer, tongue exploring, coaxing. There was a tremor in his hands now, the shaking barely there but so vulnerable I wanted to cry.
I slid his shirt off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, then pressed my palms to his chest, feeling the heat and the steady, frantic thud of his heart. He shuddered, eyes fluttering closed as he leaned into my touch, just for a second.
“Missed this,” he murmured, forehead resting against mine. “Missed you.”
My throat closed up. I pressed my hands to his face, forcing him to look at me. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Something in him crumbled at that. He kissed me like a promise, then like a plea, then like an apology for every day we’d lost. Each kiss was different—some desperate, some sweet, all of them carrying a lifetime of longing. I lost myself in it, forgetting the years apart, the pain, the silence. All that mattered was this—Evan, here, kissing me like I was the only thing he’d ever wanted.
His hands moved lower, slipping under the waistband of my jeans. He hesitated, breath shuddering, as if waiting for permission.
“Go on,” I whispered, and he did—undoing the button, dragging the zipper down slow, knuckles grazing my skin, making me gasp. He slipped his hand inside, cupping me through my briefs, gentle at first, then rougher when he felt how hard I was for him.
I bit his lower lip, tugged, then let go with a groan. “Your turn,” I breathed, reaching between us to undo his belt, my hands clumsy from want and nerves. He helped, shoving his jeans down, underwear caught on thick thighs, his breath coming hard and shaky.
We stood there, half-dressed, pressed together, the last of our defenses stripped away. I wanted to slow down, to savor every second, but my body was thrumming with need, my hands everywhere, mapping out the places he’d changed and the ones that had stayed the same.
He kissed my jaw, my neck, my shoulder, leaving marks that would bloom into bruises come morning. I moaned, head falling back, baring my throat for him without even thinking.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, the words low and fierce, his hand curling around my hip, thumb stroking over the sharp bone. “Always were.”
I laughed, breathless and a little shaky, and he grinned against my throat, teeth scraping, tongue soothing the sting.
“Could say the same about you, asshole,” I managed, running my hands over his chest, fingers tracing old scars, new muscle. “Fuck, you got big.”
He snorted, but his eyes were shining, the smile shy and proud at the same time. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
I kicked off my jeans, let them pool on the floor, standing in nothing but my briefs. Evan’s gaze raked over me, hungry, reverent, a flush creeping up his neck. He shoved his own jeans down, stepping out of them with a little more urgency, and then there was nothing left between us but cotton and skin and years of need.
