Lifting myself off the couch, I shove my sweats off my hips and down my legs, then peel her top up over her head and drop it next to our growing pile of clothes. She lifts her hips as I hook my fingers in the waistband of her sweats. I slide them down, along with her thong, and swipe them off her feet to pool on the floor with mine. I quickly settle back between her legs. I kiss her just as quickly—deeply—and as our tongues tangle in their familiar dance, I guide myself into her and sink my hips down all the way.
She lifts her knees, giving me deeper access, and wraps them tight around my ass.
God, she feels so good.Her walls encase me perfectly, snugly. I can’t stop the deep moans as I sink into her again and again. “Ughhh. Ughhh.”
She rises to meet me and sets the pace, all thoughts of our game long gone.
In fact, I’m not sure I can form words right now. I’m trying not to come before her, but she feels so goddamn good. She’s safe, she’s here in my arms and she’s coming undone for me. She doesn’t always say it with words, but she loves me. She says it in so many other ways, every day. I find my voice. “Are you close, Ever? Come for me?”
Her walls tense around me, and I know she’s close.
I’m shaking with restraint, driving into her, my face buried in her hair, her neck, her scent. Then I hear her voice, hoarse with desire, and I feel her lips, breath against my ear.
“Yes, Julie. Ugh, fuck, I love you.”
I feel the dampness on my cheek, her tears. I feel the shudder of her orgasm around my dick, and I can’t stop myself if I wanted to. I bury myself in her deeply and come in an orgasm I feel in every cell of my body. Spent, my body aching from the murderous workout I gave it, I want to collapse. The couch is too narrow to lie next to her unless we rotate on our sides. Coiling my arm around her, I grunt as I lift her and twist us so we’re facing each other.
Her frown tells me she tracked the unusual exertion that took. “Did you hurt yourself?” She lays her hand gently on my cheek, pinning me with her stare.
“Not intentionally.”
Her eyes go wide at my response. “Like, just now?” Her lips stay parted in surprise. My chest vibrates with my chuckle.
“No, sweet girl, not now. Before, when you were outside . . . talking.” I don’t say his name. I’m not sure I can yet. If she’s okay, I should be too. I’m just not one hundred percent convinced she is.
“How?” She pauses, then answers her own question. “Working out.” She rolls her eyes a little as she says it.
“I was just distracting myself while I waited.”
She pets my face, almost absently curling her fingers into the stubble thickening on my jaw. “You already said that,” she teases. “Did it work?”
Her cheeky question pulls another chest-vibrating chuckle from me as I shake my head slowly. “Not even a little.” I’m not sure any of my coping tricks would’ve worked this time. Which makes me wonder if I need to revisit therapy. I did it for a while when I first came to Blue Lake—online because it’s so remote out here. Besides, even if they did have a therapist or two here in town, everyone knows everyone. I’m not sure I’d relax enough to use said therapist to its full potential. What’s the point of going to therapy if you’re not going all in? But why aren’t all my tricks working anymore? I mean, they are . . . were . . . until they weren’t. Violence has never been my MO. I grew up watching my parents beat the shit out of each other. I learned quickly how to disappear—literally leaving the shitty trailer as quiet as a mouse. The few times I tried to hide inside, they’d spot me and I’d be dragged into their addiction-fueled tantrums. So I learned to get the fuck out of the trashy little box as soon as shit escalated.
Therapy is exhausting, but I’ll start it again if I need to. I’ll never be what my parents were. I never want someone I love to see thatpart of me—that anger that lives inside me. I never understood all the tantrums, screaming and violence. Sure, they’d always make up the same way they got pissed—in some inebriated state—but they’d be covered in bruises and scratches for days after. Stupid.
“Let’s go sit in the hot tub. It’ll make you feel better.” Ever climbs over me to stand up from the couch. “I’ll grab the robes after I use the restroom.” She disappears down the short hallway—unaffectedly naked.
When will I start to believe I deserve the magic of this precious girl? She’s so comfortably herself around me now. God, I love her so much it hurts. Like every time this thought hits me, the pain in my chest follows. I can’t survive losing her. I rub small circles on the hollow heart tattoo with the flat of my palm out of habit. I roll up to a sitting position to join her, wincing at the strain on my abs. The hot tub will most definitely help my screaming muscles. I smile to myself that she knows this now too.
Chapter 17
Everly
“We make a great team, you know that?” Julian plants a loud kiss on my lips, his hand possessively on my ass, drawing me to him.
I let him pull me in because I want his arms around me. I don’t want to let him go or say goodbye. More content filming and branding meetings down south with Ashley this weekend for him and I’ve got too much homework to join him. I’m pouting on the inside and trying to hide it from him on the outside. I hate when he’s gone. I know that logically we can’t be together all the time, and that healthy relationships need space to survive, but still, I feel untethered when we’re not together. I’m sure there’s some therapy term for it, like codependency or separation anxiety or both. But I’m not ready to admit there’s somethingwrongwith the way I feel about him or us. We’re just better together.
“We do make a good team, which is why you should stay here with yourteammate.” I say it without conviction because I know he has to go. And I know it’s important for the future he’s building. I’m proudof him and proud to be with him. “Kidding,” I add, dragging the word out so he doesn’t think I’m guilt-tripping him. I’m really not. I love what this opportunity Ashley’s giving him means—for him, for us, if we stay . . . a team. I squash that last thought.
“Miss me.” He says it like an order and plants another fat kiss on my lips, lifts his bag off the ground and turns toward his Jeep.
“Always.” I watch him from the doorway and wave as he backs out.
Just before he drives off, he looks back and winks at me with those stunning blue eyes.
My stomach flips, and I wonder for the umpteenth time if it will always be this way. Will he always make my stomach flip? I close the door and already feel restless without him. Even though I have plenty of homework, I entertain the idea of diving into a new book while he’s gone—a fictional world to lose myself in. Lately though, picking a book is like picking a movie to watch—more time spent browsing than watching. I browse and browse and in the end decide on nothing. I fear my deliciously handsometeammatehas ruined my love of romance books and book boyfriends. And the next thought that occurs is the usual—I need to swap my love for romance to another genre. Suspense, maybe? Thrillers? Something sans swoony male main characters. None of them holds a candle to the one I’ve got in real life.
Flopping onto our bed, I open the Amazon app to peruse new book releases. Homework be damned. Before I can spiral down that rabbit hole, Lilly’s face takes over my phone screen. I tap to answer her FaceTime call.
