“First ...” I trail the tips of my fingers across my stomach, losing myself in the primitive look on his face. “I picture that look you get.” His gaze slides up to meet mine, and my chest rises and falls in an uneven rhythm. “Yeah. That one. Sometimes ...” I swallow, and my fingers crawl higher, higher, until I’m teasing my breasts. “I imagine it’s for me, that I’m yours for a night.” The rough sound that climbs up his throat pulses between my thighs. “That my door is locked.” I run a thumb across my nipple. “Your parents are distracted. And you can do anything you want to me.”
His eyelids lower, the look heady and dirty and filled with restraint.
“As long as we’re quiet,” I whisper, letting my hand wander lower, and lower, “no one ever has to know the things you do to me.”
As I reach the wetness between my thighs, his low voice thrums across my skin. “And what are you doing?”
My focus drifts, a hazy blanket of confusion setting in. “W-what?”
“In this fantasy, I can do whatever I want to you.” His eyes flare. “Believe me, if you want it, I’ll do it. But I’m not the only one here, Eva. You can do anything you want. If you’re mine for the night”—his gaze rakes sinfully down my body, lighting me aflame—“that means I’m yours too.”
The air is sucked from my lungs.
Mine?
I’ve been with a lot of guys, and since living here, I’ve even started telling them what to do to me. But I only say what’s expected. I make them do to me what they have me do to them. I don’t know what I want, and none of them have ever asked me before.
The turmoil must be written on my face. Easton’s brows slant, and, slowly, he stands. I breathe a little harder.
“What do you like?” he asks gruffly, walking closer, closer.
“I ...” I shake my head, and my arms fall to my sides. “I don’t know,” I admit, feeling the redness creep up my neck.
He reaches my bed and studies me with a softness that stretches the redness to my cheeks. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. When he lowers to his knees beside me, I try not to shiver.
He leans close, his face hovering above my lower stomach. Then, his lips part, and he exhales. Hot breath fans my bare skin, just below my belly button, and heat jolts through me. My fingers curl around the comforter. He’s not even touching me, but the contact is so real, so sensual, it feels like rough palms and sinful promises.
He watches my expression closely. “Touch yourself, Eva.” Then he blows on me again, so softly a tremor rolls down my spine.
With a swallow, I dip my fingers beneath my panties. He angles his head, and this time, when he blows, the warm puff of air lands between my thighs. I gasp, roll my fingers.
My body sinks against the mattress as the tension eases out of me, my core tingling and throbbing with each rough exhale. Finally, I dip my fingers inside.
“Do you know how long I’ve fantasized about you?” His rapid breath is in sync with my own.
My heavy-lidded gaze locks onto his. Easton fantasizes aboutme?
“Those little outfits you wear. The teasing, sexy-as-hell looks you give me. Every stubborn, ballsy word from that pouty mouth.” One hand comes up as if to touch me, but he stops less than an inch above my thigh. Never connecting with my skin, he follows an invisible trail across my body, and the heat radiating from his palm raises goose bumps on my thighs. His throat moves up and down, a tormented look contorts his expression, and he stares at me as if I’m precious. Too precious to have. “It’s fucking torture, Eva. Years of watching, waiting, wanting.”
I can’t breathe. “But you never said anything. You never even talked to me.”
“Keep touching yourself,” he instructs softly.
I’m so stunned by his words, I didn’t realize I stopped. I slip my fingers beneath my panties again, but I falter when Easton shifts. Leaning partly over the bed, he lifts the narrow strip of fabric between my thighs, his fingers unsteady, and he looks like he’s in physical pain as he carefully avoids touching me. Then, he lets out a harsh exhale over the most sensitive part of me. A sigh escapes, and my parted legs spread open further for him. His face is close between my legs, so close the dark strands of his hair tickle the insides of my thighs. Every time he shifts and breathes, my lungs constrict, deep flutters whispering through me.
He rolls up his crisp white sleeve, watching as I slip two fingers inside and start fingering myself. “I remember the first night I saw you,” he says. Another exhale, another sigh. His eyes shut, and his lips brush the sensitive skin by my panty line so softly I might have imagined it. “And every night you came back. You were unbreakable. The most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.”
My fingers move a little faster, matching the quick, broken rhythm of my rising and falling chest, but at the same time, emotion wells behind my eyes until they burn.
Stunning.
Unbreakable.
Two words I never thought would be associated with me, and yet he says them with such conviction I almost ... I almost want to believe him.
“Will you touch me?” I whisper, plead, beg. “Please touch me, Easton.”
His eyes snap up to mine, and they burn violently with everything I heard in his voice. Longing, torment, worship. If someone told me a person could worship you with a single look, I’d never believe them. But I believe it now.
