His finger traces the edge of my panties, and my breath stops. He hooks his thumb underneath the fabric. I lift my hips, allowing him to pull the material past, and he tugs them down, down, down. Then he prowls back toward me. My heart skips a beat at the wild, untamed spark in his eyes. I hate myself for tensing up, but just when I think he’s going to pounce, to take whatever parts of me he wants for himself, he places his hand gently on top of mine and guides it back between my thighs. A breath I didn’t know I’d been holding pours out of me.
“Do you trust me?”
I nod without hesitation. I’ve never trusted anyone the way I do Easton.
His lips tip up, and then he guides my fingers,ourfingers, where I need them. We move together over my clit in a circular pattern, and currents of heat and tingles erupt from my core. His gaze darkens as he watches my hips roll for more friction. Through half-lidded eyes, I’m mesmerized by the way the veins in his forearm twitch with restraint. To see the raw strength in him but to feel his tender, controlled touch—the combination makes me hotter, wetter, and desperate for more.
I didn’t know guys could have this kind of self-control, especially not while there’s this muchlongingandneedoozing off them.
When a delicious spasm makes me shudder, I know I’m getting close. I untuck my hand and place it on top of his. I gasp at how hot the touch of his palm burns. My eyes roll to the ceiling before they flutter shut.
“Eva ...” His voice is almost pleading. He starts to pull away, but I grip his wrist, urging him to stay.
I grind against him, and a groan rumbles up his chest.
For the first time in years, I feel more than numbness with someone else’s hand on me. I feel like my head has broken free of the water holding me under. Ifeel, and that in itself is enough to push the sting in the backs of my eyes to the forefront. Finally, I force my eyes open, and I look at him. We stare at each other for a second, both of us breathing hard, his gaze absorbing my expression. I don’t say a word, but whatever he sees is enough.
With my fingers still curled around his wrist, he slowly rubs his palm against me. I arch into his touch, and he presses on my clit. I cup his hand, and we move together the same way we did before. Except, this time, his movements are stronger, quicker, bolder. Spasms shoot up my core. My hips lift off the bed, but he places his free hand on my stomach and flattens me to the comforter.
Two fingers sink inside me, making me clench tight, while his palm keeps working my clit. My nails dig into him, probably tearing skin. The pressure is so much,toomuch, and noises spill from my tongue that I don’t recognize.
“Easton ...”
He shifts on the bed, continuing to pump and work me up, up, up, until my toes curl. And then his lips are at my ear, hot, ragged breath on my neck. “Say it again.”
My eyes squeeze shut. “Easton.”
He groans against my throat at the same moment the knots in my core burst into pieces, shooting electric waves up my spine and down my legs. I cry out, and his free hand covers my mouth to silence me.
“Shhh ...” His nose grazes the curve of my neck, and he nips tenderly below my ear.
The orgasm rips through me so intensely my trembling thighs lock around his hand. I don’t know how long it takes for the tremors to stop, but once I come down from the high and open my eyes, I’m lost in the most languid, peaceful daze I’ve ever felt.
A door slams down the hall, and Easton’s head whips toward my locked door. Something shatters against a wall. I should probably care about what’s happening out there, but I can’t muster up the energy.
When he turns back to me, our eyes lock. The deep, intense spark swirling behind whiskey stops my breath. He doesn’t look at me like he’s owed anything. He looks at me like I’ve already given himeverything.
I swallow, my throat thick. The vulnerability that floods me burns hot and cold, alien and terrifying.
“How’d it feel to be on your knees for me?” I hate myself the instant the words escape. They stretch in the room, mocking me, mocking him, but the spark in his eyes never wavers.
“Don’t kid yourself, Eva,” he says softly, still struggling to control his breathing. “I’ve been on my knees for you since the day you told me your name.”
His hand disappears from between my thighs. Gentle fingers graze my stomach, my cheek.
Then, he leaves. And he takes my breath with him.
Easton
Muffled voices, bitter and hushed, slip beneath my parents’ closed door. Seeing the hall is empty, I swallow hard, shoulders constricting with each harsh breath, and rest my forehead against Eva’s closed door. My hand is still curled around the knob.
I broke the rules. My mom’s rule. I crossed another line I should have never crossed. And yet now, even as my cock still strains against my jeans, I can’t find an ounce of guilt or regret.
At first, when I overheard my dad’s words, I couldn’t understand the sharp crack that shattered in my chest. Most of the time, he pretends I don’t exist. So how does his rejection still feel like a noose around my neck? It constricted, choked, and burned when I was alone in my room. Because for the first time ever, I realized his rejection is justified.
I’m not his.
Then I looked up, and there was Eva. Eva who showed up for me despite everything my mom said about her. Eva who was all honest eyes and soft words.
