“Tonight,” he repeats, throat bobbing as he touches my chin with his thumb. “Promise me something.”
I’ve had to make a lot of promises for guys.
My whisper comes out hesitant. “What?”
“Promise me, when I touch you,”—his thumb strokes my lip, scattering a shiver across my body—“you’ll feel only me.” His jaw grazes my cheek, hot breath caresses my ear, and my eyes fall shut. “When you close your eyes, you’ll see only me. There’s only us in this room, Eva. Right here, right now. Promise me.”
My chest burns, and I don’t know why I’m shaking. How could he want so much of me? Can I even promise that? Can I go a whole night without the broken, tainted fragments of my past pushing their way in?
Eventually, I nod, my cheek skimming his. “I promise,” I manage. “I promise, I’ll try.”
His eyelids lower, and a corner of his lips lifts.
When I start to slip his hoodie off my shoulders, his hands cover mine, stopping them. “It stays on,” he says quietly.
“But—”
He pulls back to see my face, an unwavering look in his eyes. “It stays.”
Confused, I stand frozen, staring blankly at him. He doesn’t want me to undress? What do I even do from here?
All thoughts dissolve when his warm palms slip beneath the jacket to gently clutch my waist. He tugs me toward him so our hips connect. I pant at the contact even though we’re both fully clothed. Something about the position feels vulnerable, flirting with innocence despite his hardening erection pressed against my lower stomach. Heat radiates from him, searing my skin through my dress, and his smallest touches make my throat go dry.
One hand slides up my waist, brushes the side of my breast for a fleeting moment before continuing higher. He grips my throat, gently, so gently, and his thumb guides my chin upward so my eyes meet his.
My lips part, muscles going limp in his arms. I’ve never felt so at ease to let another person take control, but Easton’s proven so many times I can trust him. I savor the foreign sensation of my body turning to putty in someone else’s hands.
His eyes shut as he almost touches his lips to mine. A shaky exhale brushes my mouth, his fingers pressing into my neck.
I lean into him, light-headed, desperate. He has to kiss me now. I think I might die if he doesn’t.
“Not yet,” he whispers roughly.
Angling my face toward the ceiling, he strokes the column of my throat with his nose. He inhales, and his hot sigh dives to the apex between my thighs.
“Fuck, I love the way you smell.” He nips just below my ear, sensual and wet.
My knees weaken.
His tongue darts out to taste me, a slow lick, and then a softpull. I grip his arm around my neck for support. He trails his mouth toward my collarbone, deliberate and tender. Another lick, another scrape of teeth. A moan climbs up my throat, and I squeeze my thighs together.
“What are you doing?” I protest to the ceiling. No one has ever touched me so slowly, so thoughtfully. It’s torture. “Why are we still dressed?”
“So impatient,” he drawls, the breathy chuckle vibrating against my throat. “I had no idea you wanted to get me naked so badly.”
My lips curve into a partial smile, but I’m too hot, too needy, to let the amusement stir me from this lust-induced daze. The fact he has the ability to make me lust at all is a mystery, and the feeling is a compelling mix of addictive and terrifying.
I don’t know how long it will last, but right now, all I want is more.
When I meet his sweltering gaze, he loosens his grip on my neck. I touch his jeans. Unsteady, I wander higher, slipping beneath the hem of his T-shirt. My palms connect with hard muscle, and my breath comes out fast. Too fast.
I’ve never undressed another person before. I’ve neverwantedto until Easton. Is he going to stop me? Getting his clothes off is selfish, greedy. Entirely for me. It doesn’t serve him at all.
Does he want this?
If he were any other guy at school, I wouldn’t care how he felt, but this is Easton, and if my past on the streets has taught me anything, it’s that guys want what serves them, not me. What if our last night together was a fluke?
His eyelids lower as he absorbs my hesitation, something dark yet soft flaring in his irises. “What do you want?”
