“And you’re still you,” he says, and this time when he kisses me, it’s almost gentle. “Just smarter. Meaner. Hotter.”
My laugh turns into a gasp when his hand finds its destination, fingers clever and unrelenting. I curse, try to dig my nails into his shoulders, but he’s relentless, and I’m so close to the edge I could scream.
“Holy shit,” I moan, as every bit of resistance within me breaks beneath the touch of his finger. Shaking, quivering, I lose myself beneath him, my mind becoming a brimming mess of colors and my nerves lit up with electricity as Evan Wilder shatters my world with his hands.
Evan’s mouth curves against my lips. “There you are.”
I dig my nails into his shoulders. “Shut up.”
“Make me,” he says, and his voice is pure sin.
So I do.
I flip us, using the momentum of his surprise to roll him onto his back, and I straddle his hips with a fierceness that makes his eyes go wide. For one perfect second, I have the upper hand. His chest heaves beneath me, muscles taut, and I can feel exactly how much he wants this pressed against my thigh.
"My turn," I say, and my voice comes out steadier than I feel.
His hands find my hips, grip tight enough to bruise, but he doesn't try to flip us back. He just watches me with those dark, burning eyes, like I'm something worth studying. Something worth keeping.
I hate how much I like it.
I lean down, press my mouth to the hollow of his throat, and taste the salt of his skin. He makes a sound—low, almost pained—and his hands slide up my back, pulling me closer. I bite down, just hard enough to make him hiss, and feel his whole body jerk beneath me.
"Molly…"
“You talk too much,” I murmur against his skin, and then I'm kissing down his chest, mapping the ridges of muscle, the scattered scars I don't let myself think about too hard. He's been through something. We all have. But right now, none of it matters.
Right now, there's just skin and heat and the desperate need to forget everything else.
When I finally take him in hand, he curses, head falling back against my pillow. The sight of him — undone, vulnerable, completely at my mercy — sends a thrill through me that's almost better than the touch itself.
“Look at me,” I say.
His eyes snap open and find mine. There's something there I wasn't expecting. Something soft beneath all that hunger.
It terrifies me.
So I don't let myself think. I shift, position myself, and sink down onto him in one smooth motion that steals the breath from both of us.
"Fuck," he breathes, hands clamping down on my hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. "Molly, you feel fucking incredible."
I roll my hips, cutting him off, and watch his face contort with pleasure. This is what I need. This control. This power. The ability to take what I want without giving anything away.
But then he sits up, one arm banding around my waist, and suddenly we're chest to chest, foreheads pressed together, and I can't hide anymore. He moves with me, inside me, and it's not just fucking anymore. It's something else. Something dangerous.
“Stay with me,” he whispers, and I don't know if he means right now or something bigger, something I'm not ready to name.
I kiss him instead of answering, pouring everything I can't say into the slide of my tongue against his, the dig of my nails into his shoulders, the rhythm of our bodies finding something that feels terrifyingly like harmony.
When I fall apart this time, he's right there with me, his groan vibrating against my throat as he shudders and spills inside me. We cling to each other, trembling, breathing ragged and loud in the quiet of my disaster of a bedroom.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
Then reality seeps back in, cold and unwelcome, like water through a cracked foundation. I notice the sweat cooling on my skin, the ache in my thighs, the way his heart pounds against my chest like it's trying to break free. I should pull away. I should make a joke, something sharp and dismissive to put distance between us. That's what I do. That's who I am.
But Evan's hand comes up to cup the back of my head, fingers threading through my tangled curls, and he just... holds methere. Doesn't say anything. Doesn't try to fill the silence with bullshit.
"This doesn't change anything," I finally manage, but my voice is wrecked, barely a whisper.
