by Avery Flynn
The image stopped him cold.
He forgot how to breathe, his mind grappling with the thought of a little girl with long black hair and big, watery eyes staring up at her dead mother. She must have felt so alone. And abandoned by both parents now. His chest grew uncomfortably tight and he squeezed her closer.
“Jesus.” No wonder Everly held so tight to that badass shell of hers. He didn’t know what to say, so he said the only thing he could. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said, sounding like it was anything but. They stood there for, hell, he didn’t know how long, while Everly worked to regain her composure. Eventually, a stillness invaded her body, of acceptance or relief he couldn’t tell, and she let out a soft sigh. “The whole situation with my parents taught me a lot about life and the importance of fighting for those you love, caring for them, making sure that no matter what I’d be there for them.”
“That’s why you do so much for your grandmother.” He’d seen her financials, the visits, the cost of care; it all had her right on the border between making it and bouncing her rent check.
“As much as I can. If it hadn’t been for her, I would have ended up in the system, because my dad sure as hell wasn’t going to take in a little girl he couldn’t acknowledge to his country club cronies.”
That bastard deserved to have his clock cleaned with a tire wrench. “He didn’t deserve you.”
“But I still wanted him to want me,” she said with a sniffle. “What can I say, the relationship between girls and their daddies, it matters.”
What could he say to that? He had nothing to offer. He’d run from his family as soon as he could. So he just held her and they stayed like that, hanging onto each other for dear life before Everly took a step back, brushing away the few tears that had dared to fall. With a deep breath, she reset her shoulders and her nothing-bothers-me mask fell back into place. He could call her on it, but he understood the necessity of that barrier some days.
“No more sad stories that explain why we don’t believe in happy endings.” She cocked her head to the side and leaned for him, this time her fingers going to the buttons of his shirt, which she flicked open with determined speed. “This is supposed to be just for fun, remember?”
Just for fun? For her that was it, but for him it was starting to feel like more than that, which meant he had to end it before the stakes got any higher—but not tonight. For once, he didn’t want to have to be the emotionally cold schemer. He wanted to melt in Everly’s heat. Not giving himself time to plan or plot, he crashed his mouth down on hers, claiming her for tonight because soon everything would have to change.
…
Everly didn’t tell that story. Ever. Her friends had either been with her at the time—like Nunni and Kiki—or they didn’t know it. She slipped one of his buttons free. And she’d told it to the one man from whom she was desperately trying to keep her emotional distance. She unbuttoned his shirt a little more. That wasn’t going to work, though, at least not tonight. By the time she got to the third button, she’d made up her mind to pretend—not to him but to herself—that tonight was just sex, that he was just a man, and that none of this mattered, because the truth was that it really had begun to matter more than just a little.
There wasn’t any talk between them. Not yet. The air around them was too heavy, the need too great. When she slid her tongue into his mouth, it wasn’t to challenge or tease, it was to get lost in him. She parted his shirt and slid her fingers underneath, gliding them over the hard planes of his chest as she trailed her mouth from his lips to his jaw prickly with a five o’clock shadow, then down his neck. He was hard, solid, totally there with her as if he’d never go anywhere, and it ripped something open in her, a place she normally kept closed up tight. And for once, she was just going to go with it, consequences be damned.
Grabbing ahold of his shirt, she lifted her head and looked him in those blue eyes of his that were six shades darker than normal and hooded with lust. Then, she yanked his shirt apart, snapping off the few buttons that had been holding the shirt closed and sending them flying across the room. The pings of them hitting this or that barely registered over the desire roaring in her ears.
“Is that how this is gonna go, sugar?” Tyler asked, one side of his mouth kicking up into a sexy half grin.
She whipped his belt through the buckle without ever breaking eye contact. “You gotta problem with that?”
“Fuck no.” He watched her flick open the button of his pants and inch his zipper lower with a gleam in his eyes. “Are you going to suck me deep, take me all the way in that pretty mouth of yours?”
Lowering herself to her knees, she shoved his pants and boxers down to the floor. “If you have to ask, then I’m not very good at signaling my intentions.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but she wrapped her fingers around the hot, hard length of him at the same time, and the words went unsaid. She liked the power of being able to make him stop thinking six moves ahead and to drown in the now. Leaning forward, she circled the head of his cock with her tongue, slow and exacting. His hands were on each side of her head, tangled in her hair, and when she opened her mouth and sucked him in, they tightened in time with the deep groan he let out. As she took him in deep, sliding her hands up the back of his thighs to his tight bare ass, she pushed him forward until there was no farther they could go.
“Everly,” he said, gravel in his voice.
“Yes, Tyler?” she asked between long licks along the sensitive underside of his dick, taking time to swirl her tongue around his swollen head.
“Do that again.”
He didn’t have to ask twice. His ass flexed under her touch as she pushed him forward and sucked in the length of him until he hit the back of her throat. There went the tightening of his fingers in her hair, just enough pressure to make her want more. So she took as much of him as she could and retreated again and again while he stood, legs planted shoulder-width apart, his head tossed back. Only his hands on her head sending electric shocks of want through her, his groans of pleasure, and the strain of his muscles acted as her guide to know how much was too much and just how close to going over he was. Their positions were switched from the night in the parking garage. Now he was the one mostly naked while she was mostly dressed, but he didn’t seem powerless; their power seemed to be growing from each other, and it was a huge turn on.
Pulling back, she licked the tip of his cock one last time as she stroked her hand up and down the length of him, her fingers barely touching. “I need to get naked.”
He looked down at her with enough heat to melt her panties if she’d been wearing any. “Hell yes.”
By the time she stood up, walked over to the bedroom door, and had her dress unzipped, he’d flipped off his shoes and shucked off his pants and underwear.
“You’re too slow,” he grumbled, stalking toward her. “Good thing I have the solution for that.”
Grabbing her hips, he spun her around so she was facing the wall. He unzipped her dress with the speed of an Olympic luge team and shoved the material down her arms and over her hips until gravity took it to the floor where it pooled around her spike heels.
“Have I told you lately how much I love your aversion to underwear?” he asked, his breath hot and teasing on the back of her neck.
She would have answered if she could’ve, but as the question came out of his mouth, he slid the back of his knuckles down her spine from the spot between her shoulder blades to her ass, all the speed gone from his movements stealing away her ability to form thoughts.
“Palms on the wall.”
There was no questioning. No asking. It was an order plain and simple, and it made her core clench. Pressing her hands to the wall, she lifted the back of her foot out of her shoe. A quick smack on her ass stopped her.
“They stay on.”
“So demanding,” she managed to get out, barely recognizing the husky tone to her own voice.
&nbs
p; “When I know what I want, you bet your ass.” He rubbed his palm over her ass cheek, removing some of the sting. “Now kick that dress away, spread your legs, and don’t turn around.”
The thrill that went through her body made her nipples pebble into hungry hard peaks. She liked this Tyler. Scratch that. She loved this Tyler, the one who wasn’t concerned with anything but the two of them. So she did what he said. And waited, anticipation making her body thrum. But he didn’t touch her.
“Tyler?” she asked, the temptation to turn around and track what he was doing tugging at her.
“You might be the art expert, but seeing you like this—wet and waiting for me—is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He trailed a finger, and only one finger, across her back, ending the journey at the crack of her ass before closing in so his hard cock pressed against the small of her back. “I’m going to fuck you just like this, up against this wall, and the whole time you’ll know it’s me even if you can’t see me because there’s no one else who can make you feel like I can.”
He wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t going to tell him it was too late. She already knew that and had since that first kiss when he’d made her forget the rest of the world except for him. She heard the sound of the condom wrapper being ripped open coming from somewhere behind her. Damn. She hated missing him roll it on. There was something so sexy about watching him take his cock in his hand and stroke it before putting on a condom.
“No looking or I’ll make you wait to come.” Tyler’s command stopped her in mid-motion.
“It’s not fair,” she complained, her voice breathy.
“It’ll be worth it.” His hands were on her again, gliding up her front and cupping her breasts, rolling her aching nipples. “I promise.”
She moaned, arching her back so she pushed into his hands. He responded just the way she loved, by pulling her nipples with just enough pressure to make her thighs quake. Giving in to the moment, she let her forehead fall to the wall, its coolness in stark contrast to the heat surrounding her, threatening to burn her up from the inside out.
“That’s it.” He kissed the sensitive spot where her shoulder met her neck. “Let me hear how much you want me. How good it feels. Tell me what you want.”
“Your dick,” she panted, her core pulsing with the need to be filled. “I want you inside me.”
He chuckled against her overheated skin as he kissed his way up the back of her neck and tormented her nipples in the best fucking way possible. “Are you sure? Don’t you want me to play a little longer?”
If he did, she’d implode. “Fuck. Me. Now.”
He released one of her breasts, and she wanted to cry in disappointment, but the next second his hand slipped between her legs from the front and he spread her wet folds, sending waves of sensation through her. On the next breath he surged inside her, filling her the way only he did.
He stopped halfway. “Is this what you want?”
“More,” she whimpered. “More.”
“Whatever you want, sugar,” he said, and slammed into her. “So tight. So good.”
The gravel in his tone let her know that he was just as on the edge as she was. It wasn’t going to take long for either of them. Then, he started circling her clit with his fingers in concert with his thrusts, timing it so there was no moment where she wasn’t feeling him, no retreat of his cock without an answering swirl of his fingers. She was so wet she could hear the sound of him fucking her over their breathing, over her racing pulse that roared like thunder in her ears.
“That’s it, sugar,” he said, and nipped her shoulder. “Take me deep until you squeeze my cock as you come all over it.”
The combination of his fingers, his cock, and his words was too much to hold back any longer. Her orgasm slammed into her, blocking everything but the two of them as she cried his name.
“Everly,” he let out in a throaty growl before plunging into her quickly once, twice, three times and coming with her name still on his lips.
Her skin damp with sweat and her own desire, she tried to catch her breath as they both came down. Jesus. The things this man did to her. It scared her as much as it thrilled her. She was still floating down to earth when he withdrew and tossed the condom in a nearby trashcan.
“You sure do know how to show a girl a good time,” she said as she turned, glad for the wall at her back to support her because her legs sure as hell couldn’t do the job on their own.
“Oh,” he said with a wicked grin, “I’m not done showing you yet.”
As Tyler picked her up and strode toward his bedroom, Everly had a moment of crystal-clear panic. It was all fun for him. It was supposed to be all fun for her. However, she didn’t know how much fun she could take before her heart forgot the temporary parameters of this game, especially when she was pretty sure it was already too late.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A few nights later, the gallery was packed. The show from a multimedia artist, Celeste, had brought out everyone from art critics to avant-garde collectors to Harbor City trophy wives who were caught up in the rush of the rebellion in each piece. And when the critic from the Gazette pulled Everly aside to congratulate her on finding the previously unknown artist and helping to nurture her along, Everly could have passed out from the adrenaline rush. Well, that was if she wasn’t already half-asleep on her feet as it was. Tyler might have developed into a passable cook, but he was so good at a million other things—most of which required being naked or damn close to it—that she wasn’t getting much sleep lately.
“You look like a woman about to conquer the world,” Helene said, handing her a glass of the house white she always served at the gallery shows.
“I feel like I already have.” She took a sip, the middling wine tasting like champagne. Being giddy had that effect on her. It was weird.
Helene held up her glass in a toast. “To conquering heroes.”
Even Helene took a sip after that, which was saying something, since she often compared the gallery’s house wine to swill or worse. They watched the crowd move through the gallery, couples and small groups stopping here and there in front of Celeste’s neon pieces. The artist herself was a natural at working a crowd and had a small gaggle of people around her as she told them a story, the retelling of which involved sweeping hand gestures and—Everly cocked her head to the side and listened closely—bird calls. Okay, then.
Of course, that meant she had a minute to pump Helene for information before she had to start mingling again. “So you and Alberto seem to be getting along well.”
A hint of pink bloomed on the older woman’s cheeks. “He wants to take me to the gala this week. Of course, I told him no.”
“Why? You two seemed to get along so well on the island.” And by “well” she meant like teenagers with their first crush.
“Probably because of that,” Helene said with a firm, sure nod that wasn’t reflected in the tone of her voice. “I’m not interested in anything like that back here in the real world.”
To paraphrase the bard, the lady was protesting too much. Not that she could just go and say that to Helene. The woman could verbally take her out at the knees without blinking.
“Why do you say that?”
Helene took a sip of the wine, her face remaining neutral except for the disgusted twitch of her nose. “Because I’ve already had love, and I’m not interested in being greedy. Anyway, I couldn’t do that to the boys and my husband’s memory.”
She shouldn’t interfere. It really wasn’t her place, but…Helene and Alberto so obviously went well together that she couldn’t help but give a little push.
“It’s too bad you feel that way, because Alberto is quite a guy. He loves art, is loyal, and can make a frittata that will bring tears to your eyes it’s so good.” Linking her arm in Helene’s, she pulled the woman off to the side just enough that they could have some privacy to talk while still keeping an eye on how things were going with the show. “I know he seems
like he’s nothing more than a horrible flirt, but there’s more to him than that. Has he told you the story of how his wife died?”
Helene shook her head, her eyes darkening with concern. “No.”
It wasn’t a story that Alberto often told, much preferring to let people think he was just a happy-go-lucky guy all the time, but there was something about seeing the two of them together that made Everly sure this was a story Helene needed to hear.
“It was ovarian cancer. She was thirty-two and Carlo was only four. Alberto saw her through it all, right up to holding her hand as she lay in their bed at home taking her last breaths.” He’d told her the story years ago after a mutual dark night of the soul and too many bottles of Chianti. He meant the tale to be a story of hope. It had been. “Losing her nearly broke him, just like losing Michael almost broke you.”
Helene’s sharp gaze narrowed. “Is this your not-so-subtle way of telling me I should have said yes?”
Busted.
“Like I’d ever tell you what to do. You’re Helene Carlyle, queen of the upper crust and despiser of the gallery house wine.”
The other woman sniffed disdainfully at the wine. “It really is horrible.”
She leaned in and dropped her voice to a whisper. “It’s supposed to be, so people pay attention to the art instead of getting drunk on the wine.”
“I should have known you’d thought about it.” Helene chuckled and lifted her glass in a toast. “You consider all the angles almost as much as someone else we know.”
“Is that how you segue into asking me about Tyler?” She’d been expecting it ever since Key West. Helene wasn’t exactly known for keeping her opinions to herself. “We’re just having fun. It’s not serious.”
“Why not?”
Her muscles stiffened and she took a bracing drink of the house wine. Okay, this whole turnabout-is-fair-play thing wasn’t exactly enjoyable. “Because that’s not how things work out in the real world.”