“And open legs.”
His voice is laced with sex, right along with humor. So totally Ever.
“Fucker.” I laugh, dropping my head to his chest.
“Oh, I plan on it.” He chuckles, letting go of my wrists. His thumbs run along the pulse point of my neck, and his fingers thread through my knotted hair.
“So you’re in charge now? Are you about to break out the handcuffs and nipple clamps?”
His lips curve into a wide grin. “Let’s put a pin in that … for now,” he says, his hungry eyes fixated on my teeth sinking into my bottom lip. “No power struggle tonight, Low. We’re partners in this. I want to worship that gorgeous body of yours, but make no mistake, I want what’s inside. I want you to give in to me … give in to this.”
His voice goes raspy as he clasps my hand in his, clutching it over his thundering heart. His expression is gentle and open—gorgeous. I instinctively back away, but he pulls me to him and shakes his head.
“No,” he says simply as he flicks the buttons of my shirt one by one. There’s no rush or urgency as he descends lower. He’s slow—deliberate. His eyes burn through me as he brushes my shirt off the curve of my shoulders. It flutters to the floor. I flick the button of my jeans, and slide the zipper down as a nervous smile lingers on my lips.
“Let me,” he whispers, stepping forward to cover his lips with mine as his hands slide under my jeans and over the swell of my ass. Warm, plump lips; hot, firm hands … God … God. A shiver races down my spine as a whimper creeps up my throat and onto his lovely lips.
“I feel like I’m unwrapping a decade’s worth of birthday presents in one package.” His words slide across my eager lips. His fingers slip beneath my underwear and run down the seam of my ass before he finds me hot, wet, and beyond ready. A chuckle rumbles in his chest as he explores. “Happy birthday to me.”
I bend over to pull off my jeans, making it quite the show, even winking at him cheekily on my ascent. After steadying myself with Ever’s help, I get to work undressing him. He swats my hands and backs away, and I groan in frustration.
“I’m at a bit of a disadvantage here, don’t ya think.” I cross my arms and scowl, wearing nothing but a bra and panties while Ever remains fully clothed.
He raises an eyebrow at me, then charges, tossing me over his shoulder with a stinging slap to my ass cheek.
“Hey! Slap my ass again and I’ll put an extra toothy blow job on the docket.” He stalks to the bedroom as blood rushes to my head, and I pull the back of his boxer briefs as far out of his pants as they’ll go. “You earned this wedgie fair and square, assface.”
Ever tosses me onto the bed in a heap of limbs and hair as I sputter and huff. Button by painstaking button, he undresses, watching me from the far end of the bed. His curved lips are playful, but his eyes are pensive.
“I knew it would be like this. God, just like this. It’s why my head begged me to give up but my heart would never listen. How could I go the rest of my life without this … without you?”
I flush under his gaze and run a hand across my stomach to cover up. A frown pulls at his lips as he shakes his head.
“Don’t hide yourself from me, Low. I’ve waited too long for this moment to miss a single thing.” He unrolls his cuffs and climbs onto the bed, shirt open, giving hints of the rigid planes and valleys of his chest … stomach … oh my holy V …
He settles between my legs, his thumbs brushing my temples as the rest of his body pins me to the mattress in the most delicious way. My fingers linger over his exposed skin, trailing the curve of his ribs, his muscular back, down to the curve of his delectable ass. Round, muscular, and practically begging me to sink my teeth into the flesh of it. I settle for digging my nails into his cheeks and pushing up off the bed, grinding into him. The aching pressure of his hard cock against me is the sweetest torture.
His thrusting tongue, labored breaths, and straining cock scream go, go, go; but his expressive eyes, burning through my defenses, and his thumbs brushing the apples of my cheeks give me pause. It’s as if he’s simultaneously looking to the past and ahead into the future, and all the feeling, emotion, and expectation converge into my constricted chest as I suck in a ragged breath. He wants me—the naive girl I once was and the mess of a woman I am today.
But he doesn’t know me anymore … what if he did?
My stomach clenches at the thought. Would he be able to accept me as I am instead of who I once was? Those two people can’t be any more different. I’m a freight train barreling toward a brick wall, horn blasting through the electrified air. It’s too much … it’s too much … I can’t…
“I love you, Low. I plan to spend every minute of every day, showing you just how much,” he whispers into my hair. He lifts up, again meeting my eyes. “And even then, I’ll barely brush the surface.”
The tension gripping my gut unfurls with his words. It’s instantaneous and jarring. I swing from bound and gagged to free fall in an instant, giving me a profound case of emotional whiplash.
Breathe … just breathe.
Tears leak from eyes, silently rolling down my temples and dampening my hair.
“I need this … I need you, Ever…”
“You have me. You have all of me.” He presses his lips to my temples, soaking up the moisture, then moves to my lips. The salt from my tears lingers on our tongues, a reminder of what we’ve endured, a promise of where we’re headed.
I slide his shirt over his shoulders, ghosting my palm over the tattoo on his chest … I’ll explore it more later…
My bra and panties fall to the floor as he draws my nipple into his mouth. I swallow a groan and twist my fingers in his hair, tugging him closer … closer … I can’t get him close enough.
And when he thrusts inside, no one before this could ever compare. Not even him—what we had before feels frivolous. He’s broken down every defense I have. He’s obliterated my walls and crawled deep inside my soul.
Love changes over time. The edges may dull, the butterflies hibernate … but some things, the best things, sharpen and flourish as years pass.
Ever is the best thing.
“I need to move,” he rasps, then takes my lips with his first delicious glide.
“As long as you stay,” I whisper as my body attunes itself to his. I lift my head to his, forehead to forehead, mouth to mouth, and soul to soul, and beg him for what I need. “Just please stay.”
Please stay … even if my heart is scarred and my soul is dirty.
Please stay … because I’ll never survive it if you leave me again.
He’s the creation and the rapture. Every good and bad thing all wrapped up into one. And now, after all these years, he may just be my resurrection.
Ever
MARLO SLAMS THE mallet down onto the counter … one … two … three times, then shakes the plastic bag and examines the pecans.
“Easy, killer. You’re making me nervous with that mallet,” I say, brushing her hair behind her ear.
She smirks, pouring the nuts into the mixer. “The pecans need to be tiny—pulverized.”
“Pulverized nuts. Yeah, not helping.”
She laughs and turns on the mixer, sneaking glances at me over her lowered eyelashes. She’s so damn pretty, she makes my chest ache. Sweet vanilla lingers in the air, and the rickety oven warms her small galley kitchen. It’s hot enough to make her exposed chest look sticky, delicious, as the thin straps of her tank strain against the weight of her tits. I’m not sure what I want to eat first—her or the cupcakes she’s baking just for me.
The timer dings, and she bends over the oven to pull out the pan. She didn’t take the time to put on any pants, and she smirks over her shoulder when she sees me salivating.
“Not much help over there, perched up on the counter, ogling.”
“I’m supervising. Trust me, there are lots of things to keep my eye on.” I waggle my eyebrows and squeeze my hands in the air. “Cheeks, tits—it’s all too m
uch. Get your ass over here and give me something to grab onto before my hands catch a cramp.”
She places the cupcakes on the cooling rack and turns off the mixer. I widen my legs, and she slips in between them, my hands finding their rightful place. I give her a swift spank. Her nails dig into my side as she lifts up and bites my bottom lip.
“What did I tell you about spanking?”
Her green eyes darken as my fingers slide under the elastic of her panties. “You can’t fool me, Low. Are you gonna tell me you’re not soaking wet right now?”
Her cheeks flush, but she holds my gaze, unashamed and turned the hell on.
“That doesn’t mean a damn thing,” she says, her hands creeping up my stomach. “The sound of you saying my name is all it takes to make me wet.”
“Marlo?”
She shakes her head. “When you call me Low.”
“I thought you said you weren’t that girl anymore.”
Her hands still, and she looks up at me, hope along with uncertainty brimming in her eyes. “I don’t know, maybe she’s in there somewhere. At least I hope she is.”
I’m not used to seeing these glimpses of hesitancy in her. The Marlo I know, then and now, doesn’t do vulnerable, but I can see cracks in her confidence instead of her usual steely resolve. It’s a reminder that underneath the girl she once was, there’s a woman I can’t wait to know better.
“What’s this whole thing you’ve got going on,” she says, waving a hand in front of me, clearly moving on from her previous train of thought. “I swear it’s like the hot guys’ uniform. Mussed hair, tattoos, bare feet, and then the cherry on top … wait for it … the jean button undone.”
“More like the lazy guy’s uniform.”
“Do they teach ya’ll that in hot guys’ school? Leave the button undone—your pheromones will waft up from your crotch and hypnotize the ladies.”
“Does it look hot?”
“Fuck yeah.”
“Are you hypnotized?”
“Not hardly.”
“Well, that tank top with no bra and damn near nonexistent panties? I’m in a total trance, Low. Those tight nipples bounce, and my head starts swaying. ‘You’re getting very sleepy,’” I taunt, and she throws her head back in laughter.
“I have the sudden urge to bounce in place.”
“Don’t let me stop you.”
She shoves my shoulders, and her fingers linger over the tattoo covering the left side of my chest. The compass takes up my entire pec and creeps to the side of my ribcage.
“When did you get it?”
She traces the “E” that sits at the top of the compass, just under my collarbone, and I lay my hand over hers. I squeeze, and she leans in, placing a kiss on the side of our hands.
“A few months after I woke the hell up and got sober. It’s a reminder.”
She nods. “East’s on top. Very fitting.”
“You have no idea. In life and in death, Easton gives me the direction I need,” I say, looking down at the ink on my chest. “Every time I step out of the shower and look in the mirror, it’s a reminder. I like to think Easton is smiling down on me, proud of what I’ve become, where I’m going in my life.”
“If he can see you, there’s no doubt in my mind he’s proud.” She hesitates, but then shakes it off and continues, “So, years, huh?”
“Years?” I ask, not sure what she’s talking about.
“You used drugs for years before getting sober?” I start to answer, but she interrupts, “I’m sorry, I just stupidly thought a letter I sent your uncle would have solved the problem—gotten you the help you needed. God, it sounds so self-centered now that I think of it. Like one simple letter could fix everything.”
She shakes her head and drops it to my chest. I remember the anger I’d felt when Uncle Jeff had confronted me with Marlo’s letter waving in his hand. I’d wanted to throttle her, had actually tried to find her to do just that. But she’d vanished into thin air, and so had my anger over the years. Her last effort to save me makes me love her even more now.
I slip my fingers into her hair and tip her head up to meet my eyes. “It did help, for a while. Not long after that, my dad and Uncle Jeff checked me into a rehab facility. But it only lasted two weeks.”
“Why?”
“I turned eighteen, and they could no longer keep me there. I signed myself out at the stroke of midnight,” I say, the stupidity of my actions washing over me like acid rain.
Marlo sighs and shrugs. “I always wonder why, ya know? Why you and not me? Why didn’t I have the need to take it any further than an occasional joint? Why was I lucky and you…”
“The best comparison I’ve heard compares us all to the Earth. The soil is different depending on where you are, and different things grow depending on the makeup. Something in my soil, or my DNA, makes drug addiction a quick trigger for me. It’s not an excuse—I wasn’t destined to be an addict, maybe just predisposed. But Easton’s death was like high-grade fertilizer to that part of my brain, and I barreled full speed ahead. I don’t know why you react to drugs differently than me, but I’m grateful you do.”
“Yeah, me, too.” She sighs and continues tracing my tattoo, watching the movement of her fingers intently. “I’m also grateful you made your way out of it. That you made your way back to me, however it happened.”
She rolls up on her toes and presses her lips to mine before turning back to the cupcakes. Italian cream cupcakes with a pecan buttercream frosting—my mouth waters just thinking about taking the first bite.
“It’s actually interesting, but you’d never guess who started the ball rolling on my sobriety,” I say with a chuckle.
“Did Jeb handcuff himself to you and swallow the key?” She turns to me and widens her eyes, both of us knowing he’s not above doing something just like that.
“Nah, it wasn’t Jeb. It was actually Remy, if you can believe it,” I say, waiting for her incredulous comment. But it doesn’t come. She stills beside me for a split second, then continues icing the cupcakes.
“Is that so?” she whispers over her shoulder.
“Yeah, crazy right? The guy who provided me with the majority of the drugs I took was the one who helped turn things around. He threw me out on my ass, told everyone he’d kick their ass if they took me in. I had nowhere to go, and not a penny to my name. Let me tell you, a couple of weeks on the streets of New Orleans, panhandling and sleeping in my own filth was more than a wake up call. I showed up on Uncle Jeffrey’s doorstep, hoping for a couple nights of sleep and maybe a few bucks from his wallet. That’s when he laid it out for me, made me realize what a fucking disgrace I was to the memory of Easton.”
She turns to me, a horrified expression painted on her pretty face, tears welling in her eyes. Her trembling fingers grip the counter.
“Yeah, Low, it got that bad,” I say, refusing to look away, but swallowing back the humiliation threatening to choke me. To see how far I’ve come, I need her to realize how far I’d fallen.
The knife in her hand clangs when it hits the counter as she rushes to me. She throws her arms around my middle and buries her head in my chest.
“But you’re better now. Everything is all right,” she whispers, shaking her head against my chest.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m all good now, and I’m gonna do everything I can to stay that way. For me, for you, and for East. Ya got me?” I brush her hair away from her face and meet her frightened eyes.
“Yeah,” she says before laying her head back on my chest. “Can we just … can we forget about the past? I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I want to leave it where it belongs—look ahead to our future.”
I smooth her hair and rock gently, trying to soothe her turbulent thoughts. I’m well aware of how unpleasant they are—I’d lived them. This is the closest I ever want Marlo to get to the ugliness of that time of my life. Leaving the past in the past seems like an excellent idea to me.
“Of course, Low,”
I say, pressing a hard kiss to her forehead.
I run my hands down her arms, lacing my fingers with hers, sinking into the wonderment of being here—holding her, kissing her. “I just want you to know—Easton’s always been my compass, but you’re my anchor.” I pull our clasped hands around my back and drop my forehead to hers. “I’m sorry I wasn’t either of those things for you back then.”
Her breath stutters and stops, and she clenches her eyes shut. “It’s over. It’s all over,” she says as she nods her head.
And I can’t shake the feeling she’s talking about more than my addiction.
I want to bring up my upcoming visit to New Orleans to see my mom, Easton’s grave, and then Remy. I almost do, but hesitate at the last minute. She’s overwhelmed right now, and mentioning it now may be more than she can process right now. Another day … soon.
Marlo
“HEY DAD.” I cradle the phone between my ear and shoulder as I gather up the lab specimens to take to the hospital. I hear Cain and Sara arguing in the common area of the clinic, so I shut the door for some privacy. All the clients had made early morning appointments, so even though I’d just shown up a couple of hours ago, I’m already done for the day.
“Is it? It can’t be? It sounds like my Low, but there’s no way—”
“Dad…” I interrupt, flinching at the irritation in his voice.
He’s got every right to be pissed. We normally touch base at least a couple of times a week. The last few weeks? Not so much.
“Because the only way my Low wouldn’t return my calls for two dang weeks is if she were kidnapped … or in jail.” He huffs into the phone, and the shrill sound tickles my ear. “Girl, I was one phone call away from calling the calvary.”
“The calvary?”
“Yep. Declan, Evelyn, and you know who else.”
“You wouldn’t.” I gasp, dropping the lab specimens on the desk and sinking onto the stool.
“Oh, wouldn’t I?
“Nana would throttle me, old man. You get me killed, and you’ll have to count on Declan to take care of you when you’re old and decrepit—I see a pee-smelling old folks’ home in your future,” I warn, with a taunting lilt in my voice.
Ever Over After (The Over Duet #2) Page 12