Evolve Series Box Set

by S. E. Hall

  “W-with Laney. Spa day,” I pant, pushing myself against the teasing digit. “Hurt like hell. You like it?”

  “Oh, I like it. I like it very much.”

  Before I have time to say thank you, his tongue is there, flattened against me, covering me with almost evil, languid licks. That wicked tongue ring tickles splendidly right, doing mind-numbing things when he scrapes it along, then flicks it on my clit. When he kisses my mouth, my body, my breasts with that ring in his tongue—God, I love it—but this, this is new and indescribable.

  “Sawyer,” I beg shamelessly, breathlessly, “don’t tease me.”

  “Only a tease if I don’t plan to deliver,” he chuckles, hot breath on my wet flesh chilling me, “which I personally guarantee, on time.” His whole face dives in now, mouth open and sucking, stiff tongue darting in and out of my slick center while both hands grip my hips in place. Coming up for air, lips and chin coated with me, he gives me a crazed smile. “You are fucking delicious, babe, but I gotta get inside you soon. So let’s,” the index finger of his right hand glides down from my hip, “see if my girl likes this.” He spears that finger inside me, swirling it in circles then hooking it against my top wall, motioning “come here” repeatedly. His mouth joins the dance, descending to suck my little button until it’s pointed out and stiff, his tongue flicking it zealously. Hook, swirl, flick, suck—I lose track, closing my eyes and tensing up rigidly, trying to relax as the orgasm rolls through my body, up from my toes to the ends of my hair.

  Long after I’m done, eyes still closed, erratic breathing back in seemingly normal range, he continues to orally fixate, lapping up all of me. “Who always hits your sweet spots?” he asks deeply, crawling up my body. “Hmm?” He bites each nipple, placing kisses along my chest, then heads for my mouth…before swerving at the last second with a chuckle. “Don’t move.”

  He carefully climbs off me, then the bed, and dashes for the bathroom. I lie in bed and giggle happily when I hear him brush his teeth furiously then gargle with mouthwash—he remembered! I want to burst into tears. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

  He comes back in the room sporting a proud smirk. “Ah, kiss me breath once again.”

  I hold out my arms for him to join me, but he pulls on my hand instead, so I sit up.

  “Overdressed here, babe. Wanna help me?”

  That’s right. Dazed and sated, I’d completely forgotten he was still fully clothed. Using his hand and hip for leverage, I stand, my hands gliding up his chest, unbuttoning on the down slide. One by one, I free the buttons, spreading out the sides of his shirt. I’m not sure you can say you’ve seen a chest until you’ve seen Sawyer’s, a lean bulk of defined, cut muscles, golden skin, and pierced nipples. It never gets old, sending my butterflies stirring with every glimpse. I love his tattoos, lining his arms and ribs, but I adore his chest, a large piece of untouched art. He helps with the cuffs, dropping his arms to his sides so I can push the shirt down and off, kicking it aside with my foot. I lavish the beautiful plane with adoration, only lifting my mouth from it to tug on his nipple rings, his head falling back on a groan. Virtually hairless, his dark happy trail might as well be a flashing arrow leading me right where I need to go. Making quick, jerky-handed work of his belt and fly, I strip him down as he toes off his socks, and soon I have a gloriously naked Sawyer Beckett in front of me. We stand so close my nipples brush against his chest, his long, thick erection poking the top of my stomach.

  Unmoving but our hands, we do a dance of exploration, reconnecting together; it’s been so long, we both study and worship like it’s our first time. Fingertips and palms relearn every curve of the other, kisses and moans breaking the reverent silence when certain places are touched. I back up until I feel the bed against my legs and with one hand, bring him down with me.

  “Emmy, babe,” he croons in my ear, sucking under it, “we may have to do this a little different.”

  “Do whatever you want,” I murmur, relishing in having him so close, my hands gripping his rock hard ass to pull him closer.

  “Roll over, babe, nice and easy,” his voice soothes as he helps manipulate me. “Ah Emmy,” he gropes, “dat ass, Shorty, I love it.” He bites first one cheek then the other and his hands slide to my hips, pulling them up and back, forcing me onto my hands. “Want you like this, Emmy girl,” he traces the seam, “ass up, bouncing for me. You want it from behind, baby?”

  I crave his dirty mouth, missed it, really. Anyone ever offers him a stick of Orbit, I’ll bitchslap it out of their hand. “However you wanna give it to me, babe. As long as it’s now.”

  “That’s my girl,” he drawls, low and sexy, as he works his crown inside of me. “Damn Em, you gotta relax for me. Don’t tense up, babe, you’re tight enough already.” He fondles my ass cheeks, moving them up, around, out, as he gradually pulls back a bit then forward again as much, building up my natural lubrication and easing his entrance. “Mhm yeah,” a bass rumbles from his chest, “there we go. Goddamn, you feel good, unfucking real.” Patiently, he gives it to me nice and slow, applying a light pressure on my back, popping my ass up higher for his taking. I’m halfway to another orgasm by the time his groin is flush against my ass, fully inside me, and he must notice. “Not ready, Em, stay with me baby. Lemme feel for a while.”

  The hair on his legs tickles the back of my thighs, his breath whispering over my spine. Long, gradual drags in and out, his growl with each, turn my insides to lifeless mush as he basks in me, us. I hold off the best I can, and then, he shocks me. I hear the slurp and pop, wondering what the heck, when a wet fingertip starts to tease around my, uh, my ass…hole.

  Definite new territory.

  He feels me stiffen and lays lightly on my back now, whispering hotly in my ear. “You don’t like it, say stop and I will. But I think you’re really gonna like it.”

  I drop my head ‘til my forehead meets the mattress, pushing my ass back against his finger. He circles it several times, increasing his thrusts inside me, until he knows I’m once again fixated on the power of his surges into me and not the oncoming experiment. My legs tremble under me as the tip of his finger breaches me there, a sting drawing a hiss from between my teeth. “Relax,” pump, “push back into it, baby, trust me to take you there.”

  As I do as he’s said, I can feel his finger go deeper, and it goes from slightly uncomfortable to euphoric in a flash. “Ahhhhhh,” I wail, pushing back harder, faster, his hips adjusting seamlessly to my set rhythm.

  He takes me hard now, punishing cock in my pussy, long, seeking finger in my ass, and I peel the paint off the walls as I banshee scream through the most powerful orgasm any woman has ever had. Hope he didn’t want me to wait for him, ‘cause a cement wall guarded by starving pit bulls couldn’t have stopped that explosion.

  There’s still splotches of color bursting behind my eyes when I hear his pants increase, his balls slapping against me angrily. Somewhere in there he slipped his finger out of me and wrapped that hand, along with the other, on my hips, holding me steady to meet the force of his cock slamming into me.

  “Fuckkkkk, Emmett!” he roars, giving a few jerky, final thrusts before he stills, twitching and emptying himself inside me. Kissing up my sweaty back, he bites down on my shoulder. “I love you, Shorty. So damn much.”

  “Me too, babe. Now help me up, I have a freakin’ Charlie horse in my calf.”

  He laughs loudly, body shaking with it as he slides from me and jumps up to stand by the bed. “Let me massage it out. Which leg?”

  I roll onto my back, whimpering with the cramp but laughing too, and point to my left leg.

  He lifts it, working magic on the tensed muscle. “You need more potassium, babe. Want a banana shake?”

  “With strawberries?” I make puppy dog eyes and poke out my bottom lip.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” He winks, setting my leg back down. “Can you walk to a warm bath? I’ll bring it to ya.”

  And now I know why women go through
what I hear is excruciating, unforgettable pain, and yet, still get pregnant again. I mean, besides the whole loving children, miracle of birth thing.

  You get to be the baby when you’re having a baby.

  DUDE, WHERE’S MY DIGNITY?

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  “CAN I HELP YOU?”

  On edge, I startle and turn, sending up a silent prayer that help is, in fact, on its way. Uh huh, I see what you’re doing here…can’t get the men to just walk in a bookstore, so you make sure the girl who helps you is even hotter than the girl who greeted you at the door. Brilliant marketing—make it an eye candy ‘no, sir, you’re not really in a’ bookstore ploy.

  “Fuck, I hope so.”

  I must scare the salesgirl, because she backs way up, eyes flying wide open.

  “So I read the book about what to expect for the pregnant woman. Can you show me the book about what the hell the guy’s supposed to do to cope?”

  “Oh, whoa.” She reaches out and grabs the bookcase as it teeters from both my hands being braced on it, about to fall. “Let’s see what we have. Follow me.”

  Lady, I will follow you down the stairs to hell if you find me the “Demons Have Taken Over My Sweet Woman” instruction manual.

  Literally, almost overnight, she snapped, and now everything I do is wrong. Even Dr. Greer, who thinks I’m insane and usually plasters herself against the farthest wall from me, patted my shoulder with a pitying frown at the last visit.

  We search the bookshelves together, her reading titles with her head tilted, me looking at the little pictures on the spine for one of a fire-breathing dragon lady, when an idea hits me. I should write a book. I’ll call it “Your Woman’s Pregnant, Get Ready. Real Talk” by Sawyer “If This Book’s Out Then I Survived” Beckett.

  Chapter One: Sleep. If she finally gets comfortable in bed, don’t fucking move a muscle. Don’t even breathe, ‘cause if you disrupt her, all hell’s about to break loose and you will be adjusting, rearranging, and searching out every pillow in the house. (This was my night as of last, from approximately 10-11:15.)

  Chapter Two: Showers. You’re a fucking idiot for even suggesting men don’t have to go to baby showers. Of course your ass has to be there…unless of course your ass doesn’t have to be there, because it’s “her” thing, for the mother who “actually has to go through the hard part!”

  Chapter Two point Five: Addendum. Chapter Two could go either way, and is clearly subject to change on a daily basis, so do not speak of it. Let her tell you what you are and are not attending.

  Shit! Baby shower!

  “I gotta go, never mind, thank you!” I yell at the salesgirl, hauling my ass outta there full speed. I knew there was something I had to do today. I’m dialing while I start the truck, downright fear enveloping me.

  “Hello?” Oh thank God, a sweet voice. “Hey, Baby Mama. Whatcha doing?”

  “On my way to the shower with Laney. You on your way?”

  “Yep, headed there now. Just making sure we weren’t riding together.” My tongue forks as I speak. I thought for sure I was late to pick her up.

  “Nope, Laney’s got me. I’ll see you there.”

  “K, babe. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Sawyer.”

  Well holy shit, score for the men’s team! I roll my neck and relax a bit, cranking up some tunes and heading to Dane’s. Who needs a book—I got this!

  I IN NO WAY, shape, or form got this. Mayfuckingday!

  Currently, I am being wrapped in toilet paper, the model for the build a diaper contest. I am the only person with a dick here, and it’s shriveled up and gone into hiding. “You bout done?” I grumble.

  “Hush!” Laney slaps my arm while Bennett walks around me in circles, wrapping Charmin over, around and through my junk drawer. Much more of that and she’s gonna expect me to buy her dinner.

  I look over to Jessica, the model for the other team and the only invitee besides the Crew girls. I’m happy to see that she’s also being tortured. I’ll have to give her a raise. Oh, but look at Emmett, smiling, laughing, and having a blast.

  All right, I get it.

  “Ya’ll hurry up, we gotta win this! Bennett, take some of those thingies out of your hair and use ‘em as pins!”

  “We know what we’re doing,” Laney barks, “just hold still!”

  “You have no idea what you’re doing, woman! You’re barely a girl!”

  Ouch! I don’t think a ball punch was necessary.

  “Oh. Dear. God.” And it just keeps getting better…Dane walks in and catches me in all my pampered glory. Wait, why is he holding up his phone?

  “What are you doing with that phone, fucker?”

  He waves his free hand at me absently. “Not filming this, don’t worry.”

  “Time!” Laney belts out, stepping back to admire their work. “Oh yeah, we are so gonna win. Dane, baby,” she turns to him, “will you be the judge?”

  Emmett drops back on the couch with a huff, exhausted, but levels a stare at Dane. “You’re gonna want to pick mine,” she warns.

  He smirks at her then gives Laney an apologetic wink. “Emmett wins.”

  “Yay!” Whitley squeals, hugging the mummified Jessica. “We won!”

  “Let’s eat,” Emmett suggests, so I rapidly rip off my TP and rush to help her up.

  She thinks she’s huge, I know this because she mentions it at least twice a day, every day, but I think she’s adorable, not a third of the size I’ve seen some women get. But I learned quickly—don’t argue, say nothing, and nod empathically.

  “So, I hear you got kicked out of Lamaze?” Dane laughs and I cut a look to Emmett—I can’t believe she ratted me out.

  “I wasn’t kicked out. I was asked not to come back. There’s a big difference,” I grumble, helping my woman up on the stool at the bar. “What’d you tell them?” I ask her. “The truth,” she simpers, covering her mouth quickly to hide it.

  “Why don’t you set me straight with the real story?” Dane quirks that fucking brow of his, challenging me as he takes a bite of a stork-shaped cookie.

  Total setup—all six pairs of eyes dart to me, the girls leaning in closer to soak up my every word. “Clear cut case of Hag Rag was all it was.” I shrug. “The teacher wanted me, got mad she couldn’t have me, starting pickin’ on me.”

  “Uh huh.” Dane nods, motioning with his hand for me to continue.

  “It’s a class about your baby coming out, right? Why wouldn’t I need to be down between Emmett’s legs?”

  Whitley sprays me with her mouthful of punch, choking and sputtering. Bennett slaps her on the back, but shushes her, not wanting the story interrupted, I guess.

  “Ain’t shit gonna be happening up by her head. I went where I was needed.”

  “And?” Emmett coughs.

  “And what? Babe, she obviously didn’t know what she was doing. I wasn’t ‘staging a coup’ as she so dramatically accused. I was simply getting the other dads in gear.”

  Everyone’s laughing, but Whitley raises her hand amongst the noise. “Yes, Whitley?”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t plan to actually deliver the baby, do you?” She grasps her chest, voice trembling with the last couple words.

  “No.”

  “Then why do you need to be down there? That’s where the doctor goes.”

  Here we go again. I shake my head. Does nobody have an original argument?

  Emmett grabs Laney’s arm, slinging her thumb my way. “This, you gotta hear.”

  “There’s gonna be a lot happening in one central location—fluids gushing and flying out. I’ve read a lot about this, you know. I want to make sure my child doesn’t slip through her hands like a greased pig and wind up on the floor. I’m the pinch catcher, just in case. I know these babies never miss,” I give ‘em all my snazzy fingers, “not to mention,” I shush their gasps and giggles, “women screaming, mass chaos—I need
to make sure nobody gets scissor happy and snips the wrong thing.”

  Dane’s face is classic—stone-shocked silence...he’s just mad I think of everything first, ‘cause you know his ass is taking notes. “If I could just figure out how to harness and bottle all that into something useful,” he swipes his hands crazily in my general area, “we’d all own private islands.”

  I WAS EXPRESSLY FORBIDDEN to buy any food, chocolate or otherwise, as well as any “I won’t be this size forever” articles of clothing and/or flowers, which all of a sudden give her a headache, for Valentine’s Day.

  Exactly what the fuck does that leave?

  No puppy, to hell with that, we’ve got a peeing, pooping machine on the way. Jewelry? Too cliché. Definitely not baby stuff—between Christmas and the shower, we’re all set for like, ten babies. New journal? Not enough.

  I’m screwed. Time to call in reinforcements.

  “She’s busy,” Dane answers Laney’s phone with a chuckle, but I can hear her grappling with him in the background.

  “Hand her the phone, it’s important.”

  “You okay?” His tone goes deadly serious.

  “No! What the hell do I get Emmett for Valentine’s Day? And before you start naming basic bullshit, let me tell you the forbidden list she gave me.”

  “Give me the phone,” Laney bosses. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Gidge, so I—”

  “I heard you,” she cuts me off. “She wants one of those Kindle reader things, with a light.”

  She does love to read. Me thinks Gidge may be onto something. “Where do I get one of those?”

  “Any electronics place, Best Buy, wherever. Oh, and have them load it up with credit or whatever they do so she can buy books!”

  “Ah, Gidge, you know how much I love you, right?”

  “Yes, she knows!” Dane yells.

  “Bye,” I chuckle, tempted to jack with him and keep talking to her. “Thank you.”

  I handed her the gift at approximately six pm. That’s the last time I saw her. The time is now nearing 10:30 pm.