by Jo Raven
I stroke her seam with my forefinger as I torture her with my tongue, and she’s so wet my cock twitches. I find her opening and push my finger inside. Hot. Tight. Oh, fuck.
Her back arches, and she lets out a keening noise. Fucking hell, how am I supposed to not come here and now when she does that? Lifting my head, I grit my teeth and slowly pull my finger out of her. I draw it between her breasts, leaving a wet trail.
“Please,” she whispers, her eyes thin slits of gold. A shudder goes through her and she shifts restlessly. “Please, Micah.”
“Say it,” I say, my voice hoarse with need. “What do you want?”
She bites her lip, and it’s driving me crazy. I stroke her clit, pressing down, and she makes a breathless sound that goes straight to my cock and pulls my balls tight.
“Say it, Ev.” I lean over her and lick one caramel nipple. “Say it.”
“I want you.” She’s as breathless as I am.
“How?”
“Inside me.” Her voice is a sob. “Please.”
Christ. I fumble with the drawer of the bedside table and fish inside for my box of condoms. I rip the package with my teeth and pull the damn thing on, jaw clenched and counting in my head to stop myself from coming.
I’m right there, on the edge. Just the knowledge it’s Ev lying beneath me, asking me to pleasure her, is enough to make me lose control.
Glancing up, I find her eyes on me, full of desire and trust, and shit, I can’t hold back a second longer. I grab my dick and nudge against her entrance. One push and I’m inside her, and holy fuck, it’s mind-blowing. I lower myself over her and kiss her as I shove my cock deeper. She groans in my mouth, and I swallow the sound as I pull out a little and drive back inside her, my eyes all but rolling up in pleasure.
I can’t get enough of this, I realize. Of her. Can’t get enough of her. Fuck.
The realization goes through me like lightning, a flash of fear, and my heart pounds harder. But it’s not enough to make me stop or even slow down. If anything, I want her more than ever. Need her more than ever.
Shit. Fuck. Dammit. I slam into her faster and faster, drinking the mewling sounds she produces, grinding my hips against hers, needing to feel her, feel her come all around me. Feel she needs me just as much.
I break the kiss to gasp for air. “Don’t let go,” I whisper, and why the fuck am I asking her that? I don’t even know what I want to say.
But she drags her nails down my back and whispers back, “I won’t.”
Layers upon layers of meaning pile up between our words—or is it just me, thinking I read between the lines?
I slam into her harder, faster still, staring into her eyes, caught in them, our panting breaths filling the room. I love the way she moves with me, the way she trusts me to touch her, fill her, make her come, the way she says my name. Love the fact she came to look for me, that she stayed with me, that she met me move for move. I love—
Shut up, I snarl silently, and the stupid voice in my head falls silent.
I don’t love. I don’t do emotions. I know better than that.
To silence my thoughts I slam into her harder. Bending, I take one of her nipples in my mouth, licking and sucking. Her head falls back, and she presses her breast to me, but I switch to the other and bite her nipple gently. She clenches around me, hard, and my cock spasms. I lift my head and hiss, feeling the first wave of pleasure roll inside me, sharp like pain, shooting from my balls to the tip of my cock.
“Ev,” I mouth her name as all air leaves my lungs, and my hips snap, trying to bury my dick deeper inside her.
A soft cry escapes her, and she moves with me, meeting my thrusts, squeezing me in her velvet vise until the pleasure draws me under and teases my vision with black.
I come with a choked shout, calling her name, and she comes with me, holding me inside her, not letting me go. Coming with me all the way.
Damn, she’s amazing. Never felt this way before. Don’t wanna pull out. Don’t wanna disconnect from her. I was so wrong. She’s not part of the picture. She is the picture, and I...
I feel happy.
Oh, crap. Jesus, Micah. What the hell were you thinking?
Yeah, I know. I’ve got it bad for this girl. So sue me. See if I fucking care.
Chapter Eight
Evangeline
Staring into Micah’s bright blue eyes, I struggle to find my way back down to earth. What he does to me is mind-blowing, how he plays with my body and draws out sensations I never imagined, and his smile… A little crooked, wide, sexy. Beautiful. It brings all sorts of unexpected feelings to the surface. A bit of joy, a bit of fear, a bit of panic and a whole lot of desire. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone so much before. This need to touch him all over, kiss him, feel him…
Weak sunlight filters through the window, and I frown. I feel like there’s something I’m forgetting…
Crap, it’s morning. My parents and Joel must be frantic, not knowing where I was last night.
Micah mirrors my frown. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
I smile, his concern making me feel warm. “No, I’m fine. Got to text Joel, though, let him know I’m all right.”
“Who’s Joel?” The blue of Micah’s eyes darkens.
Wait. He’s jealous? I laugh and splay my hand on his muscled chest. “Wouldn’t you want to know?”
“Ev…” There’s confusion in his gaze now, the blue shot with gray. He has such expressive eyes.
“Joel is my brother.”
He searches my face, and his gaze slowly clears. His grin returns. “Really?”
“I swear.”
“On what?”
“On your mighty cock.” I clap a hand over my mouth. What’s come over me?
“Jesus, girl. You are something.” He laughs quietly, and I’ve found my new favorite sound. Deep and rumbling, it wraps around me like his warm body, pushing away my worries and fears.
I laugh, too. “Sorry.”
“What for? I think my boy never had such an honor.” He sits back, slipping out of me. I twitch at the odd sensation and watch as he pulls off the condom and ties it off. “In fact,” he says, “I think my boy here wants to thank you.”
And sure enough, he’s hardening again as I watch, and heat gathers between my legs. Okay, what’s this—am I turning in to nymphomaniac or something?
He clucks his tongue, and I raise my eyes to find him looking right at me. He knows I was looking at his cock, which is now standing semi-erect, rising against his taut stomach. He’s so handsome, strong and ripped, all lean muscle and sinew. I reach for him, and the blues in his eyes shift again—ever-changing like the sky.
“Your cell,” he says, and it takes me a moment to process his words or the fact he’s now holding my phone in his hand.
How…? Oh, right. I had the cell in the pocket of my pants. Joel is always bugging me to keep it in my purse.
Joel. Shit. I reach for the phone, and Micah tugs on it as I try to take it, his grin widening. He’s playing with me, and it makes me feel giddy and hot. Finally, he relinquishes his hold, and I check my messages.
Ten from Mom, demanding to know where I am and saying she will call the cops if I don’t answer. All from last night. One text from Joel, saying Mom is going crazy, asking if he knows where I am, and where the hell am I anyway?
I wince. What if she called the cops already? I hate this, making them worry and not having the freedom to do a crazy thing like staying over at a guy’s place without the police looking for me. I really should move out. I’m nineteen, after all.
I call Mom first, and she replies on the second ring. “Evie? Oh my God, baby, I was so concerned something happened to you!” She sounds so relieved I feel guiltier than ever.
“Didn’t you get my text about staying overnight at a friend’s?”
“And that makes it all right? You didn’t even say which friend, and I called several but nobody knew—”
“You did what?�
� Mortified, I glance at Micah, who’s half-lying in all his naked and aroused glory next to me. “Mom, I’m an adult. You have to stop doing that.”
“How can you blame me? You like wandering with filthy beggars and won’t look out for yourself! Joel says you’re still doing it. Of course I’m worried.”
This again? “Well, I’m fine. Talk to you later, Mom.”
“Evie, wait—”
I put the cell down and sigh in frustration. Quickly, I type a text to Joel, letting him know I stayed at a friend’s last night.
I know they all mean well. I’m actually quite a rational person most of the time. But it’s not as if I ran off to Vegas for a month. I even let them know I was staying out, for God’s sake.
Micah runs his hand up and down my arm. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” His touch is calming, and I close my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. “Parent stuff, you know?”
He says nothing and when I open my eyes he’s looking past me, at the far wall.
“Like, they want to know where I am every minute of the day,” I say, “and think they have a say in who I see and what I do… It’s annoying.” Micah’s face is blank, and as nervousness swamps me I start to talk faster. “Is that normal? I mean, I guess it’s different with boys. Joel is pretty much free to do as he pleases, and I know for most boys it’s like that. What about you? What about your parents?”
“What about them?” Micah mutters and leaves the bed. He stands in the middle of the room, facing away from me, his body tense, every muscle outlined in his strong back.
“Are you okay?” I hesitate, the sheet wrapped around me. “Micah?”
“Fine,” he snaps.
I gape at his back. Unexpectedly, my eyes sting. Gathering the sheet around me, I slip out of bed and pad to the door. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to pull myself together.
“Ev, wait…” Micah intercepts me before I reach the door, his hand heavy on my shoulder. He slips his arms around my waist and turns me around. “Wait.”
“What?” I mumble.
Uncertainty flickers across his face. His hands move to my hips, holding me gently but securely.
“Sorry,” he says, his chin dipping to his chest. From where I stand, I have a great view of his square jaw and high cheekbones, the sexy ruffled state of his blond hair. “Please don’t go yet.”
Standing this close to him is different from lying down on his bed. He looks huge, powerful, dwarfing me. My pulse accelerates, and yet it’s not from fear. I’m not scared he’ll hurt me in any way. The only thing I feel is need– the need to be closer, always closer to him, to burrow inside him, and it’s just crazy. I barely know him.
The thought makes me pull back, and the uncertainty flashes again over his features, like distant lightning. “Please, Ev. My parents… I just don’t remember them much.”
My mouth opens. but no words come out. I didn’t expect this. I also didn’t expect him to start talking. For me. To stop me from going.
“It’s okay,” I say quietly, reaching up to grip his biceps. “It’s none of my business. I never thought…”
“My dad left when I was very little. My mom was never home.” He gives a rueful smile and a slight, apologetic roll of his shoulders. “Then came foster care and foster families, and they were all different in how they treated me. So…”
So he has no real feel for what parents normally do.
Crap. Of course he doesn’t. Come to think of it… His smile is still in place, but it’s tight and etched with sadness. He told his tale so quickly I almost missed the fact he skimmed over lots of stuff. Important stuff. The most important: an absent father. An absent mother. Foster family after foster family. No stability. No home.
My heart aches for him. I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him, our lips brushing, and then he draws me flush against him and kisses me thoroughly, exploring my mouth with his tongue, flooding me with his dark taste, making me want him again.
His arousal presses between us, steel-hard and hot. I moan when he slides his hands behind me to cup my ass and grinds his hard-on against my belly. He walks me backward until my knees hit the bed, and we fall on it. His mouth moves over my body, scorching and urgent. I’m lost in a storm of sensation, pleasure assaulting me on every side, arousal making my center throb with painful intensity.
Then he pulls back for a moment, leaving me writhing on the mattress, and I hear the crinkle of foil as he takes out a condom and puts it on.
He leans over me again, a question in his eyes. His arms tremble and his chest heaves. His cock nudges my opening, and I can’t help a moan at the feel of it. I love how he holds back until he’s sure I want it, despite being painfully hard and barely able to stop himself.
And this barely reined-in control when it comes to being with me… I love it, too.
“Micah,” I whisper and reach down between us to touch his erection. He’s throbbing through the thin rubber, and he gasps when I guide him inside me.
Oh God, he feels amazing, stretching me, filling me. His stomach muscles contract. His hips roll, and I cry out at the waves of pleasure washing through me. I never knew I’d be so vocal in sex—never was before. His face dips down for a kiss, silencing me, and for a fleeting second, I wonder if he thinks someone will hear, if he lives alone in this apartment or not—but he grabs my hips, lifting me, entering me deeper, and all thought is erased in another riptide of unbearable pleasure that borders on pain.
Holy crap. I can’t stop myself from crying out again as my orgasm starts, rising in me like a flame, making me thrash under him and sob for breath. His mouth is on mine again, stealing the sounds, his tongue thrusting just as he snaps his hips faster.
Isn’t this a sign of addiction—wanting something—someone—more and more every time?
His cock swells bigger inside me, sending new waves of pleasure down my spine. I draw back and force my eyes to remain open, fixed on his face, to see the moment he tips over the edge.
And he does. A grimace contorts his features, and he drives deep inside me, stilling, then rolls his hips again.
“Fuck,” he whispers breathlessly, “oh shit, Ev…”
His arms give out, and he rolls next to me, panting harshly, pulling me to his chest. Cradled like that, I listen to his pounding heart, and it hits me that he always says my name when he comes.
For some reason, it makes me smile.
***
Going back to work, to normal life, feels like a slap in the face. I feel I’m still dreaming. Then again, the guy watching from across the street is back. He’s smoking and staring holes into me. Jesus.
Well, if this is Blake’s doing, posting a lookout man to watch me, he’ll be disappointed. Not doing anything of interest anyway, and hey, watching isn’t hurting anyone.
It only makes me feel like shit.
Cassie takes a look at me, and her eyes widen. “Oh. My. God.” She squeals, grabs my hand and drags me to the changing rooms and closes the door. “Who is it?”
“Whoa.” I take a step back, torn between giggling and having a mini breakdown. “Who is what?”
“You got some.” She plants her hands on her hips and tilts her head to the side. “So who is it?”
The breakdown threatens again. Oh God, do I have a hickey? I lift my hand to my neck, hoping to hide any evidence of what happened last night. And this morning. Twice.
Crap. My face heats. “How do you know I got some? Is it written on my face? Am I walking funny? What?”
“That.” She points a finger at me. “That flush, and that self-satisfied smile. I can read you, girl.”
I bite my lip and can’t help but grin when I think of Micah. “That obvious, huh?”
“Yep. So who’s the lucky guy?”
I shake my head and try to side-step her to escape the interrogation. I am a bit torn. I do want to share my big news with Cassie, but on the other hand it’s all so new, so shiny that I want it to myself for a while
longer.
“Do I know him?” She taps a finger on her lips. “Have I seen him with you before? Wait.” She’s watching my face like a hawk. How can she read me so well? “Is it that blond guy who was staring at you from across the street at the donut shop?”
My face is now burning. I guess the clues she needs are not so subtle. “Yeah. Micah.”
“Micah.” She winks. “Stayed over at his place?”
“Okay, how do you know that?”
“Same clothes you wore yesterday.”
Crap. I stayed at Micah’s, and we had sex, and he held me and told me things about himself I don’t think he often talks about and… What does it all mean? Will he want to see me again? Am I special to him, or does he often take girls home?
I even forgot to take my walking stick when I left his apartment—my excuse for going over to see him. I am transparent in my actions, an open book, and he’s like an encrypted message. He may have told me a few things about his past, but he remains a mystery. Apart from telling me he basically grew up in foster care, I still know nothing much about him.
Cassie clears her throat, then opens her mouth and closes it. Her brows shoot up. I have no clue what she sees on my face, but she opens her arms and pulls me in for a hug. Stunned, I let her.
“You really like him, don’t you?” she whispers against my shoulder, and I stiffen a little, because damn, I’d like to keep a few of my thoughts private, thank you very much. “I think he really likes you, too. I saw the way he was looking at you.”
“You should warn people you’re a mind-reader, you know,” I mutter.
“Where’s the fun in that?” She pulls back and smiles. “I know everything you like and hate.”
“Do you, now?”
She nods as if accepting the challenge. “You hate this job. You don’t care for sports, or selling things. You love your family, but they are too controlling and often negligent. You want to work with the homeless and those in need.”
“Hey, wait a minute.” Shock steals my breath. “How the heck do you know all this? I never told you about—”