He moved his hands up to my jaw and kissed me, our tongues tangling, my hair falling forward. It was sex and it was pure connection, as if I understood him and he understood me.
I’d kissed guys before. Made out with them. Slept with them. I’d never felt as owned as I did with Nick Mason, like I belonged to someone. Like we mattered to each other. He’d seen me fight and he’d seen me eat and he’d seen me freak out. He’d seen me drunk and he’d seen me asleep and he’d seen my ass. He’d seen me be dirty. He’d seen me come. And still here he was, cupping my face and kissing me, devouring me while his hand moved down and his fingers slid into my slick pussy, knowing every inch of the terrain.
I moved against him and we started a slow rhythm, him finger-fucking me while I moaned into his mouth. Anyone could drive by, see us, even in the dark, but I didn’t care. He kissed down my neck, his beard scratching me and giving me beard burn, his fingers still moving in and out of me. I gripped his bare, muscled shoulders as my nipples went painfully hard beneath my bra.
It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough until he was inside me. “Please tell me you have a condom,” I said.
He laughed against my skin. It was low and sexy, that laugh, and it meant he had let everything else go, even if it was just for the moment. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” he said. He squirmed beneath me, pulling out his wallet, and the next thing I heard was the condom wrapper ripping.
I unzipped his jeans and pulled them down, along with his boxers, to free his cock. “I’ve decided I like having a slutty boyfriend,” I panted.
“You should talk, slutty girlfriend,” he said, rolling the condom on. It took a moment for me to realize that we’d just admitted to being in some kind of relationship, and then he guided his cock into me and pushed my hips down.
I moaned. “Fuck, oh fuck,” I panted, taking him all in. I was on top like this, in control. I lowered myself as far as I could go, feeling him go deeper and deeper inside me until we were notched together. Then I moved my hips in a slow circle.
“Fuck, like that,” Nick said hoarsely, moving his hands from my hips and letting me take over. He slid them up under my shirt again instead. “Ride me nice and fucking hard.”
I rocked on him, and we both groaned. He was so deep in me, making the pleasure pulse slow and hard, in my pussy and all the way inside me. I gripped his knees and he flexed his hips, moving up in rhythm with me. Slow and hard. We moved like we always did, perfectly in sync, both of us climbing to pleasure.
We were in his back seat, in public, which made it risky and dirty. Different than if we were in a bed. I used my knees to pump up and down on him and he made a different sound in his throat, moving his hand to the small of my back and splaying his fingers there. Controlling and possessive, but still letting me ride him. Which I was doing like it was the last thing I would ever do.
We hit our hard stride, chasing pleasure, unashamed, not caring about the slapping sound of our fucking, the way we were panting and saying dirty words. I just rode him as hard as I wanted, and he took it, fucking up into me and making me cry out. Sweat was starting to slicken the skin of my back under his hand, and he moved his other hand between us and rubbed his devilish, brilliant fingers over my clit just so, brushing it lightly and then more hard in an upward stroke. And I came, squeezing his hips and burying my face in his shoulder and feeling my body squeeze him over and over. And he gripped my ass and pumped up into me a few more times, hard, and I felt him come, felt every muscle of him flex against mine as his fingers dug into me.
We collapsed, me against his chest, my face still buried in his neck. I felt so good—my body on an orgasm high, my hands gripping his hot skin, his scent in my nose, his shoulder against my cheek, my cunt still pressed full of him. I was helpless against this, and I always would be. “Why is it always so good with us?” I asked against his skin.
“I don’t know,” he rasped, as I felt his chest rise and fall. “I’m losing my mind.”
So was I. But I didn’t think I minded anymore. There was no more Old Evie or New Evie, just Evie. It felt good. “What do we do now?” I asked him. Because none of this was easy.
His reply took a minute, but it was a good one. “We figure it out,” he said at last. “You want to?”
My heart squeezed silently in my chest. “Yeah,” I told him. “I do.”
TWENTY-FOUR
One month later
Nick
Where are you right now?
The text came through on my phone, and I put down the book in my hand to read it. Evie.
In reply, I pulled up the camera and took a selfie. A wide shot that didn’t just show me, but where I was: sitting on the ratty sofa in Andrew’s living room, my feet up, the usual piles of junk around me. Behind my shoulder, my brother sitting at his keyboard, working away.
I didn’t add any words to the message. I just hit send.
“Did you just take a picture of me, asshole?” Andrew said.
“Yeah,” I replied, putting the phone down. “Deal with it.”
“That’s dangerous,” Andrew said, clicking away. “I’m very fucking good-looking. It isn’t safe to have my picture out in the world. I’m like plutonium or something.”
“Evie can handle it.” I picked up my book again, but put it down when another text came in.Is that a textbook?Evie wrote.
Of course she’d zoom in on that one thing.Yes,I typed back.Studying. Test in two days.
Tell your brother he’s handsome,Evie wrote, because she knew how to butter Andrew up.