TWENTY-NINE
The struggle to keep my interactions with Evan to a PG level is real. Briar eyes us both as we sit at my round table to have our dinner: takeaway Chinese. Neither of us have mentioned or even hinted at the fact Evan plans on staying the night, but Briar’s not stupid—he can sense something’s up, something’s different.
“So,” Evan says to Briar, breaking the ice. “Amelia tells me you’re going to start playing cricket soon.”
He nods, pointing to the calendar pinned next to the fridge that has the days marked off. “We’re counting.”
“Exciting.” His foot nudges mine under the table. “Guess we better teach you how to drive so you can get to games on time, huh.”
Briar breaks into peals of laughter, hoisin sauce dribbling down his chin.
These are the moments I cherish, the interactions I’ve missed. As much as I love hanging out with Briar and keeping him all to myself, seeing the way these two effortlessly get along has my heart swelling a little more every time.
Dinner is demolished in no time at all, thanks to both the men—big and little—being huge fans of stir-fry. Evan collects the empty containers, clearing the table as I usher Briar off for a shower before bed.
By the time I have Briar cleaned, brushed, read to, and tucked in, the kitchen is spotless, and Evan is reclined lengthways on the sofa with his head propped on one arm, his feet on the other.
I round the sofa to find him with my latest music purchase in his hands. He flips the cover for the Radiohead album over, reading the playlist.
“You like?” I ask.
He smirks, leaning off the sofa a little to set it down on the coffee table. “What made you buy that classic?”
I take a seat on the edge of the low table, smiling. “Something about a memory that involved a certain song and a shy, cute guy from my school.”
He grins, knowing exactly what I’m referring to. “You remember that, huh?”
“How could I forget?”
In my first year, the school decided to jump on the television trend of star-search shows and put on a district talent contest. Our whole school piled into the hall for our regular Wednesday assembly, only that particular week it was an hour of singing, comedy skits, and skill displays.
But only one of the slots stole my attention. I literally held my breath the entire time.
“You sang ‘Fake Plastic Trees,’ playing the guitar yourself too.”
His smile grows, and he rolls his head away to hide it. “Yeah. Thought it might help me get over my fear of performing in front of people.”
“Did it?”
Evan’s eyes find mine. “Not really.” He chuckles. “Was a bit of a fail, really.”
“You did a great job. I loved it.”
“Truth?”
I nod. “So….”
He pats his chest, indicating I should climb on.
Right.
“Come on,” he murmurs. “Don’t you get shy on me now.”
“I’m not. I just….”
He stretches out his arm, offering me his hand.
I take it, relishing the gentle way he coaxes me forward, and the slow climb his hand then makes up the back of my leg to urge me onto him.
One very awkward minute later, and two giggling fits, I manage to contort myself onto his tall frame, avoiding the possibility of falling off should I move.
“Comfy?” He smiles, one arm under his head so he can see me better.
“No.” I laugh, wriggling a little until I’m rolled against the back of the sofa, wedged into his side.
He leans forward, his abs tightening under my hand as he crunches to place a kiss on my temple. “Still, it’s nice, isn’t it?”
I nod. “I honestly thought you were done with me, that all that stuff disgusted you.”
His chest heaves with a sigh and he wraps his arm around my shoulders, resting his hand on my upper arm. “Not at all. I just…. Every time I looked at you I felt like I was that guilty fucking kid all over again.” He shrugs, making me shift in the process. “I needed some space to work that through in my head.”
“You could have told me that.”
“I know. I didn’t know what to say though, not until I’d untangled it all for myself.”
I tilt my head, looking up at his strong profile. “How do you feel now?”
I’m met with piercing baby blues. “Like I’m ready to do whatever it takes to keep you safe now, hoping that it’ll at least be enough to make up for the past.”
“I don’t want a pity party, Evan.”
“And I don’t want to give you one. I don’t pity you, babe. I just wanted to be sure that I wouldn’t falter again when it came to the crunch. If I’m going to have this special spot in your life, I want to be sure I’m worthy of it.”
“You are.”
He frowns. “Maybe.”
I reach out, placing my palm on his collarbone as I shift myself so I can see his face better. “You are,” I repeat with more conviction in my words. “And you know why?”
He shrugs.
“Because you see me for me. I’m not a rumour, a news story, or a broken toy. I’m me, and that’s all I could ever ask for.”
A beat passes where we stare at one another in silence. An understanding forms, a mutual respect of the paths we’ve both taken to get where we are. Nobody’s perfect, and to expect otherwise is nothing but shallow and selfish.
I roll myself on top of him, holding his gaze as his breaths deepen. He skims his hands to my hips, and then my arse, holding me against him.
“No more secrets, okay?” I lean down and place a chaste kiss to his lips. “If you get tangled up in your head like that again, talk to me about it.”
“Okay.” He tilts his head, leaning up to kiss my neck. “I’ll try.”
My eyes drift closed, and I lean to the side a little to give him better access as he nips and sucks gently on the dip between my neck and shoulder. He moves suddenly, startling me as he wriggles us both along the cushions so he’s sitting up a little more, me straddling his lap. He has a better range of movement this way, and I’m sure as hell not complaining.
“We should take this somewhere else,” I whisper.
“What are you trying to say?” he teases, hands wandering around my sides until he places his right over my breast and gently squeezes.
I groan, low in the back of my throat, and roll my eyes back. “I’m saying”—you sexy damn arsehole—“that if we’re going to keep on with this we should go somewhere more private, like my bedroom.”
“You’re promising some pretty serious things, there,” he says with a smirk, splaying both palms flat on my ribs so that he effectively boosts my tits.
“I’m a serious kind of girl.”
His thumb brushes one of my nipples through the fabric of my shirt. “I see that.”
Any further argument vanishes as he leans in and gently takes the raised bud between his teeth, tugging. My hands knit in his hair, my fingers channelling through the soft length, massaging his scalp as I’m rewarded with the same attention on my other side.
“Come on, Evan.”
“Aww,” he playfully whines, releasing me from his clutches.
I climb off with a smile and have turned for my room when a sharp crack rings out across the living area, my arse stinging in its wake.
“Hey!”
“It was just … there.” He holds his hand out, as though sizing up my butt for a grope.
God, I love him. He always knows how to have me laughing, even when it seems like the most inappropriate time. The reason for him to be here hasn’t crossed my mind since before dinner. Threat from Tristan or not, I’m just glad for the company.
Nobody compares.
Holding my hand out toward him, I wiggle my fingers, doing my best to look sultry and seductive as I peek out from under my lashes.
It works. His lips curl up on one side, those intense eyes darkening as he pushes himself off the sofa and takes my hand, yanking me into his front.
“You ready for this?”
“Do I look hesitant?”
He smiles. Didn’t think so.
I close my eyes, humming as he runs his nose up the side of my neck, finishing with my earlobe pinched between his lips. “Before we start….”
I groan, opening my eyes to find him watching me with thinly veiled amusement. “What?”
“Can I ask you something I’ve been dying to know since I made that bullshit excuse to come over and see you with Kath’s things?”
Why is he stalling? “Sure.”
His eyes wrinkle at the sides, his smile wide as he hesitates before saying, “Amelia Harris.”
“Yes, Evan North?”
“Will you be my girlfriend … again?”
I can’t help it, I laugh. And then I cry. Happy tears. Such happy tears. “Of course.”
He steals my next breath, fusing his mouth to mine as he shows me with not only his lips, but his hands, his hips, and his pounding heart what my answer means to him.
I don’t remember the walk to the bedroom, only the way he picks me up effortlessly; the way my legs fit so snugly around his waist, as though the dip was made just for me; the way my heartbeat thunders in my ears as I stare into his eyes; the way the shadows highlight his smile as we cross into the darkened room; the click of the door; and the way he makes me forget about everything past and future as I’m wrapped up in the present with him, ready for wherever this journey takes us next.
“My girl,” he whispers as he lays me down on the bed, still with my legs wrapped around his middle. “I missed the sound of that.”
“So did I.”
He holds himself braced over me, strong arms framing me in the moment. Every hair on my body is electrified, every nerve alive as I reach between us and tease the hem of his T-shirt up. He breaks from my hold, standing tall over me and pulling the shirt over his head in that way that only men can make look utterly and devastatingly sexy.
My breath hitches in my throat when—instead of returning to me like I assumed he would—he takes another step back and flicks the buckle of his belt open, unzipping his jeans, and then ditching the whole lot in one fell swoop.
Those thighs, that six-pack, his chest, and my favourite of all, his strong shoulders.
Heaven help me. I don’t compare to this. He’s perfect. Too perfect.
“What’s on your mind?” Evan drops his body back over mine, propping himself up on one elbow while he gently strokes my hair away from my face with his free hand.
“You know how hot you are, right?”
“I get the gist, yeah.” He chuckles, low and throaty.
My legs turn to jelly. Thank fuck I’m already lying down.
“Do you, though?” he asks, with nothing but intense interest. “Know how hot you are?”
I snort, turning my face away. “Average at best.”
My face is forced back to his. “Above average. Top of the range, actually.”
I narrow my gaze on him, silently warning him not to fuck with me. Next thing I know there’s a thick thigh between my legs, and I’m not so gently being shunted up the bed so that he has enough room to kneel before me. Okay, then.
“This”—he strokes my cheek, running a gentle thumb around the swell of my bottom lip—“is not average.”
I shudder as his hands move lower, my body alive and firing off shots of pleasure at will.
“These.” He cups my breasts in his palms, pushing them up and together with a satisfied grumble. “Nope. Not average at all.”
Rough fingertips skim my belly as he slides my shirt higher, and then dips his thumbs into the waist of my jeans.
“This.” He strokes the curve of my waist, massaging the section directly above my pelvic bone. “Certainly not average.” He jerks his hands away, dropping over me with such speed I press back into the mattress to avoid a collision. “And this?” His hands thread through my hair, massaging my scalp. “Exceptional.”
I swallow hard, unsure what to say.
“You’ve always been beautiful, Amelia. But what makes you so fucking hot is who you are, not what you are.”
He’s nailed it, the reason I’ve always felt such a strong pull toward him. “Ditto,” I whisper, tracing my palm down his side. “As much as I love how you’ve developed,” I explain with a touch of humour in my voice, “You’ve always been enough for me just as you are.”
“I wish I hadn’t wasted the past nine years, Mimi.”
“Same.”
Yet still, I know this couldn’t have happened any other way. We needed this time to find who we were, to develop as ourselves before we committed our lives to one another. He needed to gain the confidence he so obviously lacked back then, and I needed to learn that even if I wasn’t enough for one man to respect, that doesn’t mean they’re all going to treat me the same.
We needed to mature before this had a chance at being what it is.
His touch snaps me from my thoughts as he slips his fingers inside the waistband of my jeans and undoes the snap. I shimmy my hips higher to allow him to pull the fabric from my body, the tight cut giving him resistance the closer he gets to my ankles.
He smiles, his shoulders dropping, and then yanks them hard, tearing the denim over my feet. I chuckle at his playfulness, reaching for him to coax him back into my arms.
He climbs over the mattress, holding halfway so his head is directly over there.
Oh, wow.
“Told you I couldn’t wait,” he murmurs, lowering himself ever so slowly until his mouth gusts hot air over my folds.
I let my eyes slide closed, my hands fisting in the bedding as he nips gently at the sensitive flesh through the thin fabric of my panties. Heat envelops the area, and I shoot my eyes open again to take in the phenomenal sight of Evan with his head buried between my legs, his mouth open and covering my sex.
If this is how good he can make it clothed, then God help me when he takes those damn things off.
I don’t have long to prepare.
He pulls back long enough to tug my panties down my legs, rearing back so I can pull my knees up and assist. Yet it’s not the way he so deftly flicks the discarded cotton across the room, rather it’s the clear evidence of how ready and waiting he is, twitching between his legs.
He stills, following my locked gaze down to his cock. “Yeah?”
“It’s just … there.” I mirror his previous actions, reaching out as though to fondle him.
He chuckles and leans forward so that the wet head touches my palm before I can pull my hand away. “Now you have to finish what you started.”
I laugh.
He doesn’t.
Damn.
Shuffling up the bed, I reposition myself so I’m seated before him, and take his thick length in my hand. He groans as I give a slow, firm pump, all the while shuffling my legs around so I end up kneeling with my arse in the air as I contemplate just how much of him is going to fit in my mouth. Seems he grew … everywhere.
I haven’t done this for years. What if I’ve lost the knack? Can you lose the knack?
“It won’t bite.”
“You sure?”
My muscles clench at the sight of his fist wrapping around the straining flesh. He pumps his cock, using his free hand to stroke beneath my jaw, coaxing me to taste him.
I lean down and lick the glistening tip, immediately losing myself to the moment, any previous fears about inadequacies forgotten. His hand moves back and forth, matching the pace I set with my mouth, working further down him on every stroke until eventually I bottom out, the head of his cock tickling the back of my throat.
I gag, my throat closing around him, and he groans, holding my mouth in place with his hand against the back of my head. It’s forceful, yet there’s something about the way he does it that I know if I pushed back, he’d relent.
So I take him deeper. How else do I show that I trust him without actually stopping to say it?
My eyes water, my throat feels raw, but fuck it all if the sounds he produces don’t make up for it twice over.
“Scoot to the edge of the bed, babe.” He withdraws, leaving me licking my lips as he steps back.
I do as I’m told, flipping onto my back when he circles his finger in the air. Cool air hits my wet folds, and I shiver at the strange way it leaves me wanting.
“Tell me you’re clean and on protection,” he damn near begs.
“Of course.”
“Good.” His cock nudges my entrance. “Because right now, all I can think about is sinking into you bare.”
I tip my hips up in response. He growls—literally growls, and all I can think is how I want to hear that lust-fuelled sound again.
My hips tip back, my ankles captured in Evan’s hold as he pushes my legs toward my head. I bend my knees, well aware my hamstrings aren’t cut out for this kind of flexibility, and he adjusts his hold to press my knees beside my shoulders.
In this position, all I can see is his face and shoulders, and it irritates the hell out of me that I miss out on the show the rest of his muscular physique is no doubt giving as he leans his legs into the side of the mattress and sinks home.
I forget what the hell I was mad about.
Holy shit. His cock nudges me right on the sweet spot and I see goddamn fireworks. The only sound I can emit to let him know how fucking amazing that feels is some incoherent, garbled groan.
He rumbles an amused sound, and then pulls back to push home again, slow and measured.
“You can’t torture me like that,” I moan, pressing my head back into the bed.
“Why not?” He slides out again, just as slow.
I’ve never wanted a man to rut me like an angry lion in the Serengeti as badly as I do now.
“No more, please.” I rock my hips up, seeking more, but the hold he has my legs in inhibits my movement.
“I promise it’ll be worth it,” he whispers as he slides in again, this time adding a firm thumb to my clit.
I’d give up everything I own in this moment just to get him to fuck me harder.
The torture continues for what feels like forever, although I know it can’t be that long considering I count each stroke, hoping for a pattern so I can predict the hard thrust and push back for added depth.
Nope. No pattern. He continues the slow, leisurely assault until I’m certain I’ll commit murder if he doesn’t give me release, and then stalls.
“What the hell?” I whine, pushing up awkwardly onto my elbows so my head is between my legs.
He sets his lips in a firm line and shakes his head. “So impatient.”
My pussy clenches in response. “So strung out, more—”
I don’t get to finish my complaint before he slams into me hard, knocking the very thought from my head. Oh, my God.
“Again,” I groan.
He doesn’t disappoint. He fucks me hard, his hips bruising, grunts leaving his lips as my bed rocks from the force. And every damn strike hits the money shot. Don’t stop….
I try to hold on, to prolong the feeling, but it’s no use. My cry threatens to break free, and I barely manage to reach out and snag a pillow to stifle my moan as the orgasm rips through me, spiralling out from my centre. He wrenches the pillow away as my cries fade, releasing my legs and reaching for my face. His hand spans my throat, his thumb curling into my mouth. I suck on it, swirling my tongue around the tip as he groans and lets go, jerking his hips into me as his climax takes hold.
Evan collapses over me, his weight making drawing my next breath difficult, but I love it. I wouldn’t have him any other way. My fingers trace patterns through his hair as he hums into my ear, satisfied and content.
“Give me a minute and we’ll do that again, yeah?” he mumbles.
“As though I’d say no.”
My arm is numb, pins and needles spiking when I try to pull it free of Evan’s slumbering form. We must have fallen asleep before either of us could be bothered to move. His breaths are deep and slow, his body a dead weight on my left side.
I shuffle a little to wriggle out from underneath him, cringing when I notice how sticky my inner thighs are. Damn it. I manage to free myself from him without waking the beast, and shuffle to the bathroom, my knees locked together.
I don’t even know what woke me up. Just that it pulled me from my sleep with a start.
Cleaned up and dry, I tiptoe back through to the bedroom and quietly slip out a sleep set from my bedside drawer. Evan doesn’t stir, splayed out over my bed in all his naked glory. I really am one lucky bitch.
Just to be on the safe side, I decide to head through to Briar’s room and check on him before I settle back in for the rest of the night. A thin strip of moonlight casts a line across the living room, the blue light from the modem enough for me to see where I’m going.
Briar’s diagonal in his bed, one arm thrown up over his head, and his legs tangled in the sheet. I pull his blanket a little higher, and have turned to head back to my room when a metallic ting sets my senses on fire.
My ears strain, my body frozen as I wait on another sound. Sure enough, the hollow knock of something hard on metal draws me to the window that faces out to the driveway side of the house. I press my nose against the glass, looking down at the visible half of Evan’s Jeep, where he parked it across the back of my car. A shadow drifts along the concrete, another ping echoing up to where I stand frozen, my heart beating painfully fast.
“Amelia.”
I spin and find Evan standing behind me, his boxers now on.
“Go wait in Briar’s room,” he whispers.
“What are you going to do?”
He rolls his eyes. “Dance a jig. What do you think? I’m going to take a look.”
I smack him on the arm as I pass by, heading for Briar’s doorway. Evan disappears back into my room, returning a short time later with his jeans on, still shirtless, still barefoot.
He eases the door open, slipping silently into the night as the crash of broken glass drifts from below. Seconds feel like hours, each beat of my heart the strike of a hammer against my will to stay put.
What’s going on down there?
Why’s it so quiet?
The eerie calm doesn’t last long.
“Oi!” Evan.
Obvious sounds of a scuffle echo off the apartment opposite mine. Briar still sleeps soundly—he’d probably miss a herd of elephants thundering through his room he’s such a heavy sleeper. I dash out into the living area, initially with the thought to go to the window and see what I can make out of what’s going on down below. Yet, when the solid thud of what was probably a body hitting something drifts up to where I stand, my feet turn right instead, carrying me out the door and down the stairs.
I creep the last few risers to the driveway, cautious of where the grunts and sickly sounds of flesh-on-flesh impacts are coming from.
“Why are you here?” Evan has a darkly clothed figure pressed up against the hood of his Jeep, his hand knitted at the throat of the intruder’s shirt.
It has to be Tristan. Surely, after the scrawled message yesterday.
“Bitch needs to keep out of my business.”
His throaty smoker’s voice sends me spiralling back eight years, my skin erupting with goosebumps, every hair on my arms standing on end.
How could somebody I haven’t seen for so long still have this effect on me? How could I let him?
“What the fuck you on about?” Evan grumbles. “You’re at her house, arsehole. So how’s that her getting up in your business?”
They wrestle against each other after Tristan tries to break Evan’s hold, feet scuffing on the ground, breathless grunts as Tristan’s body slams into the hood of the car again.
“She’s got my kid,” Tristan forces out through a stiff jaw. “She doesn’t deserve anything of mine.”
“You’re fucking insane.” Evan shoves him hard, Tristan’s head slamming into the car. “You need to leave her alone to do the job you’re clearly incapable of doing.”
“Like fuck, arsehole. What you going to do, huh?”
“Fancy getting arrested? I’m sure you’re probably out on parole, or on a final warning, right?”
Tristan spits at Evan. Fists fly. The two men become a blur as they grapple and throw wild hits at one another. Somehow, Tristan gets Evan into a headlock, slamming a fist repeatedly into his head while Evan struggles to tangle his legs in Tristan’s to take him down.
I can’t stand idle any longer.
“Stop it!”
They both freeze.
“Amelia, get back inside,” Evan orders as Tristan tosses him aside.
The devil from my past stalks my way, a malicious grin on his face as he approaches. “Peaches.”
“You don’t get to fucking call me that again,” I snap, my hands shaking with the sudden rush of adrenaline. “Ever.”
“Or what?”
I recoil as he gets closer, disgusted by the changes over the years. His face is covered in tattoos, his eyeballs inked black, and huge gauges fill each side of his nose. He looks absolutely revolting.
“Step back.” Evan appears between us, placing his hand on Tristan’s chest.
“No,” he answers cockily. “I don’t think I will.”
“Step away,” Evan orders in a scarily level voice. He’s flipped to policeman mode, keeping his emotions out of it.
Smart move. Otherwise he’d probably be buzzing like I am, wishing I had a knife, something that could cause this fucker in front of me even an ounce of the pain he put me through.
“Go get him,” Tristan orders. “I want to see my son.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You will never see him, so long as I have anything to do with it.”
He tips his head to the side, eyes flicking between Evan and me. “You want to play it like that? Fine.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap.
“It means—” He licks his lips. “—if I have to get rid of you to get my son, then I will.”
“You placing threats now?” Evan asks, body blocking me as Tristan inches closer.
“Making promises, my boy.”
Enough. I’ve had enough. “Get off my property.”
“When I’m good and ready.”
“Now!” I step around Evan and shove my hands into Tristan’s shoulders, catching him off guard.
He stumbles before regaining his composure. “Touch me again, cunt, and see what happens.”
I reach out to shove the fucker again, yet Evan cuts me off, pushing my arm down. “Not now, okay?”
Then when? I convey my question with the look I give him.
Tristan laughs, pulling out a pack of smokes. “You two are cute. Deranged, but cute.” He sparks up a stick, blowing the smoke in our faces. “I’ll be back next week, and I will see my boy then.” He points to each of us with his cigarette between his fingers. “Try and fucking stop me.”
He spins on his heel, stalking off through the complex toward the gates. I watch, angry, as he scales the fence and drops over the far side of the locked gates. So much for security.
“You okay?” Evan asks.
I pull in a deep breath and turn to face him. “We’re screwed, aren’t we?”
His Adam’s apple bobs, and he stares off at where Tristan disappeared. “Not if I can help it.”