Embrace (Evolve Series #2) (2 page)

A
fter her nightly routine, she crawls into bed
with me, throwing one long, toned leg over mine and resting her head on my
chest. She smells of her favorite lavender lotion, her skin even silkier than
usual as my fingertips trace just above her knee, exposed as her silky
nightgown rides up. Having never been in love before, or in a real relationship
with a woman, I’m not positive what I’m supposed to do right now. Something
tells me I need to be sensitive to her difficult night and just hold her, but
the man in me is screaming to mark her, claim her, and give her all she’ll ever
need from me and only me.

I’ve almost convinced my dick he’s not running the
show when she snuggles up closer against me, shifting so the warm, barely-there
crotch of her thong slides along my thigh. My arm instinctively tightens around
her, a grumble sounding from me. “Laney?” I know she’s not asleep.
Tempting
little faker
.

“Hmmm?”

“Trying to be the sensitive, caring gentleman here.”

“Whatever you think is best,” she mumbles in mock
sleepiness, rolling her hips slightly.

Ah fuck.

She’s on her back, hands pinned above her head with
my body covering hers, before I know what hit me. I lower my head, breathing in
her sweet scent, sucking on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder.
Helpless without her hands, she writhes beneath me, groaning. I drag my tongue
from the base of her throat all the way to her ear where I groan, “Whose baby
are you?”

The stubborn, sexy girl holds out, refusing to
answer me, so I use my one free hand to push her nightgown up her body. Her
muscles quiver beneath my mouth as I bite and lick her stomach, kissing her
navel as I would her mouth. Her legs come up, gripping around me as she raises
her lower body from the bed, seeking contact.

“Say it, Laney. Whose girl are you?”

She bites her bottom lip, fighting against her
words, coaxing me to torture her more. I’m on to her game and more than willing
to play. My cock is aching hard enough to do some serious damage, and I press
between her thighs. “Who do you want there, baby?”

Those doe eyes of hers narrow in lustful challenge
as she teasingly drags her tongue across her bottom lip. God. That move drives
me crazy and she knows it. In one tug, I rip her thong in the middle, leaving
the band around her waist, and inch a single finger down, tracing, teasing her
right back.

“Dane…” My name is a drawn out moan as her head
thrashes back and forth, her cheeks flushed.

There we go—my name. I’ll support her in all the
ways she needs me to, always be the sensitive, caring partner, but at the end
of the day,
my
name will be the one she moans. My arms will be the ones
that hold her. Laney is mine. I really hope no one mistakes my kindness for
weakness; that’d be a
big
oversight.

“I’m right here, gorgeous.” Releasing her hands, I
take her clothes all the way off and she wriggles to help. “Feed me one,” I
say, my demand a growl, at the sight of her glorious chest.

With a look of shock, then a smirk of wanton
comprehension, she cups one breast and lifts it to my mouth. I latch on to a rosy
nipple as soft and pink as her lips, sucking as I firmly grip the other. Soon I
switch, showing both mounds equal appreciation while Laney’s hands fist tightly
in my hair and smash my face into her. She’s so reactive to foreplay, her
nipples a sensitive hot spot, and I show her how much I love them.

Unable to take it much longer, but mindful that I
have to get her plenty ready to take me inside her, I release a breast from my
mouth with a pop. She whimpers at the loss and tries to pull my head back to
her. I snicker at how adorable she is and run my nose along hers, another of
her favorite moves.

“I wanna taste you,” I say against her lips.

This will be another first for us, and I’m almost
positive her first at all, but the possessive animal in me has to know. “Will I
be the first to lick you there, Laney? Hmmm?”

I don’t miss her little gasp. “Yes, just you,” she
answers huskily, actually pushing my head down there.

Greedy little thing!
I love it; love how bad
she wants me, how she forgets she’s a novice when it’s just her and I together
like this. Oh, how it fucks with my head, my heart, to know I’m her first at
this too. The first taste of her is heaven
.
She’s smooth and sweet, her
scent of innocence and want flaring my nostrils and sending my primal instincts
into overdrive. I could feast on her forever, just like this. I push my tongue
in and out of her, then lick the edges slowly, finally placing a gentle bite on
her clit. She yelps and arches off the bed, so I grab her hips to hold her in
place, repeating the pattern. Her thighs begin to tremble and her wail is one
long, non-stop noise, so I abruptly add two fingers, sending her completely
over the edge.

“Oh my God, Dane!” she screams as I lick slowly, my
tongue wide and flat, humming against her, drawing out her orgasm as long as I
can, until she relaxes with her finish.

I lift my head and meet her lazy, satisfied gaze.
“You want me, Laney?”

“Mhmmm,” she purrs, reaching up to twine her arms
around my shoulders, pulling me up her body. “Now,” she mumbles, still a little
out of it.

“Now what?” My fingertips skim her inner thigh,
earning a shudder from her. I rise to my knees, between hers, and pull off my
shirt, grinning as I watch her eyes roam over me.

“Make love to me,” she whispers, licking her lips
and staring into my eyes.

 “Well, okay, baby.” I laugh lightly as I shift and
lose my pants and boxers. “You should have said something sooner.” I wink and
she giggles.

I love how harmonious we are in the bedroom. While I
need control, I also thrive on her interaction, the taunting wit and sexy
playfulness that only I get to see. She matches me, and often exceeds me, on
many levels, and in the bedroom—phenomenal. If I’d filled out a questionnaire
and mail-ordered for my perfect fantasy, they would’ve shipped me Laney Jo
Walker.

Unhurriedly, I ease into her warmth and just like
the first time she welcomed me there, it feels like home; the single most perfect
place I’m supposed to be. The place I’m meant to be.

 “Fuckkk,” I drag out the growled words as long as
it takes me to work myself in. Her arms reach around, grabbing my ass to push
me in her deeper. “Easy, I don’t want to hurt you.” She’s still very new to
this and she’ll feel it tomorrow, so I hold myself back despite her urgings. “I
wanna go slow and feel every minute of it,” I pant. Being inside her, her body a
scorching vice around me, feels incredible, like nothing before. “You feel so
good, Laney, so soft and tight for me.” 

Honestly, it’s never even been close to thi—
shit!
Condom!

She must feel my body tense. “Dane, what’s wrong?”
Her scared eyes look up at me and she clutches my shoulders. “Did I do
something wrong?”

I’d rather do anything than pull out of her right
now, but that’d be way too selfish, and Laney comes first, literally. Grimacing,
I withdraw, swiping a hand down my face. “Laney, I’m so sorry, baby. I forgot a
condom.”

She giggles—
giggles!
I’m waiting for her to
cry, or slap me, and she’s laughing! She sits up and wraps her arms around my
waist. “I trust you, Dane. You’d never intentionally hurt me. If there was
anything you needed to tell me, for my health, you would.”

Whoa, wait!
“Laney, I’m clean. I have
physicals every year, the insurance on my companies demands it. And I haven’t
been with anyone else since, well, awhile… before the last physical by a long
shot.”

“Then why are you so worried?” She kisses my chest,
moving one hand to rub my back. “I think it’s safe to say I’m clean.”

Do I really have to map this out for her? Nope, it
takes a few more seconds before she simpers again, peering up at me.

“You ever been in the middle of a softball
tournament, away from home, in the Georgia heat and white pants, when all of a
sudden you start your period?”

I wait for her to continue, pretty sure I don’t
actually have to answer her.

“Well, I have, and it sucked. On the pill, you know
exactly when it’s coming.  I’ve been on it ever since; it’s the best advice
Kaitlyn ever gave me.” She kisses the end of my nose and smiles reassuringly. “We’re
good, babe.”

Holding in a gasp of relief, I try to return a
positive smile, still a little shaky. Laney’s 19 years old, with a sex life
still in its infancy, and I’d been careless with her. I wince a bit at the
thought, ‘cause it really had felt fucking incredible.

Focus, man!

“Now. Where were we?” She nibbles along my jaw,
trailing up to suck on my earlobe. “You’re not a quitter are you?”

“Not. Even. A. Little. Bit,” I warn her as I lay her
back, reaching to the nightstand to do things right this time. Moving over her
again, the teasing mood is gone and her eyes are sultry, breathing choppy.

“Love me, Dane,” she says and her back bows, her
knees falling open as I bury myself in one smooth thrust.

“I do, baby, I do.”

Chapter 3

Stomping Grounds

~Evan~

S
eeing them together, again, really knocked
the wind out of me. I’d better get used to it, since Southern is my new
stomping grounds and not that big. I’ve been sitting on this barstool, replaying
the scene in my head over and over way too many times, for what feels like
hours. I must look as helpless as I feel since Sawyer cracks a beer open and
slides it my way.

“Thanks.”

“Not a problem. I didn’t ask the other night, but you’ve
got an ID just in case, right?”

 I nod in affirmation.

“Just making sure. Dane’s place and all, wouldn’t
want to jeopardize it for him.”

Dane owns this bar? Of course Dane owns this bar.
And a mansion. And now he’s got Laney too.
For the love of crap—could he be
more impressive? More lucky?
 There’s nothing wrong with hating the guy,
and boy, do I. So yes, I will gladly sit here and drink all of his free fucking
beer I can stomach.

Yeah, you really got him there, Evan.

The faint smell of sweet musk drags my attention away
from Sawyer’s bottle-flipping skills, and out of the corner of my eye, I see
the blonde who’s scooted up to the bar. Oh what the hell—I lean back, running
my eyes up and down her body
. Not bad at all.

“Hey, Sawyer,” she says loudly over the music. “Can
I get a couple of lemon drops?”

Sawyer gives her a look, not sure what kind exactly,
and starts to make her drinks. As though she can feel my curious gaze, she
turns to me, big blue eyes assessing quickly before turning back to Sawyer,
brows raised in question.

“Whitley, this is Evan. Evan, Whitley,” he
introduces us. Behind her back, he runs his finger across his throat,
vigorously shaking his head.

I bite back a laugh, extending my hand to her. “Nice
to meet you, Whitley.”

“You too, Evan,” she responds coquettishly, not
releasing my hand. “How do you know Sawyer?”

I shrug a shoulder. “By default. I met him through a
girl I know here.”

Her brows crease at this, her bottom lip pouting out
just a bit. She looks back to Sawyer, again silently asking him to fill in the
gaps.

He waves her off. “Go dance, Whit. We’ll catch up
with ya later.”

Not happy about being dismissed, she grabs her
drinks with a “hmmpf” and walks away.

“Don’t go there man, trust me.”

I’m not “going” anywhere, but now he’s piqued my curiosity,
so I engage. “Why’s that?”

“First of all, she’s a bat-shit crazy clinger. Second
of all, Laney hates her.”

I try not to show any signs of reaction, but he’s
got me full-blown intrigued now. “Why does Laney hate her?” I ask entirely too
eagerly.

He waits on another customer, letting me simmer. He
knows damn well that his silence is killing me.
Bastard.

“I’ll tell ya,” he throws over his shoulder as he
reaches down in a cooler for a new order, “but it’ll cost ya.”

“How much?”

“A trifecta.”

A triwhatta
? I think Sawyer’s been nipping a
little from the well back there. “Come again?” I glare at the shot he just
passed me, knowing it’s a terrible idea after starting with beer. How many
times have I heard the “beer before liquor, never been sicker” adage? Against
my better judgment, I down it, highly suspecting I’m gonna need it if I continue
to patronize this crazy place.

“Trifecta. Dance with a brunette, a blonde that’s
not
Whitley, and a redhead. When you’re done, I’ll tell ya why Laney hates her.
Get one of their numbers and I’ll throw in the story about Laney threatening to
beat her ass the first time they met.”

I see what you’re doing here, Sawyer.
Single
and ready to mingle?
Not really, but any Laney stories I can get out of
him are worth it—maybe the information will help me. And if it doesn’t, it will
at least give me an idea of what she’d been doing all those long months we were
apart; how she went from my sweet, innocent Laney to…not my Laney. His Laney. Sawyer’s
info may be all I ever get.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” I mutter, flabbergasted
that I’m even considering this dumbass plan.

“Katie!” Sawyer screams and immediately a knockout
redhead slinks saucily up to the bar, lifting her torso across it to jab her
tongue down Sawyer’s throat. “Teach my boy how to dance, sexy?” he fake asks her
when he comes up for air.

She turns her attention to me as though Sawyer is
running her with a remote control and grabs my hand, pulling me from my stool.
“Come on handsome. Mama’ll teach ya a few tricks.”

Two songs later, I’ve decided Katie deserves a
certificate, because she taught me
plenty
. I didn’t have the heart to
tell her I knew how to dance, that I’d just been making an excuse to Sawyer,
though once she got started, I didn’t
want
to tell her. That girl’s got
no shame and she dances with her entire body—tongue, hands, you name it. It was
fun, my mind welcomingly distracted for a while, but I was about over it now.
Girls like Katie are a dime a dozen; she’d shoved her tongue down Sawyer’s
throat five minutes before grinding her ass into my crotch—that kind of
looseness just doesn’t do it for me.

Redhead, though—check!

Whitley walks into my line of vision and I glace around,
trying to seek out the most harmless looking brunette or blonde in the place so
I can complete Sawyer’s asinine scheme and get my Laney info.

“You look miserable,” Whitley surmises.

Observant girl.
I can’t help my slight smirk.
“That obvious, huh?”

“Yeah.” She nods. “Katie not your type?”

Shaking my head, I give her an attempt at a smile.
“Not at all. Sawyer’s idea.”

“Come on.” She takes my hand and leads me to her now
empty table. “Have a seat.”

I comply immediately. I’d just go home, but I’m
kinda in limbo. The new semester hasn’t started yet, so my room here isn’t
officially mine for a few more days and I’m in no condition to drive back to my
parents’ house. Quite simply, I have absolutely nothing to lose or better to do
than sit here and talk to Whitley.

“So, why does a guy who looks like you need Sawyer
to find him dance partners? If you wanna call that dancing.” She’s blunt. And
right—that wasn’t dancing.

I shrug. “He’s trying to cheer me up; get me to meet
girls, I guess.”

She snickers. “I doubt you need help meeting girls
either.”

It just popped out; when she realizes she spoke it
out loud, her face flushes and her eyes dart down. It’s a pretty look on her,
softening her somehow. Whitley’s very attractive; too perfect though. When I
look at her, I see money; she’s very much a practiced, methodically-planned,
well-put-together girl, who, if I’m not mistaken, wants to be anything but. Her
shoulders don’t ever slump, her back is pin straight, her posture nothing short
of perfect. Not one shiny, blonde hair dares to fall out of place. But her
eyes… Her eyes are a blinding blue and the genuine sadness in them is one of
the few things about her that isn’t deliberate.

“Thanks.” I look away, more embarrassed at her
compliment than Katie’s dry-humping. “I just don’t know anyone here yet, so
he’s actually trying to be a good guy and help me out.”

“Sawyer’s a really good guy. He just doesn’t know
it.” Her expression is sincere; she’s not being snarky.

I feel bad for her, complimenting Sawyer when he was
just so rude to her and badmouthed her to me. I barely know either of them,
though, so maybe there’s more to it. 

“But I know enough about Sawyer. Tell me something
about you.” She smiles, encouraging me.

“What do you want to know?”

Before she can answer, Sawyer joins us, abruptly pulling
up a chair.  “Bro, you got two to go. Why are you just sitting here?”

What Whitley must think right now? Certainly I don’t
want her to get the impression I number and categorize women on a regular basis—all
Sawyer on that one.

“Eh,” I shoot Whitley an apologetic smile, “I wasn’t
feeling it. This pretty lady is great company, however.”

She blushes again and it’s even prettier than the
last time.

“Fuck,” Sawyer grumbles, turning to Whitley. “Way
too sticky, Whit. Walk away. He doesn’t know better, yet, but you…”

Her shoulders tense and her eyes narrow, trying not
to mist up. “What are you talking about, Sawyer? We’re just talking, and what
is so wrong with
me
?”

“Shit, Whitley,” he motions to his replacement
bartender for drinks, “where do I start?”

Damn.
That’s the first really not right thing
I’ve seen or heard from him and it doesn’t sit well with me.

“People are always pissed off around you, woman,” he
points out. “Things can be going great, and then you show up, boom—it goes to
shit.”

“Now back up,” I interject, no longer able to sit
idly while he insults a female. Man, how I’d love to set him loose on Kaitlyn,
but not Whitley. “What’d she do that’s so wrong?”

Sawyer smirks. “I told ya, your girl hates her
fucking guts.”

Whitley eyes me warily. “Who’s your girl?”

“She’s not my girl, and he knows it.” I give Sawyer
a pointed glare. Hadn’t he told me straight up that Dane’s his friend and he’s
basically running interference for him by hanging with me? He’s more than aware
Laney is no longer “my girl,” so why is he antagonizing Whitley? I run a hand
down my face, becoming increasingly frustrated and completely opposed to
continuing this conversation. I certainly don’t want my own misery broadcast to
the bar, so I’m willing to forego my interest in why Laney hates Whitley.

“Who are you talking about?” She tries her luck with
Sawyer just as our drinks arrive.

I sip mine slowly, watching their showdown back and
forth over the end of my bottle.

“Evan?” Sawyer looks at me questioningly.

Oh, now I’m allowed input into the public dissection
of my agony? I shrug, giving him a “take it away” hand wave. What do I really
care? Might as well let them talk about it in front of me rather than after I
walk away. I’ve got a good buzz and no bed in close proximity to call my
own…fuck it.

“Evan starts here this semester. He gave up his
scholarship in Athens to follow a girl here.”

Yes, I’d told Sawyer my woes, shedding some light on
the seriousness of my love-induced fuck-up. Somehow I’d hoped he’d forgotten
most of what I said. Alas…

“But when he got here, he found that said girl is
otherwise occupied.
So
… I was trying to get his dick wet. Until you
interrupted, that is.”

Sawyer: good guy, terrible mouth. Kinda funny,
though. He goes from the eloquence of “found that said girl” to “dick wet” in
the same breath.

Whitley gasps, so I quickly jump in. “I wasn’t
trying to, well, what he said. Like I told you, his idea. I swear.”

Her lips tighten in a line, but her slight nod says
she believes me. I don’t care that I’ve only just met her, I need her to know
my mama didn’t raise me like that.

“And who’d you say the girl was?” she digs again.

“He didn’t,” I answer, “but it’s Laney Walker. You
know her?”

“Really?” she sneers, her face literally that of
someone who just got force fed a lemon wrapped inside a lime.

It’s the only cattiness she’s shown all night, even
when Sawyer was being a dick, and is it ever catty. One thing’s for sure—Laney’s
feelings about her are reciprocated.

 “Really.”
I wish it wasn’t all true, either,
trust me.

“Yes, I’ve run into her a few times,” Whitley admits,
awkwardly clinking the ice in her glass, seemingly fascinated by it. “None of
them were pleasant.”

 “And why is that?” I ask, wondering if I’m going to
get the real story here. Maybe Laney took her spot on the softball team, though
Whitley doesn’t look like much of a baller…

Sawyer scoffs loudly at my question and rudely
answers for her.  “Whitley here’s been stuck up Dane’s ass for years, ever since
they were kids. Laney was here five minutes and had that boy whipped. Isn’t
that right, Whitley?”

Her eyes are blatantly watery now, and not only do I
feel bad for her, but I know exactly how she feels.

Smiling at her, I stand, offering her my hand.
“Hungry? You drive, I’ll buy.”

“Yes!” She practically leaps out of her chair,
latching on to my hand. For comfort, I’m guessing, and strangely, I get the
sense of the same as soon as she touches me.

“Sawyer, I’m gonna feed the lady. I’ll text ya.” And
with that, I lead her out, soon becoming the follower as she heads to her car.

W
e’ve been sitting at a late night diner
for a while, bellies full of greasy goodness and every topic from Shakespeare
to rollerblading (which neither of us are good at) discussed, when it occurs to
me that I have nowhere to sleep. I could drive back home to my parents, completely
sober now, but that sounds excruciating. I texted Sawyer and begged for his
couch, but he has yet to answer, and it’s been so long now, he’s probably not
going to. I guess I’ll just have Whitley drop me off at my truck; maybe I’ll
sleep in it and head back in the morning. I can’t wander around like a vagabond
until school starts, but I have time to think about that later. All I have to
solve right now is tonight’s arrangements