Authors: Liz Reinhardt
I guess I thought I'd get a swing at letting go when Remy got older, got his shit together. But I left my teenage years behind a long time ago, and I'm still mopping up his messes.
I'm speeding a little, my foot heavy on the gas, partially in anticipation, partially from a big ass case of nerves. Other than some mild bitching about my obligations to my brother, Evan hasn't brought up any of the crazy shit my family put her through, and I don't know what she's thinking
about it or what she needs from me.
Which I fucking hate.
I'm used to assessing a situation in a few minutes, deciding what needs to be done, and doing it. The problem is
,
all that deciding is what I do when my parents are busy running the family and all our companies. When I actually have to be around my parents, the power reverts back to them, and it's all old-regime bullshit that I really have no idea how to wrestle.
"I'm sorry
Benelli
was a little bit of a pain in the ass--" I start.
"
Benelli
didn't have to lend me the dress or help with my hair. She was fine." Evan is turned towards the window, her voice half lost in the whipping wind, her arms folded and partially balanced on the
door
frame
,
her head
leaned out so her hair flies back like this
dark banner.
"Remy shouldn't have been such a dick after the--"
"He was fine. He was actually really nice.
" She stretches one arm out,
let
s her hand go flat, and watches
her own fingers as the wind rides up and over, making them all move and jump slightly.
"My mom really shouldn't have--"
"Offered me dinner with no notice whatsoever? I'm nothing but grateful to your mother." She pulls her head back in and leans on the headrest, her hair wild and wind-blown,
her
cheeks tinged pink from the salty air that has just the slightest
rough
bite to it.
"Evan, I don't know what my father said to you, and I can't believe what Ithaca said in front of everyone. It's just--"
"Stop it!" she snaps, and when I turn my head to look at her, she's breathing hard, fast, and furious. "Just stop! Okay?"
"Stop what?" I keep my eyes on the road,
completely confused
because her fury makes no
goddamn
sense. It's not that I'm shocked she furious. I expected her to be.
But at my family.
And
this anger seems, for reasons I can't grasp, directed at me.
She brushes
her hair off her face with her
fingers and rubs her hands down along her cheeks.
"Apologizing."
"They were rude to you. They embarrassed me." I glance over and her face is stony. "What? You think that was all normal? The way they acted? You looked pretty upset when we were at their house.
Now, nothing?"
"Not
nothing
." Her voice is low and shaky. "But you love them. You choose them over and over. I'm not making a judgment call on any one of them. They're your family. That's who they are, and I have to accept it."
"No--" I start to argue, but I have no words for what comes next.
"Yes! I do.
Because if I don't, I'll lose you."
Her voice doesn't get all sentimental on me; she sinks the fangs of her logic right into the jugular. "I already only have this night, and who knows if there will actually be a homicide? I'm not judging...but this is Remy you're relying on to not murder anyone. That may be setting the bar a little bit too high."
Her soft, sweet lips crack into a smile that pile-drives a million pounds of solid emotion straight at my heart. She laughs, and that sound loosens something in my chest, something buried in me that
doesn't
ever get to come out.
It's coming out.
Tonight.
W
ith her.
"What's not even funny is that you might be right." I laugh with her, and we make an unspoken vow to put the day, my family, her playing hooky,
all
the uncertainties of our relationship into the back of our minds tonight.
I pull up at the beach house for the second time, but this time, my phone is on vibrate, and I'm eighty-nine percent sure it won't ring.
Or, at least, seventy-four percent.
The pull to take care of Remy is strong, because he's my blood. He's my responsibility. I don't take either of those aspects of our relationship lightly.
But Evan?
What I feel about her defies everything I've ever thought I knew about myself and my loyalties.
I watch her jump out of the car and run to the door, her bag of beach stuff flopping against her back, her hand waving for me to follow.
I follow. Of course I fucking follow this gorgeous girl.
I come up behind her at the door, and the last few weeks of having to pull away at the very last second hit me hard. I wind my arms around her waist and kiss her neck, rub my face in her hair, let my hands move up along her ribs and cup u
nder the full swell of her tits
, remembering the tiny scraps of red fabric that did a fantastically crappy job of covering them a few hours ago.
Evan drops the keys and turns around in my arms, her mouth missing mine a few times, landing hurried, sucking kisses on my neck, my bruised cheek, my ear, and finally, she catches my mouth in a hot, sweet press of her lips that tears a groan out of my throat...right alongside a wince.
"What's wrong?" she breathes,
then
her light blue eyes go wide.
"Oh no.
I'm sorry." Her fingers brush softly over my mouth and flutter up and along my bruised eye socket. "You're still bleeding from the cut by your eye. Maybe it needs a stit
ch? I can take you to the hospital
."
I love the look of crazed concern th
at presses her dark eyebrows
low over her worried eyes and makes her mouth soft, like she's begging me to kiss it. So I do, instead of answering. I kiss her hard, and don't give a fuck that it hurts, because I'm finally with her, in her arms, around her for this entire long night at least. And I plan to make the most of it.
"Winch," she sighs, and she ducks down to scoop up the keys, then stuffs one in the lock,
her hand rounds the doorknob
,
and we both crash in through the swinging door. I yank it closed and follow her, kissing her neck and under her hair, all the way up the huge flight of stairs to a small room with an enormous bed. The fact that we're so completely alone is making me crazy, like someone ripped the top bindings off my life. I feel free for the first time in years, free to do whatever the fuck I want.
And I want Evan.
I want her so badly, my hands shake and my heart beats like a boxer tearing up a new bag in training. I lay her back on the bed and kiss her face, along her neck, down to her shoulder. I unbutton the yellow dress, but I can't push enough of the fabric away to get to a satisfying amount of her skin. She
moans,
a sweet, sexy sound that fills the room and echoes off the quiet walls.
"Evan." I look down at her face, all dark hair and light, sweet eyes, and that mouth tipped up in a smile that I love so much because half the time she's using it to tell me to go fuck myself. "You're gorgeous."
She moans and presses up against me, and I have a sudden need to get everything off as fast as I can. I undo the belt on her dress, but it's just for show; it doesn't loosen it at all. The buttons on her top don't seem to go anywhere or do anything, and I'm worried about ripping the thing off of her or making a bigger mess.
Leave it to my sister to dress my girlfriend in something I can't get her the hell out of.
After a few minutes of watching me fumble with the fabric, she shakes her head and backs up, leaving me on the bed. She rai
ses an arm and pulls down on this secret
zipper that's underneath.
I'm piss
ed at how infuriatingly complex a single piece of clothing can be with all its hidden zippers, useless belts, and frustrating buttons.
"Why does that dress have to be so damn complicated?" I sit up on my elbows to see her
better.
She pulls it over her head, and she's not wearing a bra. Just the tiniest thong and all that long, sweet, tan skin. I work hard as hell to keep my jaw from swinging.
I've seen girls before.
Good-looking girls.
But she's by far the sexiest, most confident, most in-control girl I've ever been with. She's the only girl who's ever bossed me around or questioned my every move, and I like it.
I like the whole
damn
package when it comes to her.
"Dresses that are complicated," she says softly, the smile on her lips pure wicked fun, "are essential to teach girls that they shouldn't bot
her with guys who won't figure out how to
take off a dress."
She walks back to the bed and straddles my lap, sinking down on top of me and pressing against my chest, her skin burning through the thin fabric of my shirt. I'm trying to keep calm, trying not to let go and spring at her, but it's hard to control myself when she's everywhere, the smell of burnt sugar dry and sweet on her skin and in my nose.
"Is everyth
ing okay?" she asks softly, all her tough, demanding intensity
folded back for now.
"Yeah, of course.
It is." I put my hands on the warm skin of her back, because I want to steady myself, get my emotions jarred up and lidded. But I feel like I'm a tiny kid agai
n, trying like hell
to catch a few lightening bugs, but too awed by the bright glow to actually capture
even
one.
Evan's hand comes up and her fingers pull along my cheek. "You seem really tense."
"It's hard to get a handle on
all this
.
You and me.
Being here.
Together.
No interruptions." I'm babbling
like a lunatic. My hot as all hell
girlfriend
is straddling my lap, and all I can do is ramble. I feel like it's suddenly hard to swallow.
Evan's eyes watch me
for a few long seconds. "Let go." She says the words like an invitation
.
I slide my hands off her bac
k, but she tugs them to her and up
, moving them to
the heavy swell
of her tits. My brain flips and shorts a little, and my instinct is to pull back, pull away.
What the hell is wrong with me?
"Winch.
Let. Go," Evan repeats and taps one finger against my forehead. My hands settle over her skin, and I feel the surge, wild and primal, to grab her close. It scares the shit out of me.
"You
wanna
eat? You
wanna
watch something?" She's telling me to let go, but I can't. I can't lose it with her like this. Today was too long and too hard. I don't have a good gauge on my emotions. I won't be able to keep control.
Evan leans forward and kisses me, but I don't kiss back. I can't. I'm caught between not wanting it to stop and not knowing if I can go through with it, and
I’d rather not fuck up, not hurt
her. But Evan doesn't care about going slow or being safe. She wraps her hands around my wrists and pushes me down, arms over my head. It's sexy as hell, but I kind of hate it.
Like she can read my mind, she smiles.
"I don't want to eat. Not food. And I don't want
to watch anything.
Except you.
G
etting turned on.
By me."
Her voice rasps low and she keeps a solid hand on my wrists as her lips drop all these kisses, soft, light, quick on my battered face, then move to pull at my neck with tiny, damp bursts of suction.
"Evan." I can hear how my voice is just crossing the line of begging, and I don't like it. But I can't risk unleashing things with her. I've never had this feeling with a girl, like I was about to lose control.
She lets go of my wrists, and I relax, but only for a minute. She tugs on the bottom of my shirt and tears it over my head, and her eyes go wide and dark looking at my body. Before I can move her over to the side, she presses my wrists over my head again.
"Winch," she breathes, dipping lower, circling her tongue around each of my nipples, kissing over the bruises that explode on my ribs. She pulls back up, her face flushed and her eyes bright. "If I let go of your hands, you have to promise not to push me away."
It's hard to swallow. "Evan, you don't understand."
"Then explain."
Her fingers tighten like she thinks she's actually holding me back. Did she not just watch me beat the shit out of two hulking giants? But I love it, the way she jumps in, all balls and brass, and does whatever the hell she wants with me.