Mutual Release (4 page)

He sighed and ran a hand across his rough jaw. The last week had been tumultuous so he’d skipped shaving and now sported a healthy growth of dark brown hair on his face and neck. Not in the mood for any of the imminent meaningless ceremony, he left it, no longer caring what he looked like.

He jumped when someone knocked then shoved his bedroom door open without preamble. Olivia stood there glaring at him, her face flushed. “We need to talk Evan.” Her eyes were serious but nervous-looking. “I’m not a little kid. I don’t need you to…”

“Just go away, Liv. I’m not in the mood.” He shoved his fists into his pockets, the odd, humming sensation between his ears ramping up at the sight of Damian, who’d moved into his line of sight in the doorway. “Especially not for his bullshit.”

“Listen.” His sister kept talking, moving closer to him, her eyes wary as if worried he’d bite her. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to get a handle on what was making him so jittery. “You’re obviously upset about something, and we…” She motioned for Damian to join her. Evan watched him saunter in, his ice-cold eyes noncommittal. He stood near Olivia, not touching her. They both stared at Evan long enough for him to have to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from cracking their annoying, smug heads together.

“You guys do what you want. Date him, fuck him, do whatever you like, Olivia, but don’t come crying to me when he…”

“Evan Adams, don’t you dare assume anything about me.” Her color got even higher, and she looked almost like the girl he remembered until she’d started fading on him, then had suddenly revived under the shining light of Damian’s attention. The boy in question stayed quiet, as if content to let Olivia fight his battles for him. The rage roiling in Evan’s brain reached fever pitch. But instead of going with his urge to shove his fist into Damian’s smirk so hard he’d require it surgically removed, he turned from them, closing his eyes. Control. He had to get himself under control.

“Get the hell out of my room,” he muttered, grinding his teeth. When he turned back around, they were gone.

Evan glanced toward the bed, saw his graduation gown and cap – adorned with the large green S he and his fellow classmates had decided to use to declare their new allegiance to the East Lansing school. Thumbing his nose at his mother, who would undoubtedly tsk-tsk the state of his scruffy face, he yanked on dress pants and a shirt, grabbed the garments, and pounded down the steps.

His mother was fussing over Olivia’s hair while the girl blushed and stayed close to Damian, avoiding Evan entirely – which hurt more than he could express and only added to the stew of anger just below the surface. Drawing his newfound indifference around him like a cape, he allowed himself to be posed with them for a few pictures and then muttered something about driving himself, unwilling to be in the car with the group of them for even the short trip to the convocation hall.

Four hours and a nearly insufferable family dinner out later, he sat gripping a large cup of illicit vodka and staring around at his classmates. The liquor soothed him, which was alarming on a certain level but a relief on many others. He was not a big partier, never had been. He’d been a two-sport varsity athlete for three years, captain of both the soccer and track teams during his senior year. His core friends were as focused as he, but Evan remained a sort of standard-bearer for common sense, providing a voice of reason to many ill-considered party ideas. They had all teased him for years, but now that he sat watching them run around like little kids, entranced by the bright lights and colors of the transformed high school, he felt cheated. The now-familiar anger flared. But instead of making him feel guilty, it energized him in ways he needed to put to use.

“Hey, POTUS.” A fellow soccer player flopped into the lounge chair next to him.

Evan grunted and downed the contents of his cup, hating the nickname he’d been saddled with sophomore year. Between “POTUS” and “Mr. Prez”, they’d declared him their leader and named him as such. It had never felt more like a burden to him – this leadership role. He felt like the opposite of a leader, and wanted to trace that sensation back to the second Damian had sauntered into his world. His life had not been perfect. His family was as fucked up as a can of worms most days, but he was always in control of his piece of it…until that moment. The anger licked at his brain, teasing, taunting him, making him shiver.

“Fuck off, Lawrence,” he muttered, looking to his left where Rachel sat sipping and giggling with her friends. He let his gaze travel down the pleasant terrain of her long, tanned legs, then back up. Gulping back something odd – a strange, sudden compulsion to grab her, thread his fingers in her hair and pull until she begged him to pull harder – he took a breath.

As if reading his mind, she met his eye. In that split-second, Evan felt all the residual fuzziness, the low-lying irritation he’d not been able to dispel, clear as if blown by a hard wind. His eyes narrowed. He turned to face her, put his feet on the floor, and stood slowly as all the sounds and sights faded to nothing.

“Get up,” he said, speaking only to her but drawing the attention of everyone around them. “Let’s go.”

She put her cup down, rose, and stood within centimeters of him, her smell invading his senses in a way that once irritated him but now served to fuel his blinding lust. He ran a hand up her bare arm, mesmerized by the goose bumps that rose on her skin. His own skin burned as if on fire. He could barely focus but for his intense and painful need to make her beg.

“Evan,” she whispered, but he grabbed her ass, yanked her close, and traced the outline of her lips with his tongue, making their small audience hoot with admiration. She put her hands on his chest as if to push him away, but slowly, surely, he turned the tease into a serious kiss, diving into her mouth and holding her so close even he could barely breathe.

Her fingers found his neck, then his hair. Just as she was opening herself to him and he could smell the pure tang of her desire fill his senses, he ripped himself away, keeping their eyes connected. She was about to melt, he felt it, and it made him crave something more.

A smile crept across his face; his brain cleared even further. He held out a hand, she took it, and Evan shoved his way through the gathering throng around them. He heard nothing. Just knew what he wanted. And was going to get it tonight, and finally, once and for all, get past the nerve-jangling bullshit he’d endured for the last three months.

Chapter Four

His crystal-clear focus led in one direction – the small empty gym filled with spare mats, volleyball nets, and all sorts of shit they required. Rachel stayed silent, as if sensing his unspoken command. He found the door, yanked it open, and pushed her in before a roving group of parental chaperones rounded a nearby corner. “Evan,” she whispered, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. A clear underlay of fear spiked with her spicy aroma filled his nose.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice low and firm. Everything in him coalesced around this exact moment as he moved to her, shoved his fingers into her hair like he’d been fantasizing about for weeks. He closed them slowly and tugged until her head leaned back, exposing the tempting line of her neck. He leaned in, licked his way up, bit her earlobe, then let go just when he sensed her giving in, wanting to mold against him. No. This was his moment and he would set everything about the pace.

His brain was running a million miles a minute, but he wasn’t angry for a change. It felt so fucking good, he nearly giggled but bit it back, afraid of making her freak out and bolt. He walked her backwards, fast, until her legs hit the stack of mats, forcing her to sit. She kept staring up at him, her eyes shining in the gloom. He ran a hand down her face.

“Rachel,” he whispered. “Do you trust me?”

She nodded, biting her lip. He gripped her chin, leaned down so their eyes were even.

“Use words, Rachel. Or I won’t do all the things going through your dirty mind right now.” He ran a fingertip across her lips. Her tongue darted out, touched it, making him shiver.

This was it.

“Yes, I… I-I trust you,” she whispered.

He crouched down in front of her, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Relax, then. I am not going to hurt you. But we are gonna try something… new.”

Her sudden relaxation coated his nerve endings, sending a fresh jolt of purpose to his core. He grinned, stood, and pushed her back, rustling around until he found some nylon ropes.

“Put your arms up,” he commanded.

She did it, without a word, keeping their gazes locked. He licked his lips, reached up over her body and bound her wrists together, hoping it wasn’t too tight – not wanting to hurt, just to make a point. His head cleared even more as he watched her chest rising and falling, faster and faster, the twin sensations of desire and fear swirling in his brain.

“Good,” he said, running his finger down the underside of one arm and across her thin t-shirt, lifting it up to expose her skin. “Very nice,” he murmured, licking his way down her neck to her breasts, flicking his tongue across each nipple. She shuddered, started to wrap a long leg around him, but he stood up, took a step back, and observed her before reaching in to yank off her tiny excuse for shorts, taking the silky panties with them. “Now…Rachel…,” he said, allowing himself a moment to run his hand all over her body before regaining control, sensing that truly was the key to this moment.

“Evan, please.” Her voice lit a fire in him but he clamped down on it. Lights from the hall hit the tiny window in the door, making her flinch. But Evan just stepped back, turned the lock, never taking his eyes from her. “I want you.” Her breathy exhalation confirmed his goal.

“Maybe,” he said, running a hand up her thigh and lowering his mouth to her bare sex. He still had so much to learn, but right now seemed as good a time as any. The pink, amazing, and still slightly mysterious female anatomy was exposed to him. She propped one foot on the mats, angled her hips. He could hear the creak of the ropes and that ramped up his need so high he paused, sucked in a breath, and closed his eyes to regain some control. “Let’s see if I can make this … special.” He ran his tongue along her flesh, tracing her sweet outer lips, gripping her hips when she shifted, moaning, saying his name over and over. He explored, taking his time, loving the painful bite of zipper on his own flesh.

“Oh… yes!” she cried out and shuddered as her body convulsed when he used his mouth on the fascinating tender button of her clit and slid his fingers deep inside her. Her body gripped him so hard he nearly came all over himself, but he forced a calm over his psyche, riding out the first of what would be many knee-melting orgasms for his partners.

He stood, watching her writhe, wiped his mouth and unzipped his jeans. Her eyes brightened. “Sit up,” he said. “Now.” The sensations whipping through him at that moment were surreal, and he hoped they would never stop. If he knew what it felt like to use cocaine, he would swear this would be the same sensation – buzzed, enervated, aware of every sound, sight, and smell all at one time. It hurt, but was a pleasant pain. He wanted to bottle it, own it. He wasn’t mad or frustrated. He was a throbbing nerve of need, but he was tempted to forgo orgasm. Just to see if he could; so he could hang onto this moment forever.

Then Rachel sat, as he’d told her to, her hands, still bound at the wrists, gripping his shaft. He thumbed her chin, forced her to look up at him. “What do you want me to do?” she whispered, her lips within inches of his flesh. Her tongue darted out, but he tugged her hair, just enough to make his point. She whimpered, but her face told him all he needed to know. “Evan.” She sighed, staring at him. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to suck my cock, but I am not gonna come in your mouth.”

She sighed again as he released her enough so she could lean over and do what she’d been told. She licked and sucked, making him grunt and thrust his hips forward. It was tough, holding back his orgasm. But he looked down, made himself concentrate on the ropes and the bright white of them against her skin. He kept moving, loving the sweet sensation of her lips and tongue, the gentle scrape of her teeth along his length. But he had control and he knew it.

He spread his legs and fucked her mouth until the last possible moment. “Now,” he ground out. She released him, and he yanked her up and turned her around, pressing her down over the mats. “Hang on.” He fumbled around for the condom he kept in his wallet, somewhere in the tangle of his jeans. He stood, rolling the latex down his shaft, loving the amazing sight of her ass, the pink of her sex. He leaned over her back and gripped her hair once more, drawing incredible sounds from her throat. “I won’t do this… unless you want it. Unless you…” He hesitated about a half second.

“Please, Evan, please, please… I want it so much.” She turned her head, arched her back as he gripped her hips. Something made him pause. He should stop, hold back, not allow himself this. It would just send him back to that awful place where he had no control over anything. He ran his free hand down her back to her ass. The loud crack of his palm against her flesh made them both flinch. She shrieked and arched still further back.