He leaned in and kissed her neck, his breath hot against her skin. His thumb moved in lazy circles over her nipple. “Good?” he asked.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, good.”
She kept her eyes open. She wanted to feel him, but even more so, she wanted the sight of him emblazoned in her mind, available to retrieve at a moment’s notice. Was it sickness that ensured she’d have the memory of Evan to pull forth whenever she was intimate with another man? Perhaps. Perhaps it was terribly unfair to that unknown future partner. But the alternate visions were far worse. The alternate visions would make any future intimacy an impossibility.
Eventually, you’ll hang on to the feeling of Evan, but his face will blur. Someday. And then she’d be truly free.
She wanted that for him, too, if he needed it. And maybe he didn’t. But she was fairly certain that giving her pleasure was healing him in some small way.
“It definitely works,” she murmured as his hand did magical things to her breast, and his lips curved in a smile.
His hand skimmed her stomach, and tentatively, he used his fingers to part her thighs. She stilled, her instincts telling her to pull away. To run.
“Breathe,” he said, redirecting her thoughts. “And look at me.”
Her breath gusted out, eyes locked with his. They were so blue. As clear as the still morning sky after a long night of rain. He smiled, and it was kind of silly and unexpected, and so she smiled, too, just as his fingers dipped inside her. “Oh,” she whispered. And then she was sensation, anchored to his stroking hand, yet floating into that clear, blue sky, letting herself drift away. God, it was nice to drift. A drug. A beautiful escape. Evan dipped his head, taking a nipple in his mouth, and she cried out, threading her fingers through his soft hair. She could feel him against her leg, hot and hard, but she knew he would spend as long as it took, until she told him she was ready.
She didn’t want it to take too long, though, didn’t want to chance the possibility that she would mentally spiral when her body was responding so well. It was a balance, a delicate one. That goofy smile had helped. Only he would know that.
He moved his finger slowly in and out of her, using his thumb to circle lightly in the spot that made her press toward his hand, seeking more. She parted her legs so he had more access. His scent surrounded her, mixed with a masculine-smelling deodorant and nothing more. She’d know the smell of his skin anywhere. She knew the flavor of his fear, too, and the tang of his blood. But she wouldn’t think about that now. She refused to see his face as it’d been when they were dragged down to hell. She realized she’d closed her eyes with pleasure, and they flew open now. He was watching her. “You’re fine,” he reassured. “Everything’s good. You’re so wet, Noelle. Everything about you is perfect.”
She was wet. She could feel it, feel the way his fingers were gliding in and out, using the slippery evidence of the desire he’d stoked. Her body was still her own. No one had committed her to a life of sexual aversion. She could heal. She was doing it now.
“Now,” she said, pulling gently on his shoulders. She didn’t want to allow the shadows to collect, didn’t want to take that chance.
“I can do it this way,” he said, his fingers continuing that slow glide.
But she shook her head. She needed him to come over her, needed him to enter her with more than his finger. She needed to surrender, to know she could.
He looked briefly unsure, but did as she asked, removing his hand and kissing her as he leaned over, bringing his body on top of hers and supporting himself with his knees. “Guide me in,” he said. Noelle reached down, grasping his hard length, surprised by the silkiness of his skin. She marveled at it, using her hand to slide over it, mesmerized by the way the skin moved so easily, up, down. She might want to investigate that further later, with her hand and maybe even her mouth. The thought made her giddy.
Evan let out a pained laugh. “If you don’t stop that, this is going to be over in a minute.”
She smiled. What he was saying was that there was a goal, and his pleasure wasn’t the whole of it. Sweet Evan. She looked in his eyes, and she knew she loved him. In that very moment, she realized she did. And it might be sick and twisted, based on things love should never be based upon. But regardless, she loved him, and that love was right there, warming her heart as she guided him into her body.
I love you, and it’s why, when this is over, I’ll let you go.
Again.
His eyes went slightly hazy, and she watched the pleasure that contorted his features. That look. God. It was beautiful. She drank it in and found more pleasure of her own, just in witnessing his.