It’s been barely two days since I’ve seen Austin, and I can’t help the look of longing I waste on my phone. Sure, he’s called. He’s texted. The “I have to head out of town” and “I’ll be back” texts are broken up by a myriad of dirty memes, funny pics, and one GIF of a puppy bringing flowers.
I try to stay busy, but I can’t help myself. I miss him. And the second he mentioned coming back, I snagged him for dinner. Or at least I think I did.
I should have asked Austin for a response. Or actually bothered to ask a question. Instead, I tried to phrase it as a casual invitation rather than the center of my night.
Evie: Caramel apple pie. 7:00 p.m.
It doesn’t help that I’ve spent every night on that couch. Remembering his touch. Soaking in the waning remnants of his scent. And let’s face it . . . sulking.
Sure, I probably have enough cash to do something really insane, like proposition him for an exclusivity agreement. I know I’ll crumple if I see him again. And beg.
I keep reminding myself it’s all a fantasy, and I just need to kick this habit cold. Because this is exactly how addicts get hooked. One sample of mind-blowingly amazing sex, and no cock compares. I can’t compromise. I should cut myself off from the pumping paradise known only as Austin, but I can’t.
Revisiting the oven clock for the ten millionth time, I sigh. It’s 7:08 p.m. Looks like the pie I slaved over for an hour will be all mine. Which is fine. Eating my feelings is what I do best. It should pair well with the ribs. It’s probably best that Austin doesn’t see how much damage I can do to this meal.
And while I’m at it, I might as well get comfortable for the buffet to come.
I allow myself one last look in the mirror, admiring how this little black dress flatters my legs and hugs my curves perfectly. Then I swap it out for an extra-long T-shirt and some socks, deciding loungewear is the preferred attire for the food coma to come. I ditch the bra but leave on my panties, and scoop up my hair into a messy bun that’s how I usually wear it for baking.
The oven timer begins its series of light beep-beep-beeps but stops short. Because a broken oven is all I need tonight.
As soon as I’m in the kitchen, my scream comes out loud and shrill, and I reach for the nearest spatula before the man wearing a leather jacket steps away from the oven.
When he turns, I see it’s Austin. But with his hair trimmed and his stubble tamed down, I’m at a loss. Ditching his usual casual look for a trim to his scruff and a button-down shirt, he’s elevated his look. Now he’s less the guy next door and more Armani model. It’s obvious that the effort he took was entirely for my benefit.
“I overdressed,” he says with a sexy half smile that wakes every butterfly in my chest.
I’m about to bolt for the bedroom and change back into the cute little number that would pair perfectly with his outfit, but I don’t.
I can’t.
I’m trapped in the hold of his darkening eyes, helpless to do anything but stand there as his gaze travels slowly down my body. It’s then that I realize this thin white T-shirt is doing nothing to hide my girls. Or the black thong I’m wearing.
Tripping over my words, I stammer, “I—I thought you weren’t coming.”
Closing the distance between us in a single step, he takes the spatula from my hand, setting it down but not letting go of me. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I knocked, then tried the door because you never, ever lock it. Anyone can break in here.”
“That’s good advice,” I say, not having the slightest clue what we’re talking about. For all I know, he said my car’s been stolen and my house is on fire, because all I can do is follow the line of his full lips, desperate to trace it with my tongue.
Austin’s words trail off. Lifting my hand, he swirls his thumb above my ring finger. “Did you take it off to make dinner, or is it off for good?”
“For good.” My words are breathy, and the thumping in my chest grows loud enough that I’m sure he can hear it.
“Tell me he’s not between us.”
“He’s not.”
Austin studies me with a look I can’t read.
Believe me. Please. After a long minute of his eyes on mine, I add, “I don’t want him.”
“You don’t?” His question is both an accusation and an invitation.
A second later, his lips devour mine in a raw, rough frenzy of a kiss that leaves me struggling for air. As one hand cradles my jaw, the other moves up my neck, fisting my hair.
“This is a bad idea,” he growls.
“It is?” I ask as my hand slides to the front of his jeans, stroking the outline of his solid cock.
He’s rough when he grabs my wrist, whipping it away from him and pinning it behind my back. He joins my other wrist to it, holding both in one of his large hands.
“You’ve broken up a dozen times. You’ll be back with him by the end of the week.”
“I’m with you, Austin.” It’s all I can say. “I’m with you.”
One hand smooths along my thigh, teasing my skin by skimming a finger along the lines of my panties. Back and forth.
I shiver, and a yes escapes my breath as his finger makes its way along my center, but just keeps brushing its heat against the pulse of my pussy. “Please. Austin, please.”
His finger slips between the fabric and my soaking core, sliding deep inside, then dragging out. I whimper from the loss, wriggling my hands helplessly in the tender strength of his.
Transfixed, I watch as his free hand tugs a cord from his pocket, with twists of golden silk and elegant tassels on the end. It’s mine, a cord I use to tie back the curtain at the entry. He moves it behind me, and the soft rope binds my hands expertly—not too tight, but enough that I can feel the dampness grow between my legs.
Finished knotting me, he softly grazes his lips on mine. My lips part, giving in enough that his tongue sweeps in and out, delicate in tasting and exploring. Owning me in slivers of temptation and seduction. But as soon as I lean in, he pulls away, locking my hips in his grasp, and my breath stutters.
“Turn around,” he says low, and I don’t ask questions or resist.
I obey, turning my body away from his to face the kitchen island. When he places his jacket on the counter in front of me, he takes a moment to roll up his sleeves while pressing his erection firmly into my back.
“I need to teach you a lesson, Evie,” he whispers against my neck. “Would you like that?”
I can barely nod, panting to keep myself upright as my knees become putty. When he steps away, the lights dim and the heat of his hand singes my back, pressing me flat against the kitchen counter.
“Tug at your ropes,” he says, and when I try, a burst of electricity rips through me. “Okay?” he asks, his kisses pressing into each of my hands.
“Yes,” I manage to whisper.
His lips move down my thighs while he pulls the shirt up over my back. Nibbling his way across my panties, he keeps his hands on my hips as his teeth drag the fabric down my legs. Every breath against my sensitive skin sends a charge from my breasts to my toes.
When his hot tongue slices a path up to my core, it’s all I can do not to come. His fingers smear across my folds, spreading my wetness back and forth, and pushing to my clit, he forces two fingers deep inside me. I cry out loud with so much pleasure as I buck back into him, chasing the orgasm I was fighting moments ago.
His lips nibble the underside of my butt as his finger works in and out, grazing my spot so lightly, I’m dizzy with desire. And still, he keeps me pinned in place, forcing me to squirm with need.
“I want you,” I beg. “All of you.”
When he slides his fingers out, I hear him sucking them clean and moaning his satisfaction. “You can’t have me, Evie.”
“What?”
“Not if you’ll be his again.” Austin takes a long taste of me, gliding his tongue along the folds of my wetness, making me quake with need.
“I won’t,” I say desperately.
The slap of his large hand stings my butt cheek. “That is for the last time you went back to him.” He massages the flesh before his next slap. “And the time before that.”
He keeps going, changing each slap from hard to soft, not letting me anticipate the timing or his strength. The pain or the want.
Between each spank, he spoils my skin with rough massages and sensual kisses, the reprieve between his tender and dark scolds.
I’m wet and aching, and my body writhes with wanting him. Raw desire. Lust.
By the last slap, tears stream down my cheeks as wetness glides down the inside of my thighs. My pleas and moans subside to whimpers, and whispers of please, please, please.
His lips are on my ear as the weight of his body rests against mine. “Swear, Evie. Swear to me you’ll never wear that ring again.”
Breathless and blubbering, I swear. “I’ll never go back. Make me yours, Austin. Please. Make me yours.”
The cords release, freeing my hands. Lifting me to my feet, he slides his hands up my body, pulling the shirt over my head before scooping me into his arms.
“Please,” I whisper, still begging.
Whisking me to the bedroom, he sits me on the edge of the bed, letting me watch his taunting moves through my heavy lids. Button by button, his fingers unfasten his shirt, then his belt.
“Spread your legs. I want to see your wetness,” he says, his voice low and hungry as I inch my thighs open a little at a time.
When his jeans are gone, he’s every bit as gorgeous as the first time I saw him. But my eyes still linger on each chiseled muscle of his chest, every cut along his abs, then the V down his thighs that points to his stiff magnificent cock.
My fingertips glide along the head, and it jolts at my touch. A wet bead has formed at the tip, and I open my mouth until he presses inside.
“That’s it,” he says, before his low demand. “God, just like that.”
His hands on my head guide me, but I look up, needing to see his eyes on mine. “Yes, Evie.”
An easy rhythm develops as I suck, pulling him deeper, carrying him further to the back of my throat. My hands grip the firm muscles of his ass as he tries to pull out. I can feel the head of his dick pushing in, and I focus on my breathing as his thickness dips down my throat before pulling all the way out.
He fists my hair. He’s not gentle, but he’s not hurting me. Somehow, he knows what I want.
He pulls me to my back, laying kisses and nibbles across my breasts until he sucks one in, and my back arches to give him more. His teeth tug lightly before releasing me as he works his way down.
I can’t think, or breathe, or move as he spreads my legs wide, digging his hands into my inner thighs. Opening me, he runs a long lick from the tender skin of my ass, up the slickness of my folds, until his lips nestle around my clit.
After three very slow circles with his tongue, he sucks hard, and my body hums as my vision fills with stars. My climax is instant and hard, and his name spills from my lips over and over.
My whimpers turn loud when every hard inch of his cock presses into me.
“Tell me you want me.”
“I want you.”
The words have barely escaped my lips before he’s forced himself in to the hilt, stretching me wide with hard, savage thrusts.
With my fingernails tearing across his back, I hold on to the only man who’s made me feel this alive. This free. He’s fucking me like he hates how much he wants me, and when I think I can’t take any more, he goes deeper, giving everything as he forces my wrists over my head, nibbles my neck, bites my ear, and makes me come harder and longer than I ever have.
“Yes, Evie. This is what you need. Me. Only me.”
My body jolts and trembles, and when I’ve spent the last of my orgasm as wild shakes and cries, his rhythm slows but doesn’t stop.
“Again,” he says with his dark growl.
My body responds as he moves both my wrists to one of his large hands, and the other smooths down to my pussy. His fingers land on the bundle of nerves that are still reeling from one explosion after another.
He spreads my wetness to my clit and rubs, alternating light and hard sensations as he glides himself in, then drags himself out. His touch is sweet and rough, and sending me over the edge again so fast, I can only beg.
“Please. Come with me. Come with me,” I whisper.
He bucks faster, hitting me over and over in that same perfect spot. I hear him, saying soft words across my shoulders. Against my cheek. Words I’ve never heard.
Beautiful.
Incredible.
Everything.
Mine.
And again, I’m colliding, tumbling after him as my body gives in, chasing him as his orgasm meets mine.
I’m. His.
“Yours?” I say as I collect the million pieces of me that are shattering across his bed.
“Mine,” he says. “Only mine.”
Heaving from his release, he collapses his sweat-drenched body on mine as his weight pins me. Calms me. Soothes me. Our heavy breaths swirl together, relaxing into a world where no one exists but us.
* * *
“Do you trust me?” Austin asks, pressing his back into mine as we lie awake in bed.
I know the inevitable is coming. That he’ll leave. But in this tender moment of soaking in his warmth, I set that aside, shoving the heavy feelings out of reach, though they still sit there and wait.
“Yes,” I say, letting the fast matter-of-fact response show him how much I mean it. And I do mean it.
Rolling me into him, he pulls me into his chest. “I’d like you to give me the ring.”
“Why?” My voice is a mix of panic and confusion, and I feel my brow tighten to a knot.
“Because I’m going to return it.”
“But—”
Shushing me, his lips melt into mine, and the thundering in my chest calms with each tender kiss. “It’ll be all right.”
My heart races, and despite the warm comfort of his hold, fear tightens my chest. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
His thumb traces my cheek, and after giving me a sweet peck, his hardened eyes meet mine. “Trust me, Evie. I do.”