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He slides his fingers across my neck. “This vein pulses when you get wound up. It’s sexy. I want to fuck you.”
I catch my breath under his fingers. “Veins don’t pulse. Arteries pulse.”
“I watch veins pulse in the necks of people I play card games with.” He opens his blue eyes and stares into mine. “It’s a subtle tell.”
“What else?” I ask.
He moves his hand and tugs strands of my hair. “The way your neck curves into your shoulder.” He works his fingers lower, brushing them across my shoulder. “Your collarbone. It’s elegant.” He lowers his hand to my chest and the V between my legs grows wet. “The way your heart beats faster, harder, when I grow closer to your heart.”
He slips his fingers inside my T-shirt and fondles my breast, tugging a nipple. His erection pushes against my leg – warm, throbbing, growing harder by the moment. “Dylan,” I say. “Do you still want to fuck me?”
“Yes.”
“Lose the towel.”
He drops it with a flick of his wrist.
I take his hand and lead him from the bath to the bed. “Lie down,” I say and strip off my clothes, tossing them. “On your back.”
He does as I ask, his breath coming quicker, his dick growing thick in record time. He reaches for me but I pull back and shake my head. “Tell me details. What changed when you moved from my throat, when you moved your hand toward my chest.”
“Your heartbeat increased. Your skin grew warmer. Your lips grew fuller. Biteable.” His cock is swollen and hard, bobbing up toward his abdomen.
I caress the top of his hard dick, using his precum as lube. I circle his erection and slide my fist down his dick, crown to base then back up and repeat. “More.”
“Evie,” he groans. “This isn’t fair.”
“Life’s not fair and yet we find ways to deal with that. Tell me more. Things you haven’t told me before. Tell me details.”
“Details? Things I haven’t told you before? I’ve told you a lot.”
“Something happening in the here and now. Something you feel.”
“You have a scar. Right here,” he says, reaching his hand an inch into my hairline. “I never noticed it before.”
My heart bumps around awkwardly in my chest right before it plummets into my stomach.
‘That’s your scar from the accident.’ Queasy says, wringing his hands. ‘Think about all the panic attacks you had. Think about the anxiety you suffered. Don’t go there.’
My scar from the accident with the Wolfe boys is a centimeter within my hairline. I stroke his dick harder, his breath coming faster. My breath comes faster because I’m starting to panic. “Tell me about the scar. How do you think I got it?”
“Knowing you? Doing something fearless.” He caresses it with his fingers. “Hiking the woods in the cold winter snow when you were a kid. You tripped and fell into a barbed wire fence. Or, something flew through the air and smashed into your head.”
My sister Ruby’s tablet flew through the air in the backseat of Mom’s shitty SUV and sliced into my forehead when we hit the Wolfe boys.
I freeze. I am blindsided. Smashed. Just like when those boys flew off our car. I can hear the tires screeching. I can hear the thuds in my head. I wince and glance down at my hands. They’re trembling.
“Baby,” Dylan says, pushing himself up, staring at me. “What’s going on? Are you all right? Evie!”
“What?”
“Are you all right?” He seizes my hands. “Is it your empathic thing?”
“Not my empathic thing,” I say, holding onto his hands like they are a lifeline, the irony not lost on me because I’m supposed to be his lifeline. I shake my head. “It’s something else.”
“Can I do something? Do you need me to do something?”
“Yes.” I’m so close to helping him and yet I can’t do it right now. I just can’t go there. “You, Dylan. I need you inside me. Now.”
