Until June (Until Her 2)

“Evan.”

“Yeah, baby?” I ask against her skin, feeling her pulse beat against my lips.

“Um…are you okay?” she asks, her tone filled with uncertainty.

“Fuck yeah,” I mutter against her neck and I feel the tension drain from her muscles.

“Are you hungry?” she inquires quietly, placing her hands over mine on her waist.

“Definitely,” I rumble, feeling her shiver.

“We should eat,” she whispers after a long moment.

“Give me a second,” I whisper back, needing this moment, her in my arms, her scent in my lungs, proving I’m alive and here with her.

“Ev.” She turns in my arms, placing her hands on either side of my neck. “Talk to me,” she prompts quietly, searching my eyes.

“I’m good.” I lean forward and run my nose along hers. “Great, actually.”

“You seemed like you were somewhere else.”

“I’m right here,” I assure her quietly, because it’s the fucking truth. I just had no clue we’d be here again. I never thought we had a shot, didn’t dare to even dream she would welcome me into her house and prove once more how fucking stupid I was by letting her go, when she is the kind of woman to remember something as small as what my favorite meal is.

Searching my eyes again, she lets out a deep breath then looks away. “I got some beer. Find something to drink and I’ll get our plates ready.” I know from her tone that she’s annoyed or disappointed, but I have no clue what she’s searching for or what answer she wants. I’m being as honest as I can be right now.

“Kiss me, and then I’ll get a beer,” I pull her closer until her tits are pressed into my chest and her hands are forced to slide around the back of my neck.

“I don’t remember you being this bossy.”

“I probably wasn’t,” I tell her, leaving out the fact that I know what it’s like to live without something—something I liked a fuck’uva lot—and since I don’t have to be without it anymore, I’m going to enjoy it when I can get it, even if I have to demand it.

“Ev.” Her forehead comes to rest against my chest as her head drops forward and her hands slide down my chest and around my back. “This…” She lets out a breath then continues quietly, “I dreamt of you…” She pauses, pressing deeper into my chest. “You used to haunt me, and I…” My gut gets tight as she pauses again. “I don’t know if this is real. It can’t be real.”

“It’s real,” I rumble.

“How can it be?”

“You just have to believe that it is, beautiful.” Wrapping her hair around my fist, I pull her face out of my chest and tilt her head back, taking the kiss I asked her for.

“Harder,” I command, wrapping my hands around her hips.

“No,” she whispers, sliding down slowly, so fucking slow I feel my balls draw up.

“Harder, June,” I repeat, ready to lose it, not wanting to come until she does. After we ate her really fucking good food, we settled in front of the TV, cuddling. I had my hand up the back of her tank, my fingers roaming across her smooth skin as we watched some TV show she swore I needed to watch. It was about a detective in New York and a woman who was covered in tattoos, which happened to be clues to cases they were working on. My mind wasn’t on the show, even though I had to agree the premise was cool. Instead, my mind was on her body, lying against mine, on her couch, in her living room, in her house, doing something normal, something I knew we would have had if I hadn’t fucked us up.

But when she started squirming on me, her legs fidgeting, I knew she wasn’t thinking about the show anymore either. I didn’t plan on taking her. I would have been happy holding her on her couch, in her living room, in her house, but my beautiful girl had other plans, and I knew this when her warm, soft hand wrapped around my cock, and making out turned into me fingering her until she came and then her straddling my lap, which brings us to now.

“I want to feel you,” she breathes, dropping again and again, doing it slow.

Torturous.

“Fuck.” I buck up into her then lift her up with my hands under her ass, hearing her squeak as her limbs wind around me. Moving across the house to her bedroom, I push the door open, move to the bed, put one knee into the mattress and then the other, never losing our connection as I settle her on the bed. “Hands above your head.”

“What?” she whimpers as I slam into her once.

“Hands above your head,” I repeat, sitting back on my knees. Her hands tentatively move above her head, and I put mine behind my neck to pull my shirt off then pull her tank off. Dropping my head, I pull her breast into my mouth and cup the other one.