The Boyfriend Experience (The Boyfriend Experience 1)

“But we both fell. Together. And there’s no reason why we can’t try and make this work when we get back to San Diego,” she said hopefully, knowing she was wearing her heart and emotions on her sleeve like she never had before.

He bit down on the inside of his cheek. She prayed with everything in her that he was considering what she said. But looking into his eyes, she knew the moment he shut down any possibility of a future together.

“I’d like to think we’d at least be friends after this,” he said quietly.

God, that hurt. So much. “I can’t make that promise, Eric.” Actually, she wouldn’t make that promise and decided to risk everything for a chance to be with him. “I feel too much for you and I can’t be friends with someone I . . . love,” she admitted, knowing it was true. “Knowing I’ll never really have you. Ever.”

He groaned, the sound low and tortured.

She knew what his issues were without him saying a word. Knew why he’d never allowed his emotions to get involved with any woman, and addressed those concerns. “Eric, I would gladly take another week with you, a month, a year . . . rather than nothing at all. I would take anything with you, even knowing what the risks are, because I wouldn’t want to live our life, our future, thinking about what-ifs that may never happen.”

A muscle in his jaw clenched tight. “I’m not going to do that to you, Evie.”

“It’s my choice to make,” she argued.

He let go of her hands and pushed his fingers through her hair, forcing her head back, and pinned her with his stare. “No, it’s mine,” he countered, his tone brusque and irritable to cover the underlying pain she saw in his eyes.

Before she could say anything more, he crushed his mouth to hers, the taste of his kiss raw and emotional and demanding. It started angry and punishing, his hands suddenly tearing away her clothes to get her naked, and she helped him do the same, her body already wet and eager and hungry for the feel of him inside her.

He pushed her back on the bed, rolled on a condom, then came over her, grabbing her hands and pinning them at the sides of her head. His cock found her core, and he lined himself up and drove so deep inside her in one hard thrust he impaled her completely. She arched beneath him and cried out as he claimed her, rough and desperate and without his normal finesse.

When she didn’t fight back and instead wrapped her legs tight around his waist and just let him take whatever he needed from her, even if it was just this physical release to stave off the avalanche of emotions he was feeling, something seemed to switch inside him. His thrusts gradually slowed, gentled, as if he was now savoring what he’d never have again.

His fingers tightened around her wrists, and he buried his face in her neck, his breathing ragged as he dragged the length of his shaft back out, then entered her again in one long, pleasurable stroke that made her thighs quiver against his hips. She closed her eyes as his warm male scent wrapped around her, and she imprinted it in her memory to recall in the lonely nights ahead. With each slow downward grind against her sex, desire pulsed through her veins, thick and hot, pushing her closer to the orgasm building inside her.

“I’m sorry, Evie,” he whispered jaggedly against her throat, sounding so broken inside it brought tears to her eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

She knew he wasn’t apologizing for the barbaric way he’d just fucked her, but rather his inability to take that ultimate risk for her and with her. He coaxed them both toward orgasm—heat, softness, and slick friction adding to the pleasurable climb—and he lifted his head and watched her face as she came beneath him, then looked deeply into her eyes before his entire body shuddered with his own release.

And when he kissed her a few minutes later, it tasted like goodbye.

Eric walked into the office an hour before the scheduled Monday afternoon meeting with Leo and a client. He’d just dropped Evie off at her place after a long, quiet car ride back to San Diego. They both knew there was nothing left to talk about since he’d pretty much shut down any possibility of a real relationship with Evie the night before—for her own good, he told himself, forcing himself to believe the words.

The thought of never seeing her again cut him like a knife, and the laceration felt fresh and raw. His greatest fear was that this particular wound would never heal, because as crazy as it was to even him, he loved her and always would. Yes, he loved her . . . There was no other explanation for the deep, emotional connection he’d felt with her. But none of that changed the fact that he was doing what was best for Evie, even if she didn’t agree, and that took precedence over his own feelings toward her.