Page 42 of Love and Loathing

She flushed, glaring athim, then shook free of his grip on her chin and stepped out of his arms. God damn it. She was going to get all high and mighty and offended when he’d only meant:

“If I kiss you,” he said, grabbing her hand before she could storm away. “It’ll be because you actually want me to.”

The gramophone was still blaring, staticky and echoing in the enormous room. At least it covered up their conversation, though Liv had tugged Domnall to a swaying standstill and was watching their argument, smiling. George, thank God, had left ages ago, giving up on Domnall and retreating to his study where he’d ordered Aubrey to attend him for a debrief before their return to the office tomorrow.

Instead, Aubrey was here, moments from dragging George’s daughter upstairs and ripping the goddamn red dress off her. If she gave any indication that’s what she wanted, if any of this flirting and fakery turned out to be what he craved, then he was going to take Evie up on that first invitation that had been searedinto his mind ever since and fuck her until she couldn’t walk straight.

“You’re in love with Liv,” she said, as though that was the end of the conversation. As though it had anything at all to do with what he was asking.

“Do you want me to?” he asked, demanded to know, fingers tight on her wrist. He made a conscious effort to loosen them, and she pulled her hand free, looked down. “Do you want that, Evie?”

“Yes.”

“Then go to your room,” he said.

She glanced at him, a hundred things in her eyes, then left the room without looking back. Aubrey counted to five, pulse thundering, arousal shredding his wits, mind swept of everything except furious desire.

He left the room, walking slowly, heedless of Liv, Domnall, forgetting they even existed. He stopped in the empty hall outside and counted again to five, trying to steady his racing pulse, then climbed the stairs, counting each one.Evie. Finally.Every step creaked, ten times louder than usual. The house was enormous. The stairs unending, the landing, the doors. Evie’s.

He knocked.

“Come in.”

She stood by the bed, watching silently as he closed the door behind him. Locked it. He went to her, handed her the key. She dropped it carelessly to the floor.

“I’m not your type,” she said, looking back up at him, a flat challenge in her eyes. “I’m not short, or curvy. I’m not Liv.”

“I have lots of types.”

“For meaningless sex.”

He studied her for a moment. “We don’t have to do this. If it’s not what you want.”

“I said I did. I want you to kiss me.”

“I want to fuck you, Evie. Just to be clear.”

She coloured slightly. “I know.”

“And you want that?”

She looked away, arms folded. Nodded briefly.

He reached out, turned her face back to him. “I need to be sure, Evie. Look me in the eye and say it.”

She scowled, eyes narrowed. “I want you to fuck me, Aubrey.”

He breathed a laugh. “Said like a brat.”

She held his eye and smiled sweetly. “I want you to fuck me, Aubrey. I want you to take me from behind. I want you to bend me over and spank me. I want you to take me hard and fast. I want you in my mouth. Is that better?”

Jesus Christ.

“Hell of a menu, Evie,” he said, trying not to betray the tremor of pure need that went through him. His hand was still cupping her jaw. Slowly, he stroked his thumb up to her mouth, dragging the pad over the flesh of her lower lip, feeling the edge of wetness of the soft inside where her lipstick didn’t reach. He couldn’t look away from that soft pink flesh, not even as he slid his hand into the hair at the back of her head, knocking the pins awry, and pulled her to him.

How could the same mouth that had talked such filth be so soft and meltingly sweet? She moaned a little as he found the soft flesh of her inner lip with his tongue, with his teeth, and he was already losing his mind, floating somewhere between heaven and hell, hardly knowing which way was up but that he wanted her just as she’d described, on her knees, hard and filthy, and he wanted to fuck this sweet little mouth, and he wanted her until it hurt, and he also just wanted to kiss her, exactly like this, with only his hand in her hair and her mouth on his, both of them fighting to breathe.

He felt mad, delirious, throat aching, body trembling. She touched him, a hand on his chest, and he broke the kiss, inhalingsharply, forehead against hers. She ran her hand up to his neck, to the hair behind his ear, traced his cheek, his jaw. He closed his eyes, opened them, found hers still blue and steady and close, impossibly close, nothing but Evie in his sights.

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