Page 77 of Love and Loathing

He kissed whatever she was about to say right out of her mouth, hands cradling her face, holding her to him as he sank inside the taste of her. It was relief that blistered through him, it was joy, fire hot. It was disbelief. She fuckingthoughtso… He groaned, hands moving down, unzipping his top from her body, pushing it from her shoulders. Jesus Christ, she was wearing nothing underneath…

He lifted her onto the counter, pressed himself between her legs until they wrapped around his hips, but he wanted to get closer—

“You seem a bit impatient,” Evie said, laughing as his mouth moved to her neck.

“Shut up.”

He moved to her breasts, thumb swiping one pebbled nipple, mouth on the other.

“In a bit of a hurry,” she gasped.

“Do you want me to make you shut up?” he said, smiling darkly against her lips, then kissing her until she moaned, moving against him, his hand on her ass helping her grind against him while she reached down to free him from his trousers.

He grunted as she took hold of him.

“Maybe…” she murmured, stroking him slowly, “I’ll let you come by dawn.”

He gave her a dark look, then slid her from the counter and pushed her to her knees.

“That’s more like it,” she said, laughing.

He gripped her jaw. “Open.”

She opened her mouth, eyes on his as he pushed himself between her lips. She moved her tongue, getting him wet, and he hissed a breath, fingers slipping to the back of her head, guiding himself further in.

“Look at me while I fuck your mouth.”

She looked up at him, blue eyes bright, the skin pale on her perfect, pretty face. He rocked into her, feeling the slip and slide of her, the warm pressure streaking pleasure from every sensitive bit of him up his spine. Fuck. Again. And again, her lips gripping him, tongue slavish, working to please him. He looked from her eyes to her mouth, to the thickness of him disappearing inside her stretched lips. He couldn’t be gentle, wanted to go harder… Fuck, he pulled out, dragged her to her feet, got her leggings down to her knees and lifted her back onto the counter. He pulled one foot free, enough so that he could spread her knees, and then he was inside her, listening to her grunt into the skin by his shoulder.

He came before she did, so he held her close, his fingers deep in the mixture of them both, working her, breathing her name, her head held to his chest until she came around his hand, letting him feel every pulse and tremor. He eased her through it until she was boneless, spent, then he picked her up and carried her to the bathroom.

THIRTY-TWO

Evie should have packedmore underwear. She ended up wearing Aubrey’s boxers, and his hooded top again. Nothing else. He didn’t seem to mind.

He was washing up anyway. She padded into the kitchen on bare feet and started picking up the cardboard packaging from the meal he’d made.

“Where’s your recycling?” she asked. “If you—”

He interrupted her. “Yes, Evie. I recycle.” He rolled his eyes, then nodded to the end of the counter, both hands wet with soapy suds, sleeves rolled up to his elbow. “Over there. That green box.”

She put the cardboard in, then paused as she turned away, wondering what it was that had snagged her attention. She looked back in the green box, seeing nothing at first but card, bits of paper, empty envelopes.

There—that one. Peyton and Partners. A logo on the envelope. That was the solicitor’s firm she had been to today, the ones who had arranged the transfer of the garden into her name.

She picked up the envelope, stared at it with a frown. “Aubrey…”

“Yes?”

He looked up from the sink, saw what she was holding. It could have been nothing. It could have been a coincidence. But his face went very still, and he stepped back from the sink, slowly drying his hands.

“Aubrey… Why…? This is the same solicitor I met this morning.”

“Yes.”

She took a step towards him, holding out the envelope as though she wanted him to check, make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. “You’ve been in touch with them, too?”

“Yes.”

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