Page 43 of False Assumptions

Chapter Nineteen

Layla watched Evan walk out of her room, her gaze fixed on his ass despite herself. Normally she would object to being bossed around like that. But those kisses. Damn. She wanted to get to more of that sooner than later, too.

Despite Evan’s claims, she hadn’t been stalling. Not exactly. But he made her nervous. She was aware of his presence in her apartment even while he waited not-so-patiently in the living room. With him in the bedroom with her? Forget it. She couldn’t focus on what she should pack with him standing there flexing his arms, the fabric of his short-sleeve T-shirt pulled tight across his biceps, shoulders, and chest, falling looser around his trim waist.

He’d seemed disappointed this morning when she hadn’t brought a suitcase with her to school, but had covered it quickly, assuring her that packing after class was fine. They’d both been happy that her last professor let class out twenty minutes early, but Evan kept asking how long it’d take her to pack like he couldn’t wait even the half an hour it normally took her.

She’d thought about packing since Tuesday, trying to decide what she should bring, how much she should bring, if she’d actually go through with staying with him after all. After last night, part of her was waiting for him to change his mind and decide he’d rather go home. He’d told her that had been his plan, but that his parents hadn’t minded the sudden change.

But those kisses. If that’s what he’d been saving up for the last few days, she wanted to get more of that. And Megan had made a valid point about taking advantage of the hot sex while she had the chance.

“Ready?”

Evan’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She looked around quickly once more, coiling the charger for her phone in her hand and sticking it in her purse. “Yeah. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

The smile he gave her almost took her breath away. It still stunned her at random intervals that he wanted her. For her. Not as some kind of notch in his belt or curiosity about the “exotic” girl. He hadn’t even brought that up again since that day in the ER, which made her glad for the obvious reason that she didn’t like being called that, but also because it meant he listened when she spoke. The closest he’d come had been when he asked about her name, since Layla wasn’t a name usually associated with any of her ethnic backgrounds.

She’d rolled her eyes as she answered. “My dad is an Eric Clapton fan. That’s always been one of his favorite songs. He used to sing it to me all the time when I was little.”

He’d pulled her close and kissed her. “That’s the best story of someone’s name I’ve ever heard.”

His fingers tangled in hers, as had become his habit, tugging her behind him out of her apartment, pausing to let her lock the door, then down the stairs to his car. He opened her door for her, every inch the gentleman. When they got to his place, he carried her suitcase up the stairs, not even bothering to roll it along like she would.

She followed behind him, smiling at the sight of his jeans pulling tight over his ass with every step up the stairs. He turned at the landing, noticing that she was several steps behind him. A look of concern crossed his face. “Is your ankle still bugging you?”

Smiling, she shook her head. “Nope. It’s fine. Just enjoying the view.”

He looked around at the parking lot for a second before he realized what she meant, and then he gave her a wide grin. “Are you? I’d be happy to provide a more private showing if you’d like.”

When she reached the landing, he tugged her inside, closing and locking the door behind her. He didn’t even give her time to look around, much less get nervous again, before his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding, his chest pressing into hers, his hands on her hips holding her tightly to him.

His fingers pressed into the back of her hips, guiding her to stay close to him as he backed further into the apartment. Her feet tangled with his for the first few steps, and only his body pressing against hers kept her from falling. But she found their rhythm, almost like a dance, as he slid his feet backwards, and she matched her feet to his.

They entered another room—his bedroom? Must be, because before she knew it, he was sitting on the bed in front of her, positioning her between his knees, his fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt to tickle over her bare skin. He pushed the fabric out of the way, his lips grazing her skin, his fingers moving to undo the button and zipper of her jeans.

He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he didn’t want to wait. They hadn’t even been inside his apartment more than a couple of minutes before he was stripping her.

His blue eyes met hers, his lids heavy, his tongue coming out to swipe over his full lips. “Take your shirt off.”

Before she could move, his hands were pushing her shirt up her torso as far as he could, too impatient to wait for her to comply. With a slight smirk, she pulled the offending garment over her head, dropping it on the floor behind her. The flare of his eyes at the sight of her standing before him in her bra and jeans more than made up for his bossiness.

And if she were honest with herself, she kind of liked it when he bossed her around like this. Any other time? No. But here? It was sexy. Seeing him react to her like this turned her on as much as anything.

His long, calloused fingers slipped inside the waistband of her jeans, pushing them down a little as he delved inside, his hands finding the bare skin under her panties, squeezing her ass before moving around more and pushing everything down until her clothes were around her thighs, baring her to him but leaving her trapped. Not that she wanted to get away. Not with his eyes raking over her like that, singeing her wherever they landed—her breasts, her nipples hardening under his gaze, her ribs, her stomach … and lower.

He pulled her closer, his lips making contact with her torso, his mouth hot and wet, his hands gripping her ass, holding her in place as he worked his way up to her breasts. She arched into his mouth, losing herself to the feel of his tongue and lips around her nipples, making them impossibly harder.

God, he knew what he was doing.

That thought brought with it the unwelcome reminder that he’d obviously done this a lot. But she pushed that away, reminding herself that she was taking advantage of his experience by enjoying it as much as she could for as long as she could.

She wanted closer to him. She wanted to straddle him, to feel his skin against hers, but her jeans were still bunched around her thighs, and he was still fully clothed. Wiggling her hips, she reached down to push her pants further down so she could get them off.

Evan stopped to look up at her, and she made a whining noise as his mouth left her body. He gave her a wicked grin. “Need some help?”

“Please.” Normally she’d hate the desperate quality of her voice, but he had her so worked up, so aching for his touch, that she didn’t care.

He shoved her pants down past her knees, and she kicked them off. As she pulled her legs free, one of his hands dove between her thighs, guiding her to kneel over him on the bed and splitting her with his fingers. Two of his fingers pushed inside her, driving her breath out with their force, and she clutched at his shoulders, the fabric of his T-shirt bunching in her hands.

---