Page 17 of The Boy Next Door
My nostrils flare when I spin around and glare at him.
His eyes flicker with dirty promises that makes me wish for things I shouldn’t. I wonder how many girls he’s gotten on their knees from that look alone.
The second I turn back around, he smacks his hand over my ass again. And as much as I enjoy it, I hate his arrogance. When I turn around this time, he grabs my wrists, leaning in so close—so threateningly close—I feel like I can’t breathe without dragging him into my lungs. I take a timid step back, but he just moves closer again and places his lips inches from mine. My heart hammers against my ribs. If I were a better person I would wriggle out of his grasp and sleep on his couch—but I’m not.
“Get off me, you dick,” I say, but instead of fighting him, I find my chest pressed to his, our eyes locked. He inches his lips closer, his hardening cock evident against my stomach.
“Are you mad because it wasn’t you?” He pushes me harder against the wall, and I feel myself becoming wet. “Tell me that’s why you’re mad, Em.”
“Evan, I swear to God, if you don’t get off of me.” I say it only to save face, because honestly, I’m about to come just from having him pin me against the wall like this.
“If I don’t get off of you, what?”
He releases one of my hands only to grab my chin, tilting my head back. His gaze drifts from my eyes to my mouth.
He places his lips centimeters from mine. I can taste his breath. I can feel how hard he is for me, and it’s winding me up so tight, I know I’m about to break.
“If I don’t get off you, what?” he says, practically breathing the words into my mouth.
I want him to kiss me. I want him to shred my clothes off my body and fuck me. Everything is a mess. Winston. The auction. And Lindsey is right, I’m eventually going to lose Evan to some other girl.
“Because”—his fingers twitch over my wrists—“I don’t want to get off you just yet,” he says.
“Evan.” I swallow, my pulse hammering in my ears. “Save it for Daisy...” I whisper, threading my fingers through his thick, dark hair.
His thumb sweeps over my lip. He’s so close, God, he’s so close. “No, Em, I’ve been saving it for you.”
With that, his mouth covers mine in a brutal kiss. He parts my lips with his tongue, deepening the kiss as his hands roam over my body, grabbing and groping desperately.
The second he fists my hair, I moan. I shove away thoughts about the auction and Daisy and Winston, because for years, Evan is all I’ve thought about. About how brutal his lips would feel, about how he’d taste. About him fisting my hair just like this.
I’m so wet, so turned on, it’s borderline painful. I rock against him, begging for the slightest friction. But it’s not enough.
He reaches for my jeans, clumsily fumbling with the button. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” he says between hard kisses.
“Maybe as long as I’ve wanted to.”
He yanks my jeans down, and I’m lost. Lost to the way his hands feel like fire on my skin, to how labored his breaths sound, as though he’s struggling to restrain himself. And the thought of what lay ahead making me frantic with lust.
I greedily reach for his fly, tugging and pulling until it’s loose and his pants are on the floor. We’re like two addicts chasing a high, desperate for just one thing.
He drops his hands to my ass, gripping my skin so hard it hurts. His hands move to my thighs, and he lifts me. My legs wrap around his waist, our skin only separated by my thin panties. I can’t possibly get close enough to him.
“Just don’t hate me tomorrow,” he says before pulling me away from the wall and carrying me to his room.
He roughly throws me on the bed—just like I’ve always imagined—then crawls toward me on his knees. My pulse bangs in my chest, the anticipation of what it will feel like when I finally have him inside me is nearly unbearable.
He gathers my shirt in his hands, slowly pulling the material up and over my head. Biting at his lip, his eyes lock with mine as he slides the straps of my bra, one by one, from my shoulders, yanking and tugging until my breasts are exposed. I like the way it feels being almost naked this close to him. Skin to skin. It’s so wrong and right at the same time.
His chest rises on ragged swells. There’s a long moment where he doesn’t touch me, where I worry maybe he’s rethinking this, but then he sweeps a finger between my breasts, circling his finger around hard nipples that are begging for the heat of his mouth. Like he knows exactly what I need, he lowers his head, sucking one of my nipples into his mouth.
His mouth works down my body, kissing and nipping while his hands glide along the curve of my waist. When he reaches my hips, he hooks one finger under the band of my thong and tugs, pulling it off.
I’m completely naked, in his bed. I’ve imagined this a thousand times, but this is so much better than any fantasy.
Awareness prickles over me as his hands slide up my calves. My pulse pounds harder at the thought of spreading my legs for him, so I do. I open my legs and his gaze locks between them.
“Jesus.” His breath catches, and he wets his lips with his tongue before trailing his finger along the junction of my thigh. “I’ve imagined doing this so many fucking times.” His finger moves along my pussy, front to back, and my back bows in response. “You’re so wet,” he says before sinking a finger inside me.
