Bringing Home the Bad Boy (Second Chance #1)(90)

Gladly, he obliged, riding her hard, her nails abrading his back, her shouts of ecstasy in his ear while his own release built to a deafening crescendo.

“Yes!” she cried. “Harder!”

Unbelievably, he went harder, until they were both sliding in the sweat created from their efforts. Her legs were crossed at his back, and she tipped her head back, crying out and clutching him tight. He followed her over, his breath stuttering from his lips.

He dropped his face into her hair, turning his head when it damn near suffocated him. Slowly, he came up from the moment, surfacing with a haze rivaling any alcohol buzz he’d ever experienced.

That’s what it was like with Charlie. She was easy to get drunk on, to take in through every form possible. And like an alcoholic, he wanted her night and day, every morning, until he’d binged so much he ached and shook for her again.

She saturated his bloodstream, muddled his mind, and made dealing with life easier in every single way.

At the party today, he’d felt happiness that Lyon, who’d made friends already, was fitting in so well. Happy that Charlie was here to see it.

His next thought was that Rae was missing it.

Normally, Rae was his very first thought. Today, his first thought was Charlie.

It took the twelve-minute car ride home to solidify what he hadn’t been able to solidify before. He hadn’t decided when—or how—to break the news to Charlie.

Evan pulled out of her pliant body and she made a quick trip to the attached bathroom. When she came in, a sexy smile tipped her lips and she fell into bed. Fell into him. He caught her, propping himself on one elbow to arrange her hair and then tug the blankets so they covered their naked bodies.

She snuggled into him, her butt against his hips, and he wrapped an arm around her waist and cupped one of her breasts in his hand. Nose buried in her neck, he laid and listened to her breathing, until it grew deep and slow. A sound he’d grown to learn was her falling asleep.

When he was sure she’d zonked out, he kissed her neck lightly. She didn’t move.

“Love you, Ace,” he whispered.

Then he fell asleep, waking in the morning with a numb arm, a breast in his hand, and a smile on his face.

Peace.

After four long years, he’d finally found it.


*


“Still okay?”

Charlie sucked in air through her teeth. “Yeah.”

The buzzing needle stopped and Evan leaned over her, his turquoise eyes filled with concern. “Ace.”

She opened her eyes, her skin tingling. “I’m good. Promise. This hurts more than I thought.”

“I can stop.”

“No.” She clasped the arm holding the needle marking her skin. “I want it finished.”

He lowered his warm lips and kissed her before giving her a small, proud smile. “Okay, baby.”

This morning, after hangover hash, which as it turned out was just as delicious when she wasn’t hungover, Evan led her to the studio for a surprise. Evidently, he’d risen sometime in the night and had drawn an entire page of tattoo ideas for her to choose from.

An entire page of cameras. She’d chosen her favorite and he tweaked it with the changes she requested, then he laid a long, wet kiss on her and led her to the reclined chair in the corner.

The tattoo was relatively small, and only a black-blue outline, but it was perfect. A simple, iconic front-facing camera, the tops of two evergreen trees rising behind it.

He wiped a towel along her tingling, practically numb skin, and the buzzing needle stopped.

“Done, Ace.”

Holding her shirt high, she admired the artwork on her body.

His mark on her body.

And he’d enjoyed doing it, she could tell. After instructions on how to care for her new ink, he walked her down the beach toward her house. She rolled up her T-shirt and examined the artwork through the plastic wrap he’d taped to her skin.

“Ace. Sun.”

“I know! I had to look one more time.”

At her porch, he stopped, pulled her against him, careful not to palm the sensitive and newly tattooed area high on her ribs under her breast, and kissed her. “Picking up Lyon, then we have to run a few errands. The Wharf for dinner?”

Her lips curved into a smile. “Mmm, seafood.”

He grinned again, his dark lashes throwing shadows on his cheeks.

Gosh. Had she ever been this happy?

“Lotion,” he instructed, pointing at her tat. Then he rolled her shirt down and mumbled, “Only time you’ll see me pull your shirt down.”

With a final, but thorough, kiss, he turned toward home. She stood on her porch watching his confident swagger. She watched until he was halfway down the beach, then, under the shade of her porch, first making sure he wasn’t looking, she rolled her shirt up, admiring Evan’s handiwork again.

The area was a little red and swollen, but so beautiful. Custom. Precisely what she’d asked for.

A man’s tall form stepped around the corner of her house. Thinking Evan had come back to warn her of the perils of exposing her tat to the elements too soon, Charlie opened her mouth to promise this was the last time.

It wasn’t Evan.

Two years had passed since she’d seen the man. His hair was a touch more gray than she remembered, and if his pronounced gut was any indication, he was carrying at least twenty extra pounds.