Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(47)
I tried to play it off with a laugh, but I couldn't deny it. Yes, I had that thought about them a time or two. I most just thought about it. Given what happened to me, and the fact that I was a virgin that night, I would be far from ready for any type of physical relationship with anyone for a while. Well, that may have been true if I wasn't living with Evan Masen. And that may have been true if Evan Masen hadn't rescued me. And that may have been true if I wasn't falling for Evan Masen.
And as much as I tried to pay attention that night, Evan Masen was in my head. Thoughts of us naked, feelings of lust and desire, erotic thoughts bombarded me and frustrated me. Sexual tension was something I'd never experienced before.
Evan's condo in the Trump Towers was far more extravagant than his parents' home in Pittsburgh. You could tell their home was where a good family lived and well-rounded children were raised. Evan's condo looked somewhat like a playboy mansion, only on a smaller scale. It wasn't huge, but it had some nice amenities. A quick walk through and you easily understood it was a guy's pad. When you walked inside, straight-ahead was the living room. The smell was the first thing you noticed when you walked in. It smelled like Evan, and I wanted to bury myself in the wood floors and become part of its grain. I wasn't sure how, but he always spelled like some kind of pampered laundry sheet. Rich cotton, leather, boy, and the smell I remembered from that night. The smell of Evan was comforting.
His parents' home had a faint resemblance to the smell, but it was nothing like being here. When you walked inside there was a laundry room to the right, with a fancy stainless steel front loading washer and dryer. I was sure he never used either of them, but the pile of laundry told me otherwise.
Walking into the living room, with its floor to ceiling windows overlooking Northern Chicago, the view almost looked like some kind of skyline painting. The kitchen and dining room area were to the right; dark wood matched the cupboards and was met with stainless steel appliances and black granite countertops.
His furniture was a sage green, a couch and few chairs placed strategically around his large flat screen television that hung neatly on the wall. No wires or speakers in sight, but you knew they were there somewhere.
When I first set foot in there, judging by the arrangement and decorations, he was either gay or had someone do it for him. Turned out his sister wanted to be an interior designer and designed the layout for him. I was glad because it would be a shame to be so attracted to Evan and have him be gay.
Down the hall to the left were a few bathrooms, a spare bedroom, and then Evan's master suite.
The bedroom was spacious with a black sleigh bed and matching dresser. The walls were splashed with a light gray tone, and a few pictures of the beach hung above the bed. Large windows bathed the room in an airy winter frost that I loved and offered a beautiful view of downtown Chicago.
The bathroom had dark slate floors with a long counter that matched. In the corner was a shower that I was sure his whole team could fit into and a large tub that allowed you to look over the city, too. It was an unnecessary indulgence I couldn't wait to try out.
His closet was off the bathroom and was nearly the same size as his bedroom. A few jerseys that appeared to be from his early hockey days were framed on the walls.
After leaving the bar, we came back to his place where I was now officially staying. We were on the couch. He was watching SportsCenter, catching highlights from games he missed. Though he played, he was a huge fan of the sport and kept a close eye on the Pittsburgh Penguins.
"Evan, can you do something for me?" I whispered as I raised my head from his chest. He didn't answer but brushed my short hair behind my ears. This time it stayed in place, having grown a little longer, and he waited for me to continue. I opened my mouth to speak and forgot what I was even going to ask when I met his eyes. So instead, I leaned in and kissed him.
His hand curled around to cup my neck, urging my lips a little harder in to his, giving a groan when our mouths met.
I moaned when I felt the blend of warm and wet soft lips on mine. My hand fisted in the fabric of his dress shirt as his tightened around me. I needed a little more tonight; I wanted a little more and wasn't sure how much he was willing to give. To see just how far I could go with it, I moved to straddle him.
Evan moaned deeply at the change in our position and greedily moved his hands lower over my ass. A spike of nervousness and excitement pricked my skin and settled in my belly.
His fingers clenched into tight fists around the hem of my shirt. That was when I felt the hard length of him pressing against me, his hips straining a little closer to feel the friction I could provide. But then he stilled any movement I made.
"Ami," he groaned, his eyes squeezing closed. Hearing my name on his lips made my heart stumble. I wasn't ready to stop, but I knew the look on his face. He was about to pull away.
Lowering my lips to his neck, I kissed up the length of it, feeling the muscles straining. My hips fought against his hold to move.
"Jesus, Ami," he growled softly, possessively, against my lips. "Please stop. You have to stop," he asserted, pushing me off him.
"What's wrong?"
He rubbed his hands furiously over his face and groaned. "I want to f*ck you so bad…and that's a really shit thing for me to want from you right now."
"Why?" I asked, completely confused and trying to fight that sting of rejection.