How to Save a Life(70)

“I won’t let go. I promise. But let me stay until I have to come up. All right?”

I nodded, and I readied his watch. “Go,” I said, hardly a whisper.

Evan went under, the murky water concealing him from me but his hand solid in mine. The minutes began to add up, and my anxiety mounted. Four minutes came and I expect him to rise up, gasping. He didn’t. Five minutes.

Six minutes.

“Six f*cking minutes, Jesus, Evan,” I whispered. It took everything I had not to haul him up. My hand on his tightened and I felt an answering squeeze.

At seven minutes, I was clutching his hand so tightly my bones ached. His hand tightened too and I felt him struggle to stay down. I reached my limit and was about to yank him up when he broke the surface in a splash of water.

I noted the time: 8.02 seconds

“That’s impossible,” I whispered. Then my relief and amazement morphed to panic. Evan clutched his chest, sucking in lungful of air in between deep, harrowing coughs, his feet stumbling for purchase on the riverbed.

“Evan!”

In a panic, I dropped the watch into the murk as I hauled him toward the shallows. He had one hand pressed to his chest while with the other he hung on my shoulders, wheezing and gasping. His face was a grimace of pain and a scream for help welled up my throat. It took us an eternity to reach the shore where Evan collapsed to his knees, shoulders hunched. Slowly his gasping breaths grew deeper and his hacking coughs subsided.

He lifted his head and croaked, “How long?” he croaked.

I gaped. “Are you insane?”

“How long?”

I sat back on my heels beside him, the warm water lapping at my thighs. “Eight minutes. And two seconds,” I added, my voice rising with every syllable. “How’s that? Eight minutes, two seconds. Is that good enough? Want to try for nine? How about ten. You got ten f*cking minutes in you, Evan? Will that be enough?”

He shook his head, recovered now, his breathing deep and even. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Good.” I got to my feet with a splash. “Because you’re not doing it again. I dropped your watch in the river and I’m f*cking glad. Never again, Evan. Never. Again.”

Evan got to his feet. He said nothing, but his expression was suddenly hungry. Almost feral. I took a step back even as a flush of heat swept over me.

“Why do you do it? Tell me why you have to go under so long.”

“I don’t know yet,” he said, and put his arms around me. I stiffened at first, wanting to shove him away. But his wet skin was all along mine. He was strong and smelled green and I wanted him close.

“You don’t know?”

“No,” he replied, his hands sliding up and down my back. “But it’s important. I can feel it.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, pulling his hips close against me. “And I hate it.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice gruff, his lips brushing the hollow beneath my ear, then grazing with his teeth.

“You scared me.” My body was betraying me, burning up my anger and turning it to desire. I could feel his body tense against mine, a hardening between his thighs.

“I said I was sorry.” He stroked my hair, his mouth seeking mine. Rough and deep.

“You’re not sorry,” I managed to say around his biting kiss that was stealing the strength out of my legs. I had another smart remark on deck but the words died as Evan gripped my hair, his eyes burning blue fire. And I could feel it in him—he was about to unleash himself on me. The exhilaration of being under for eight damn minutes had somehow morphed into a ferocious need.

My own desire was burning white hot. Not only because of Evan’s hands and mouth on my body, but because that primal lust I felt in him was mine. I’d put it there.

He wants me…

“Are you ready for me?” he growled against my lips.

I arched my neck as he burned a path down my throat with his mouth. “See for yourself.”

Rational thought flew out of my head as Evan’s hand slipped between my thighs. His fingers dipped beneath the hem of my underwear. He cupped me, his fingers deliciously rough as they slid across my sensitive flesh.

“You’re ready,” he said.

“Yes,” I breathed. “And this time…”

“Hard.”

Yes.

Last night’s gentle lovemaking had been beautiful. Evan’s hands had been gentle with me, his chest and arms soft as he held me. Now I wanted to taste the power of his body. I could feel the force of his need coiling in his muscles, humming along his skin like a live current. I wanted to feel that raw, pulsing strength, wanted every inch of him pounding over me and inside me until he broke me apart.

He removed his hand from between my thighs and picked me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me back to the blanket. He set my feet down, then his hands snaked into my hair as he yanked me to him in a crushing kiss. A thrill of electric lust coursed through me. This was exactly what I wanted. And he knew it.

His hands unclasped my bra, tore it off, and then slid my panties down my legs. My stare was unabashed as he stripped off his boxers, another rush of wet heat between my thighs at the sight. My body was ready for him.

Evan laid me down on the blanket. He hooked my leg on the crook of his arm and took hold of my hips. I expected him to drive into me with one fast thrust, to unleash the pent up fury I felt in him. Instead he entered me slowly. I cried out at the intense pressure, so hot and heavy and good. Then he was done being gentle. He began to move in me. Hard.