In the Weeds (Lovelight #2)(61)

The first time I kissed Evie was under a broken light in a dingy bar, the dull orange glow flickering on and off and on again. I could see it behind my eyes as our mouths moved together, a drumbeat of desire I kept pace with. I feel like I’ve unpacked the memory of that kiss enough over the last couple months for the edges to run smooth, like stones at the bottom of a river bed. It’s nothing but hazy flashes of sensation. Fingertips under my ear. Her cheek brushing mine. The slow, wet slide of heat as I urged her chin down and kissed her deeper.

Now, here—in the bright light of my kitchen with the window cracked half an inch and coffee brewing in the pot—I feel that memory crack right down the middle.

There’s nothing hazy about this kiss.

No sweet introduction. No gentle relearning. Evie scratches her nails up into my hair and tugs, a demand in the way her mouth works at mine. She kisses me like she’s hungry for it, like she’s been dreaming of me the same way I’ve been dreaming about her. I smooth both of my hands over her hips and grip tight.

“There you are,” she breathes into my mouth. I squeeze again and she lets out a husky chuckle.

“I’m right here,” I tell her. I’ve always been right here. Waiting, it feels like, for Evie to show up and kiss me in the middle of my kitchen. Our kiss tilts into something hotter—wetter, slower—in the span of a single stuttered heartbeat. Evie’s hands turn demanding as they grip the front of my shirt, strong fistfuls of soft material between her fingers as she pushes me up against the refrigerator. The appliance at my back shudders with the impact, but I’m too occupied with the slide of her tongue against mine, too focused on feeling the soft skin of her back beneath my palms.

I dig my thumb into one of the dimples just above her ass as I lick into her mouth and she makes my favorite sound—a throaty whimper. I press harder and she pulls her mouth from mine, drops her head against my collarbone and presses that sound into my skin.

I move my hands up her back, impatient as I map the arch of her spine. I drag my hand back and forth over the band of her bra and slip my fingers beneath, snapping it once as I release the elastic against her skin. She nips at my jaw in retribution.

“Be nice,” she tells me.

“I can be nice.” As a matter of fact, I can think of several nice things I want to do right this second. Her shirt gathers against my wrists as I tuck my fingers under the straps of her bra again, following the line over her shoulders. I curl my hands there and tug, watching her sway further into me.

“Oh?” Evie’s eyes are dark with desire, her mouth kiss-bitten. “Would you like to show me?”

It’s like our bodies are frantic to make up for lost time, our mouths diving back together as I drag my knuckles across her collarbones, down over the swell of her breasts. I linger there in the space above, her chest heaving, my thumbs tracing where skin meets fabric.

“Still a tease,” she says with a nip to my bottom lip. Her nails dig half moons into my chest over my shirt.

“Still impatient,” I reply, caught between wanting to laugh and fall to my knees. Reacquaint myself with every square inch of her.

“I swear to god, if you don’t touch me, I’ll—”

She doesn’t finish her sentence. I cup her in my hands and squeeze, my thumbs dragging slow and sure against the cotton of her bra. I feel it when her breath stutters, a quick rise and fall beneath my touch. I want bare skin. I want more of those sounds. I grip the center of her bra and yank the material down until it’s twisted beneath her breasts, watching my hands grip and smooth and pluck beneath her shirt.

“You’ll what?” I ask.

“I’ll be—” her eyelashes flutter, a half-smile curling her lips. “I’ll be so mad.”

“Hm.”

She turns her face and catches my mouth again, my hands working under her shirt. I rub my thumbs across her nipples until she makes the panting sound I like best, her hands gripping at my jaw in silent demand. I wrap one arm low around her waist and hitch her closer. I want her body against mine, her softness everywhere I’m hard. Her nails scratch into my beard and I stumble forward, backing her into the table. I vaguely notice my coffee mug tip over the edge and land on the rug with a muted thunk. I’ll look at that stain every day and remember exactly this. Evelyn gasping against my lips, her knee hitching high against my hip.

I drop my forehead to her shoulder and brush a kiss there, my hand slipping from her breast to her hip. I squeeze once and try to get myself under control. “We should stop,” I mumble. “Talk.”

This has always been the easy part—letting the sparks between us catch and burn. It’s everything else we need to sort out. I like her body, but I like everything else more. And I don’t want her to think this is all I want.

She nods, hands slipping beneath my shirt to scratch at my back. I arch into her and trap her hips with mine, flattening her to the table. “Yeah.”

I nose at the collar of her shirt until I can reach the skin where her shoulder meets her neck and suck a lingering kiss there. She’s sweet with a touch of salt I know will stay on my tongue for days. I drag my face down her chest until I can catch her nipple between my teeth through the fabric of her shirt.

I can’t stop touching her, tasting her.

“Excellent talking,” Evelyn breathes around a laugh, her hand at the back of my head holding me to her. “Very best talk I’ve ever had.”