Seven Days in June(52)

They stopped only to catch their breath.

“One more question,” he said.

“We’re still playing?” She wet her lips with her tongue.

“Yeah.” Shane glanced toward the door, then back down at her. Eyes glinting in the dark wickedly. “Are you still bad?”

“Yes,” she said without thinking, reaching down to palm his dick, huge and hard in his jeans. She rubbed along the length of him, teasing out a low groan. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he said, pushing her dress up and slipping off her strapless bra. Dipping down, he ran his soft, hot mouth along the swell of her breast, his teeth catching on her nipple. He swirled his tongue around it, sucking deliciously—and then, his stubble scraping her skin, he dragged his mouth to the other. Her helpless, shuddery gasps were making him so hard, he wondered how he’d survive this.

“Yeah,” he growled against her breast. “I’m still bad.”

“Why? T-tell me.”

Shane lifted his head, taking her in. Eva looked radiant, so slutty, with her dress pulled up under her arms, showing off sheer panties, curls everywhere, panting, trembling, lips raw and swollen from kissing. She had a bruise blossoming on her hip, where he’d gripped her.

“’Cause I’m old enough to know better,” said Shane, drawing her into a quick, dirty tongue kiss. “But I’m gonna do it anyway.”

“Do what?”

“Fuck you. Here.”

And then they tore into each other. Frantically, Shane managed to get her soaked panties off one leg, and Eva pushed down his jeans and boxers—but there was no time to get all the way naked. He dug into his wallet for an ancient condom (offering a silent prayer to several deities that it still worked) and slipped it on. Then, covering her with his tall, strong body, Shane sank into Eva with excruciating slowness, careful not to hurt her.

It did hurt, but the burn was exquisite. Wanting more, Eva cupped his ass and pushed him deeper. She gasped, and Shane kissed her quiet—driving into her with steady, deep strokes, and all she could do was take it, wave after wave of pleasure. When he felt her whole body begin to shudder against his, he slid his hand down between their sweat-slick, half-clothed bodies and dipped his middle finger over her clit. He rubbed her slowly but fucked her hard—and it was so good, so intense, that it sent her over the edge, shattering her to stillness.

And when Shane followed seconds later, he put his mouth to her ear and finally said it.

“Eva,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Eva. Eva.”

He uttered it like an incantation, the only name that ever mattered—and Eva, heart slamming into her ribs, clung to him in the violet-tinged darkness. Feeling both lost and found.



Later, Eva regretted it. Not the sex. She regretted leaving Shane there, alone, in that room. Getting up, throwing on her clothes, grabbing her bag, and rushing out. Not saying goodbye. But really, what did he expect?

Eva had trained herself not to care why Shane had abandoned her. Instead, she took it as a lesson. Ever since that day fifteen years ago, she’d never allowed herself to be left again. Husband, hookup, long-lost lover. It didn’t matter.

Eva always left first.





Chapter 16





No Safe Thrill




OVER THE YEARS, EVA HAD TRIED TO FORGET HER TEENAGE WEEK WITH Shane. And honestly, much of it was lost, due to her vodka-drenched, pill-obliterated, weed-smoked state.

This was what she remembered.



She remembered standing in front of the bathroom mirror, gingerly touching her darkened eye. Fingering her hacked-off hair. With a mournful sigh, she’d tried to pull it into a pony, but it wouldn’t reach. And then Shane had appeared behind her in the mirror.

“I look like an electrocuted poodle,” she sighed.

He fought off a smile.

“Go ahead, laugh,” she said. “I look funny.”

“No, you’re funny,” he said. “Look, you could have hair down to the floor. You could be bald. I could be blind. You’d still be pretty, Genevieve.”

He said it like his opinion was fact. Her skin flushed fever-hot, and her palms went humid.

Shane backed up and leaned against the doorway. Genevieve turned around to face him.

“You pronounced my name right,” she said.

“Been practicing.”

“Say it again.”

“John-vee-ev,” he said with a smile. “It sounds like it tastes good.”

“How can a word taste good?”

“Synesthesia. It’s when you’re overstimulated and your senses get confused. You see music. Hear colors. Taste words.”

“Oh.” Her mouth went dry. She blinked, and he was in front of her. The sink pressed against the small of her back. She held her breath. Gently, Shane cupped his good hand behind her neck, his gaze traveling from her eyes to her mouth. Then, for the first time, he kissed her—a lingering, pillowy peck. Innocent. He deepened it then, slanting his casted arm across her back and pinning her to him.

“You do taste good,” he said, drawing back a little.

“So much…thank you.” Flustered, she said the words out of order.

Shane’s eyes flickered, and he seemed both smug and charmed. Then he dipped down to kiss her some more.