Seven Days in June(72)

It was 9:45 on a warm, weirdly windy Friday night—far from yesterday’s glaring heat and her fight with Shane. Horatio was quiet, but she could hear the distant revelry of rich recent grads cocktailing and carousing at the outdoor Biergarten on Washington.

But here, in front of James Baldwin’s ostentatious peacock-blue door, the darkness was so complete she felt like it might swallow her whole. Heart thundering in her chest, she leaned against the door’s smooth surface, forehead-first, palms flat. She allowed herself a few deep, cleansing breaths, just to dull the thudding in her head, which had been threatening to explode since she’d hung up on Lizette.

And then, for the second time in two days, Eva knocked on this door.

But this time, she pounded. And Shane opened it right away.

She could barely see beyond him. There wasn’t a light on in the house. Just darkness upon darkness. But she saw him, breathtaking in front of her. Tall, strong, solid. Hers.

Eva met his eyes, and something jolted inside her.

“I know everything,” she said, wanting to sound pulled-together, but the hitch in her voice betrayed her.

“Come in.”

She didn’t budge. She had to say what she’d come here to say. And it spilled out of her like a flood.

“My mom told me. And you were young and scared and trying to be tough—and I promised you that you’d never go back. I promised. And she sent you back.” She gulped dryly. “Shane, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything I said yesterday. I’m sorry for blaming you for all these years. For hating you. I hated you so much.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely. “Just come inside.”

“No, listen. I hated you only because…” Eva paused. “It was because loving you wasn’t an option.”

Shane averted his eyes, his jaw clenched.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. “Why?”

“I couldn’t,” he said. He looked years younger, vulnerable.

“There’s so much I need to know.”

“Later.”

“But…”

Shane grabbed her by the front of her dress and pulled her inside the shadowy foyer. He slammed the door and pressed her back against it. The only light came from the moon, dimly shining through the open bay windows across the apartment.

Disoriented, Eva blinked. She was acutely aware of everything: his scent, his rugged scruff, his crumpled tee, the line of his biceps, his eyes. Shane overwhelmed her. She was dizzy with him.

With a groan, Shane smashed his mouth against hers, kissing her into the door.

He tangled his hand in her curls, pulling her head back to deepen the kiss. Over and over they savored each other, their kisses hot and hungry.

“Fuck,” he said. “You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

Mouth open on her neck, he slipped his hand beneath her short, gauzy slip dress and slid it up her inner thigh. Possessively, he squeezed the soft skin there. She went liquid.

“Tell me what you want,” Shane rasped into her ear.

She wanted him all over her, his scent, his mouth, his tongue, his hands, him. She wanted him to mark her so she’d never remember anyone else. “Just want you. Everywhere.”

Shane grabbed her hand and dragged her through the darkness to the bedroom. The wind picked up again, rattling the massive windows and howling against the building.

Between broken kisses, they stumbled blindly into the moon-dappled bedroom. There was a rumpled, rainy-day sexiness to the bed, a poufy duvet collapsed in Shane-shaped dents. They dropped onto it together, a tangle of limbs, pillows toppling to the floor.

Grabbing her jaw between his fingers, Shane drew Eva into a quick, filthy kiss. And then, without warning, he flipped her around.

Starting at her ankle, he ran his mouth up along the back of her calf, scratching her with his stubble, leaving a searing kiss behind her knee. She moaned, grabbing the sheets in her fists, but he kept going, planting a wet love bite just under her butt cheek and then slowly dragging his tongue up along her spine. Ravenous, Shane pushed her sweaty curls aside and sucked Eva’s neck.

“Turn around,” he directed lustily. Without thought, she did. Inching his way down her body, he slipped his hands under her ass, pulled her to his mouth, and went for it—no teasing, no buildup. The shock was delicious. She cried out. Arched her back. And then he stopped.

With a teasing smirk, he climbed up her body.

“Hi.” He grinned.

“Wh-why’d you stop?”

“Needed to kiss you.” He did, chastely, on her mouth.

“You’re the worst. Fuck me. Please. Fuck me on James Baldwin’s bed.”

Shane laughed. “This isn’t James Baldwin’s bed. You think they had Sleep Number beds in 1961?”

“Oh.” She grabbed at his arms. “Well, then fuck me on this Sleep Number bed.”

“Cum first. Then I’ll fuck you.”

Before she could think, he was avidly tonguing her again. And she was coming apart.

“Eva.”

“What?” she whimpered, riding wave after wave.

“Eva.”

“What?”

“Look at me.”

She peered down at Shane’s face, his wicked mouth on her—and oh, it was an obscene, exquisite sight. Once her eyes locked with his, Shane sank two fingers deep inside her. Gently, he hooked them in a come-hither motion, and that was it. She came, riding out every jolt.