Wrapping them in her frilly covers in her frilly bedroom with her little, warm, sweet body tucked tight to his side.
He should have let them sleep on the covers.
It took her seconds to melt into him in sleep.
He liked her feel.
Her smell.
Her weight.
His body trapped by her thigh.
And there it was.
Yup.
He was fucked.
* * *
Branch woke to Evangeline stroking the back of his thigh.
“Wake up, handsome,” she whispered in his ear.
Jesus.
How did he sleep?
“Roll over, baby, I feel like sucking cock,” she ordered.
Jesus.
He didn’t hesitate, he rolled.
She moved too, tossing the covers off them, but he was already hard with a morning erection, head foggy with sleep and full of the memories of what she’d done to him the night before, he didn’t feel the cool air hit his skin.
She shifted between his legs.
Then she put her hands behind his knees as he stared to the windows in the ceiling and tried to assess what time it was.
It was February. Sun still not out too early, light in the sky, but it was barely dawn.
These thoughts flew from his head as she put pressure behind his knees and his eyes moved to her.
“I want them up and cocked for me, please.”
He did as told, lifting his knees and cocking them.
She moved her hands from behind his knees to the sides when his calves would have trapped them.
“Wide,” she demanded.
Fuck, she was good.
He opened his legs wider.
“More, Branch,” she said, giving a slight press to the sides of his knees.
He opened them wider until he felt a stretch down the insides of his thighs. It didn’t hurt, but he couldn’t ignore it.
And it went right to his balls and hole.
“That’s it,” she whispered.
Replacing her hand at his left knee with her mouth, she trailed it down.
Down.
Before she got to him, she lifted her gaze and caught his.
“I want you watching.”
Oh, he’d be watching.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She grinned, slid just the tip of her tongue out and grasped his cock in her fist.
She lifted it from his stomach to her tongue and touched it, tip to tip.
He bit his lip.
God, fuck, shit, he hoped he’d earned his orgasm.
She ran the tip of her tongue down to the base, between his testicles, and up.
Then she gobbled him deep.
Fuck, he’d never seen anything that pretty.
And the feel of her?
Christ.
The brilliance of it made him do something else he hadn’t done in years.
Lose control and close his eyes as he dug his head into the pillows. He couldn’t help it. Her sweet, hot mouth was something.
She raked her nails down the back of his thigh and he lost her mouth.
“Did I say watch?” she asked when he looked between his legs.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then watch, Branch,” she demanded.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Hands on, and apparently mouth on, she didn’t hesitate again to suck him deep and God, fuck, shit, it took all he had to watch her pretty curls, pretty mouth, and pretty face bobbing on his dick, taking him deep, the tip of his cock hitting the back of her throat, and not throw back his head and groan.
Phenomenal.
She kept going as she ran her hands up his thighs, pressing them wider, the stretch deepening, the pain coming, his ass lifting, his cock gliding into her mouth.
Magnificent.
Pure, fucking glory.
He took it and he took more and he watched the whole show, his ass tightening around his plug, his balls hanging heavy, he couldn’t help it and didn’t care she ended it and tanned him again.
He started rocking into her mouth.
She slid up and breathed, “Yes,” against the tip and went at him again, this time now with her hand, meeting it with her lips. Hand up, lips down, hand down, lips up, all the while he added to the sweet torture, rocking into each stroke.
Fucking ecstasy.
He took it and he took more and he loved every goddamned second.
And he did it until he could take no more.
“Ma’am,” he grunted.
She released him and looked up.
“My big boy need to come?”
“Yes,” he puffed out.
Suddenly, she was between his legs, her warm, soft pelvis resting on the heated hardness of his, her face in his, her hand wrapped around the side of his neck, fingers back in his hair, holding his head up.
“In ten minutes, you’re going to leave,” she declared and he just managed to bite back an oath. “You keep me inside you. You can slide me out to shower and get on with your day. I’m going to give you my number. At nine o’clock, you text me. Then you slide me back in and you take your fist to your cock but you do not come, Branch. You text me when you’ve had enough. You slide me out. You go about your day. At one o’clock, you text me back. You take me inside. You jack your cock for me until you’re about to come but you do not come, handsome. You text me when you’re done. You slide me out. And at seven o’clock tonight, you come to me, full of me, and then, my big boy, I’ll take care of you.”
She had him.
Christ, shit, fuck.
She had him.
“You’ll make me come, ma’am?” he bit out.
“How do you want it?” she asked.
“Like you said.”
“Say it.”
“Fuck me, jack me.”
“By then, you’ll have earned it. So that’s what you’ll get.”
“Then give me your number.”
She smiled brilliantly at him and the world shrank.
There was nothing.
Nothing but her pretty face and that brilliant smile lighting a soul gone dark.
His soul.
His soul that had been dark far longer than it took Di, Piz, Lex, Benetta and Rob to die.
No, it had gone dark years earlier, after he’d finished it with Tara and she’d fucked up by placing an ad and getting herself a “sub” who wasn’t big on people who liked kink so the motherfucker had caved her head in.
All that burned away with the brightness of Evangeline’s smile.
Shit.
“I’ll give you what you want, handsome, but I’m me. I might have to get creative.”
“You let me blow, you can do whatever the fuck you want.”
Her smile got bigger.
Oh yeah.
Shit yeah.
Totally fucked.
And he knew it more when, ten minutes later, he walked out of her house to his truck, clothed, still plugged, her number written in dark red lipstick on his chest, his cock ringed with the same.
He knew it even more when he got off on the feel of her everywhere, inside him, the rasp of his still-hard dick against his fly, and the first thing he did (after shifting the seat back) was lean over, open his glove box, find a pen, some paper, and open his shirt so he got her number down before it smudged.
But he knew it the most when he finally got his shit together enough to buckle in, start his baby up and back out of her drive, feeling relief that, by some miracle wrought by an enchantress, her Fiat was parked at the curb.
seven
Domesticity
EVANGELINE
Evangeline stood at the stove, stirring the meat sauce, her head bent to her texts.
Not a problem, read Barclay’s text, which had just come in as a late reply to the one she’d sent that morning expressing gratitude for him coming to her house, grabbing the key to her car, which she’d put in a pot outside, then driving all the way out to fetch it and return it. And don’t worry about the gift card. Just tell me you found who you were looking for.
Definitely.
Barclay was the decent kind of guy.
But now what did she do?
People at the Pound saw her with Branch and she didn’t know those people. She didn’t know if he knew those people. She didn’t know if that was going to be a problem for him.
What she did know was that she was precluded from talking about him in any way.
And Barclay was obviously worried about the unknown person someone he barely knew was concerned about.
It’s all good. And again, I really appreciate you helping out. If no gift card, then I’m making you dinner. And trust me, I love cooking and I’m good at it. I’ll make it worth a way too early in the morning drive out to no man’s land, she texted back.