Page 33 of No Kind of Hero
They walked the three blocks to Evan’s van in silence, and for once, he didn’t adjust his speed to hers. He was moving fast. Like he meant it. She had to hurry to keep up, and she was glad.
When he opened the door for her, she climbed inside. And whenheclimbed inside, he grabbed her.
No other word for it. He was half out of his seat, kissing her right there on Main Street, his hand on her thigh pulling her closer, his thumb stroking over the sensitive skin right up there at the top, and she was already gasping.
He said, “My house. Now. And I’m not hurrying. I’m going to touch you everywhere. Slowly. You’re going toburn.”
“Yes,” she said, hardly able to form words. “Please.”
He didn’t say anything else. He got even more still for a second, and then he put the key in the ignition and drove. Ten blocks or so, stopping at the signs when he had to, under control as always. Somebody else might not have seen the pent-up intensity in his body, but she saw it, and it made her shiver. He hadn’t even started, and she was already burning.
By the time he pulled into the driveway of the neat little blue-gray house, its gleaming white trim showing off that attention to detail, she was halfway gone. And when he looked at her, those eyes hard, and said, “Come on,” without one single bit of politeness . . . well, she climbed down out of the van and followed him straight through the front door.
The second he’d slammed the door behind them, he picked her up off her feet, one big hand closing over the curve of her bottom like he had a right to it, the other arm around her back, his hand behind her neck, and he was kissing her. Nothing civilized about it, dark and deep and nearly savage. She was making some noise into his mouth, and his hand moved up, yanked at her hair, and the pins fell out. Exactly like she’d imagined.
Her hair was falling around her shoulders, and he wrapped a hand in it, pulled her head back, and kissed her more. She was dimly aware that he was moving, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. He was kissing her too hard for that, taking her over, and she wanted to go.
When she tipped right over and her back hit the bed, though, she noticed that. And when he was over her, slipping her sandals off, his hands on her insteps, holding her there . . . she noticed that, too.
He wasn’t kissing her. He was holding herfeet.And then he was dragging them slowly apart, spreading her legs, and she thought she’d come right there.
“Evan,” she started to say.
“No,” he said.
She shut her eyes, then. She had to. His hands had moved to her ankles, closed around them, and then he was stroking up over her calves, stopping at her thighs. She was spread wide, and he was kissing the inside of her knee, his lips warm and hard there, one strong hand around each of her thighs and moving up.
Feather kisses on the inside of first one thigh, then the other. His hands were still holding her, and all she wanted was for it never to stop, except that she needed him to go on.
Somehow, her hands were in his hair. “Evan,” she said again as he kissed her so high up, she had to rise into him. Or to try, because he wasn’t letting her go. “Please. Please.”
“Beg some more,” he said, his fingers all the way under the hem of the shorts. “Go on.”
“I . . .” she got out. “I can’t.”
His fingers stopped moving, and she didn’twantthem to stop. “Please,” she said again.
“Please what?” he asked. He sounded different now. “You can’t what?”
“I can’t . . . stop,” she said. “Don’t stop.Please.”
Somehow, his fingers had found their way all the way inside her shorts, and inside the thong, too. Then they were inside her, and she was starting to rock under him.
He kept it up. One finger inside her, his thumb rubbing the denim of the shorts and the silky fabric of the thong into her, stimulating her past bearing. And that other hand on her thigh, still, keeping her legs open for him. She was panting, and then she was moaning, rising into his hand like she could pull him inside her faster.
“You want me to fuck you?” he asked, and she jerked hard against him, the excitement catching her in its spiral and swirling her up.
“Yes,” she managed to say. “Yes. Please.”
He took his hand away, and she didn’t want it to go away. She opened her eyes, started to rise, and he said, “No. Lie down,” and gave her a gentle shove on the shoulder. “Wait.”
“I don’t want to wait,” she said.
He laughed, low and soft, and she forgot to try to sit up, because he had his hands at the waistband of her shorts, and she felt thepopas he slipped the button out of its hole, and then the barely-there sound of the zipper lowering.
“Know what I’m going to do now?” he asked her, and yes, her shorts were sliding down her thighs, over her calves, and then they were gone.
“Well, I’ve got a . . .” She drew in her breath, because he was pulling her legs apart again, then he was between them, shoving her tank slowly up her body, his hands stroking their way over her skin. “Uh . . . pretty good . . . idea.”
