Page 39 of Hell and Gone
“Everett,” Lawrence breathed. He pulled back, until he could look into Everett’s face. “Look at me.”
Everett refused. He kept his eyes closed, turned his head away. Tried to push his hips faster, grind into Lawrence harder. Tried to speed up the fuck, make it harder. Twist it around, until he felt something other than the golden heat and perfection Lawrence had speared him with.
It shouldn’t feel good. He didn’t deserve good. Not anymore.
“Everett.” Lawrence slowed down, moving in deep, steady plunges in and out. Almost all the way out, and then back in. He held Everett’s hands to the mattress and stared down at him. Even with his eyes closed, he felt the weight of Lawrence’s gaze, the heat from his burning eyes.
Fuck, Lawrence’s cock was good, no, better than good. He was great.Lawrencewas great, moving inside him in perfect ways, making himfeelin ways he’d never felt before. His soul shivered as he gasped, arched into Lawrence’s thrusts.
“Open your eyes.”
He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to feel anything beyond this, the carnal rush of his body. He didn’t want it to be this wonderful. He didn’t want to look into Lawrence’s eyes and see something there. See a spark falling from those burning eyes, see something that could ignite his soul, that could threaten to unmake his world again.
He didn’t want to feelanythingfor Lawrence.
But here he was. Too close, he was too close, toeverything—
His body quaked. His breath hiccupped. The edge of an orgasm vibrated inside him like a plucked string, but never tipped over the edge. Lawrence was keeping him there, holding him on the brink.
Everett gave in. His eyes fluttered open.
Lawrence gazed at him, his breaths caressing Everett’s cheek and lips in tiny pants that trembled. They’d kept the lights off in the trailer, and the glow of the fire flickered through the curtainless windows, feathering flames through Lawrence’s umber eyes.
Lawrence smiled. He kissed Everett gently. Held his gaze and never looked away.
He looked at Everett like he was something worth looking at. Like he was something Lawrencewanted.
It was too much, and something splintered inside of Everett, something he’d carried for two years and eight months and fifteen days. Some fracture, some fault line, something that had torn in his soul. He felt it break all the way, cleave him open to the quick.
Lawrence was there, though, filling the emptiness, the hole he’d hovered over. Pulling him back from the edge of whatever he’d been running toward. A darkness, a blackness he’d wanted to drown in.
A hiccupping sob, and then he couldn’t see, not through the water in his eyes. He kissed Lawrence, squeezed his hands, kissed him again and bucked in his arms, writhed and groaned and screamed, shivering on the edge of something far bigger than an orgasm.
Lawrence held him through it. He wrapped himself around Everett as he sped up his thrusts, as he grabbed Everett’s legs and spread them, pushed his thighs to his chest and buried his face in Everett’s neck. His lips found his ear, and Lawrence whispered, “Let go, Everett. I got you.”
That warm voice, layered in wood smoke and honey and mountain air, summer days and fire-lit nights. It was a voice that went to the center of him, and Everett was powerless against it. Screaming, he arched his back, pushed into Lawrence’s next thrust, and tipped over the edge.
A moment later, Lawrence grunted, and he thrust in and held, unloading inside of Everett. He felt the burn inside him, felt the wet slick.
They breathed together, a sweaty, slick mess, hair stuck to foreheads and arms and legs wrapped tight around each other. Lawrence slid his weight off Everett, but Everett held him close. “Don’t go,” he murmured. “Stay.”
“’M not goin’ anywhere,” Lawrence said. He gazed at Everett like Everett was the sun. Kissed him like he was special.
Everett turned into the kiss. And felt his heart beat.
Chapter 13
He watched Everett sleep,watched the sunrise spill gold over the high meadow and the run-down line camp. Light flickered through the dusty windows, tracing Everett’s eyelashes, the curve of his jaw. Everett had turned into him, pillowed his face on Lawrence’s shoulder, his cheek on his chest, and fallen asleep with an arm and a leg thrown over Lawrence’s body.
It felt good to be held close. Damn, it felt real good.
He’d ached for this, for holding someone tight, for being someone’s special someone. For being a shelter at the end of the day to a man, letting him unburden himself in Lawrence’s arms.
He’d always wanted a man who could face him down under the sun and lie down next to him at night.
Hadn’t met a man yet who wanted to look him in the eyes and stay by his side. Or who wanted to live with him and not fight him.
But when Everett drove up, he’d squared his shoulders and pushed back when Lawrence’s fire sparked, and the way his mouth ran ahead of his brain. Thirty-five years he’d been trying to pull back his own reins. He hadn’t figured out how yet. Or how to quench those flames inside of him, bank his temper when it wanted to consume him.
