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Nalla came first, her core fisting at him in a series of contractions, and oh, man, did that ever work for him. In response, he threw his head back as his entire body stiffened.
And then came the ejaculations.
With the pleasure cresting, he thought he was done, but he should have known better. He just kept coming, especially as she wrapped her legs around his hips and milked him like she didn’t want to lose a drop of what he was giving her.
It wasn’t the single greatest sexual experience of his life.
It was the single greatest experience of his life.
Period.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Evan ended up spending the entire day sitting with his new friend, and it was probably a sad commentary on his life that a dead body finally provided him with the kind of supportive ear he needed.
Except she was just so nice. She didn’t say much, but her eyes were always on him, and her listening skills were unparalleled.
He told her things he’d never told anyone else. And she never judged him.
Now it was nighttime—after midnight, actually—and it was time to break up.
“I’m going to miss you,” he said.
It was a while longer that he sat with her on the floor, his back propped against Mickey’s couch, his mind sharp but unfocused, all kinds of things hitting his radar at once and pinging away, golf balls driven into blank walls.
And always, underneath the conscious chaos, there was that driving need to go to the bridge, and hang a right, and find his way into one ofthose doors with the others, like a homing pigeon called back to a roost—and every time he tuned in to that summoning, his anger redoubled.
He did not blame the trainer. He blamed all of the others who had worn him down over the years, making him desperate for the kind of strength he shouldn’t have needed in the first place inside his own family.
“I have to go now,” he heard himself whisper.
Evan shifted his feet under his butt, and as he pushed his weight upright, he braced himself for stiffness. There was none. He might as well have been doing yoga for the last twelve hours instead of sitting in the same position on the hard floor.
Standing over the woman and her chair, he focused on her wedding ring. It was simple and gold, a symbol of the life she had had before. He wondered again if she had ID on her. He hadn’t looked. That seemed like an invasion of her privacy, although now that he thought about it, he felt an obligation to let her people know.
Goddamn Mickey, putting him in this position.
He glanced over to the duffle bag full of weapons. No way she was going to fit in that, not without him butchering her, and that was a no-go for so many reasons. Messy, for one, plus he didn’t want to see her without her clothes on.
Protecting the dignity of his dead was important.
“I can’t keep you.” He shook his head. “You’re going to…”
Well, the whole rot thing seemed an indelicate subject to bring up to her.
The car,he thought.Start by getting the car.
With a sense of sad resolution, he pushed his hand into the front pocket of his stolen pants and took out Mickey’s keys. Three nights ago—God, had it really only been seventy-two hours? It felt like twelve years—he’d driven back from that property in the sticks and parked on Market to go tell Uncle what the enforcer had done to Mickey.
He wasn’t sure whether the shitty beater was even going to be where he’d left it, and if it wasn’t?
Guess he was going to have another thing to work through.
“I’ll be back in a little bit.”
He almost blew her a kiss. But that gold band was a reminder she wasn’t his to do that kind of goodbye for.
At best, she was nothing more than an office wife to him, someone whose connection to him was work-based—and yeah, sure, the mind might wander from time to time into other areas, but ultimately, the boundaries of their relationship were established and immutable.
