Page 122 of Fate Fiction

Evan’s reply was simply a breathy kiss on my lips, we interlocked with one another it felt like our first time kissing all over again. It felt like my first time kissing anyone. Glitter gel pen feelings bubbled up and I nearly made him stand so I could pop my leg.

“Oh my god,” he groaned into my neck behind my earlobe. “I thought it was going to kill me if I had to pretend to just be friends.” The reverberations from his mouth made my toes go numb and my spine feel like it was being dunked into the Arctic. “Fuck I missed you.” His lips urged my mouth open again.

“You sound so tortured,” I exhaled after my hips twitched towards him. I’d attempted to mask anything that matched his hungry desperation. Something was brewing in my core, anxiety and heat were coursing against another like a river meeting the ocean. Brackish currents were swirling back and forth and making me lightheaded as he thrummed his fingers across my waist.

“You don’t know how awful it’s been being here without you knowing,” he’d moved his mouth down my neck, each word a staccato of heat as it spread across my skin, “I wanted to show up on your doorstep nearly every night for the last week. It’s not possible for me to leave you alone like this. I always want to chase after you.”

He was a master of yearning, he could tilt his jaw and dampen his eyes in the kind of way that made you melt at the sight of it. It’s like any bit of acting training he’d had was to prepare himself to look at me like this right now. He was searching for the inevitable rejection, creating an extended pause that I could fill with yet another statement about how “this will never work.”

The words lingered on my tongue, sitting in the back of my throat waiting to be invited out. I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Not now, when all these tiny pieces had fallen into place to bring me here.

I shimmied my dress up my thighs and slipped off my underwear as Evan fought to unbuckle his pants. I helped him from behind and he pulled me up against him as his fingers gripped onto my hips.

His fingers dug into my skin as he grew hungrier for me.

There was no need for politeness and hesitation. We’d met these bodies before. We were maps with familiar routes worn in the paper.

I straddled his thigh and settled onto him, dragging myself against him, cursing how good the friction felt. His dick strained at his boxers and he’d been rendered motionless. He didn’t know what to reach for, what to grab onto, his hands were useless.

“Want you—” he started, a desperate, pathetic moan.

I freed his cock from his boxers and fisted it as I grinded on his leg, pumping up and down. He shuddered at the release. All this pent up tension, the months of wondering and waiting.

“I haven’t thought of anyone else but you since June,” he said. “I jerk off to the thought of you, more than I want to admit. I can’t contain myself when I think of your body, the way you feel when I’m inside you—ah, fuck,” he jerked forward, already on the precipice of completion. “Need to be inside of you.”

My breathing grew shallow, my clit throbbed with every thrust of my hips. “I’ve wanted you for so long I don’t know how to be normal about it,” I said, also on the edge of climax.

“So don’t be,” he grunted.

I dipped my head onto his shoulder as sparks fluttered upward inside me. My grinding got fiercer, more desperate. I chased an orgasm that I hadn’t been able to fulfill myself in months. I wasn’t looking at him anymore but I felt him. I felt his heaving breathing on my skin. I felt his cock twitching. I felt his release spill onto my fingers.

I felt my own release pool out beneath me onto his pant leg.

I drew back and looked at him. His eyes were shut, bliss crossed his tightened features.

My index finger brushed along his jawline as I cupped his face in my hand.

“Please don’t let this end here,” he said quietly.

I stroked his cheek and kissed his temple. He smelled like the bar melding with his expensive cologne. He was both the multimillionaire celebrity and Evan from camp, all at once.

I’d tried to place him into boxes, forcing him to be either one or the other. He was neither, he was both. Maybe I’d always struggle to understand it.

I wrote stories that contained the complex, full spectrum of human feeling. I told my agent and my publisher I didn’t want to be confined to a singular genre or label. Evan deserved the same train of thought.

“We have eight weeks,” I said. “We’re smart enough to figure things out by then.”

“So you’ll stay a little while longer?”

I nodded and climbed off his thigh to settle on the seat next to him. He draped his arm around me and combed his fingers through my hair, finding a strand to twist around. We sat in contented silence for a few minutes.

Then Evan shifted and got up, his pants remained unbuttoned and he pulled his shirt off over his head.

“Come on,” he said as he led me across the apartment towards the bedroom. Every step more solid. Every glance more playful.

I stood in the doorway as he flicked the light on.

“Oh my god,” I mumbled.