Page 47 of Back Outside Edge

He's pulling my hair, and I like that too. I sway into him, and he lets go of my hand to wrap his arm around my waist, holding me in place. Holding me up. A rock, steady against my tumultuous life.

The angle of his kiss shifts, and I moan into his mouth as it sends a new barrage of arousal through me. The lightning has started a fire, rushing through my veins until every cell burns through. I’m a trembling, quivering husk of myself. There's nothing left of me but desire for Evan.

I want more. I need more. I need him inside me in every way. "Evan," I manage to gasp through the torrent of sensations, from just having his mouth on mine. His hand in my hair. His strong arm wrapped around my waist. "I need you."

"I know, baby." The words are a light murmur as he lets his mouth leave mine. He trails kisses across my jawline and down my neck. He’s the only thing holding me up as I arch back against his arm, giving him full access to my throat. "You're perfect."

It sends another bolt of lightning through me, and I shiver. He rewards me by nipping at my neck. Tiny stings that send me even higher. Yet another thing I never knew about myself before Evan.

I should be reciprocating, shouldn't I? Doing something to give him even half of what I'm feeling? But I can't think, can't do anything but feel. He pulls my waist closer, even as his mouth continues to move down my neck, to my shoulder. He nuzzles my shirt away and bites at the jut of my collarbone, hard, as our cocks find each other through our pants.

Another moan. From me? From him? No separation is left between us anymore, no sense of which of us is which. I'm nothing but pleasure, soaring in his arms. "What do you want?" His words are muffled against the skin of my throat as he works his way back toward my lips.

How can I answer? Him. I want him. He's all I've ever wanted, all I'll ever want. His lips scorch me everywhere he touches, and I want them to brand me. Mark me. Make me his. "Evan, please." It's a gasp, a last ditch effort to find words, even if they're not the right ones. I manage to push my hips into his harder, give both of us more friction, more pressure. I'm rutting against him like a cat in heat, and I don't care. Not if it means I can keep feeling like this.

A light laugh against my throat, even the huff of air enough to send tremors raking through me. "Use your words, baby."

"Oh, shut up." It takes everything in me to growl at him, but I'm rewarded by another laugh as I manage to assert some control over my body. Using the hand still clasping his head to pull him back to my mouth.

It's like coming home. The sun after rain. I could drown in him. I want to drown in him. Nothing matters but his body against mine, his mouth on mine, the glide of his tongue over mine lightning shooting straight to my cock, burning in my groin.

He rewards, or punishes, me by drawing the kiss out, slowing it down. We're moving through honey, every movement a languid dance. He's as graceful as ever as he moves me, positions me, backing me slowly up against my couch. Then I go down, until I'm lying with him on top of me, our mouths still joined.

He's exploring my mouth, almost lazily, lulling the fire blazing through me to a simmer. Something manageable, even as our positions demand more. When he raises his head, his eyes are almost black, pupils blown wide, lips red and kiss bruised, a rash of pink against his chin and cheeks from my stubble. I'm probably bright red, rubbed half raw against my much paler complexion, but it doesn't matter. I want it. Want everything and anything his body can do to mine.

Evan has somehow, miraculously, cooled both of us down to something resembling sense. But the sight of my marks on him, the knowledge that his are on me, are almost enough to send me straight back into the frenzy of lust I'd been in—How long ago? Minutes? Hours? Time has no meaning when Evan is kissing me.

His finger traces across my lower lip, and I groan against it, tilting my head, trying to catch it in my mouth. He pulls away with a light chuckle. "Should we take this upstairs?"

"Yes," I moan. It's almost a prayer, it's so fervent, and he laughs again.

"And—" He pauses, then leans down to kiss me again. Lightly, this time, not letting me fan the fire back to full heat. Just a brush of lips. "I do need you to use your words, Stefan. We need to decide what we want. Set limits."

"Anything." I arch myself up into him, trying to prove that I mean it. It's his turn to groan, pressing back into me, increasing the pressure that we both desperately want. "I want you to do everything to me."

"Have you ever done this before?" The words aren't harsh or anything, but they're a small glass of ice water, pouring over my head. Reality. I hate reality.

Chapter 20

Evan

Stefan sits up, his mouth turning down in an irritated frown. "I'm not a virgin."

"I didn't think you were." Keeping my voice calm is killing me, but I don't want to push him further than he's ready for. Definitely not while he's in some kind of lust induced trance. It feels like taking advantage of someone when they're drunk, though I know he hasn't touched a drop of alcohol all day. "But with another guy?"

"No." He's pouting the way he sometimes does, and I hate how much I love it. "But it's not like I'm some fragile innocent."

He squirms a little, but I'm not letting him go. I move enough to let him sit up, then settle back in, half on his lap, arm wrapped around him, mouth inches from his. I let my hand rest on his cheek, staring into those pools of blue. I've never met anyone with eyes like his. So clear and perfect, not a hint of grey or green, purely striations of blue, almost invisible from any distance.

I have the advantage of light, streaming down onto his face, and I'm grateful for it. I need to be able to read his expression.

"Anyway," Stefan adds, sounding adorably petulant. "You're the one who refused to talk to me earlier, when I wanted to. How come you get to decide when we talk?"

It's a fair point. From the moment his hand touched mine in the car, I knew I was sunk. I don't have a chance in hell of keeping this casual. I'd been so terrified I'd say the wrong thing, that I'd admit to things I can't ever tell him. He can't find out how deep it's getting, because as long as he doesn't, I can deny it. I can let this thing between us keep going and pretend there won't be repercussions.

I dodge his question by pretending it never happened. "I'm not implying you're fragile, just that you might not be certain what you want yet. Which is fine, especially since this is new. We can figure it out together. I need to know your limits, what you're expecting." As if I'm some paragon of consent and fount of knowledge. Hell, I've only been with a few guys, all quick, meaningless, one night hookups; I'm not much more experienced than he is.

Yet... There is a fragility to Stefan, to the way he gives himself to me so fully, no matter how much he denies it. I'd be an asshole if I took advantage. The one time I gave myself away that way, it was so overwhelming that when it ended, I was left with nothing. Nobody. A shell of the Evan I thought I was. I'll do whatever I have to do to keep Stefan from the same fate.