I see right through the facade, Evelyn. I still see the girl lying in bed, covers drawn. She’s there, and you don’t want anyone to see her. But I do. I see her.
A shiver runs through me when I think back to his words at Notre Dame. How does he manage to know me so well?
Because he was there.
I close my eyes. He was there. From the first day, he helped me—took care of me. He never stopped, even if he wants me to think he did. The care packages are evidence of that.
I turn the water off, my hands trembling with realization. I take a steadying breath, but it comes out shaky and uneven. Clenching my fists, I open the bathroom door, finding Benedict on the edge of the bed hovered over his suitcase. He hasn’t turned a light on—but the light from the bathroom gives the room enough to work with. He’s rifling through his bag for a new shirt, and when he hears me come out, he turns around.
Dear god…
Toned, rugged muscles perfectly sculpt his abdomen, and his arms are large and steely as well, cut like stone. He’s slender yet built up nicely—a broader chest and narrow waist.
“You’re shaking,” he observes, walking past me to the bathroom and grabbing a thick towel. When he moves to place it around my shoulders, I spin around, holding my hand out.
“Don’t,” I whisper. Instead, I hold my arms up.
He stares at me for a beat too long, and embarrassment rushes through me. Maybe I read everything wrong. I’m about to lower my arms, my cheeks flushed, when he reaches out and pulls my waterlogged sweater over my head. There’s a moment when it hits the ground—one single moment—where everything hangs in the air. The frenetic energy is swirling around us, but neither of us have made a move. There’s still time to back out, still time to say no.
But I don’t find myself wanting to.
Iwantthis.
And I need it, too.
Benedict stills, his eyes finding mine and skimming over my face.
“Evelyn,” he growls, a warning.
I nod. “Yes. God, yes.”
I expect him to fly at me, to unleash himself. Instead, he studies me. His eyes wander down my face to my chest, and then he reaches out, removing my front-clasp bra like he’s done this before.
“I didn’t expect you to get that on the first try,” I admit, smiling sheepishly.
He grins, letting the lace fabric drop to the ground. He takes a step back and groans, rubbing his lips. I step closer, waiting for him to take the rest of my clothes off. His eyes flick up to mine, and the look on his face paralyzes me. It’s hungry, like he knows he’s about to feast. All he’s missing are fangs. He reaches out and tugs me forward by my jeans, hooking his finger through the belt loop as he pulls me into him. He’s tender and desperate at the same time, intentional with every movement. Like it’s a dance—like he’s commanding me. With his free hand, he reaches up and brushes my wet hair away, staring at me as if he can’t believe his luck.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low, breaking on the last syllable.
I tilt my head into his hand. “I’ve never been surer about anything,” I answer, reaching out and pulling his hips into mine. When I do, his eyes flash with something heated, something primal.
He drops the hand from my face and gets down onto his knees. Like at the tower, he’s kneeling before me, and it’s then that I realize he prefers it there. Worshipping me—revering me. I throw my head back as he unbuttons my jeans, tugging them all the way down so that I’m before him in my underwear. I am exposed, and yet I’m not—not with him. I step out of my soaking jeans and he tosses them to the side near my sweater. All I hear is our ragged, heavy breathing. The light from the bathroom gives him a golden glow. Suddenly, the room lights up with nearby lightning, and I jump.
“Makes sense,” he mumbles, chuckling.
I’m panting when I respond. “What makes sense?”
“The skies are opening for you, Evelyn.” He pulls my underwear down gently, his fingers grazing against my skin. I step out of them and he flings them to the side. “You remind me of a rising sun, a wolf during a full moon. You are meant for great things. A ruler—a queen. The heart of a true warrior,” he mutters, looking at me.
The guy is a fucking poet.
The way the light shadows half of his face—the way he’s gripping my thighs, his face inches from the place I swore I’d never let another man touch… he belongs to me. And I belong to him. Nothing was demanded, like before—nothing was forced. It just… happened on its own. With my blessing. With my permission.Fueled by my desire.And now we’re here, and we belong together. It’s evident in the way his eyes drink me in—the way his hand slowly drags across my hip. The way my legs tremble slightly at his touch, and the half smile on his lips as he pulls me forward into his mouth.
I cry out, reaching down and grabbing his hair so that I don’t fall over. He uses a hand to spread my legs wider, forcing them apart. His tongue is slow at first. So,so, deliciously slow. I throw my head back as his tongue works me, sliding up and flicking it against me. I growl, and Benedict does the same as he laps me up. It’s like the sound unleashes something inside of him, because he pulls me closer and applies more pressure with his tongue. Much more—enough to make me buck my hips against him. He comes up for air briefly, and then he roars.
“Fuck, Evelyn. You taste so fucking good.”
My mouth opens as he dives in, and I reach out to the dresser behind me to keep me steady. Heat blazes through me with every flick of his tongue against my bud, and his hands grip my flesh firmly, pulling me into his mouth, ever closer. I move against him, working my hips in a circular motion almost unconsciously, fisting his hair, filthy words tumbling out of my lips every few seconds. He moves one hand away, and as I look down, I see him insert one calloused finger inside me. He looks at me for a second, pumping me slowly with his middle finger—and seeing his other finger splayed over me, seeing the way he’s watching me…
