Hollow Men Read Free Page B

over the tip of him, feeling the silken slide of pre-cum spread over his glans. “Turned on, Evan?” I grinned.
    “El, just thinking about you can turn me on. It’s always been that way. That never changed.”
    “Shut up and kiss me,” I said before I could let that comment sink in. I’d been alone too long to hear those words. They fucked with my thoughts.
    He cupped the back of my head, holding me close as the kiss deepened. I felt the tickling in the back of my throat and my chest only Evan had ever inspired in me. It was as if my body could barely contain its joy at being close to him. He was addictive and sexy, kind and funny. Walking away from him and the life he thought we could have together had been the hardest thing I’d ever done. I was only eighteen at the time. I thought that was an exaggeration. At twenty-four, I realized it wasn’t.
    I pushed the thought away and shoved his boxers down to get closer to him. He had the same thought because he slid my leggings down over my hips. I helped him, and there was a blind, humorous moment where we were a tangle of clothes and limbs and yet, in the chaos, we kept pausing to kiss. To touch.
    He flipped me suddenly, and the urge to react with my own force never came. I expected it to after so many weeks and months of being on red alert. Not this time. This time, I melted beneath him, parted my thighs and let him slip between them. Feeling the drag of his cock along my wet slit had me humming softly.
    “What song is that?” I felt him smile against the side of my cheek. He nuzzled my neck, laying a gentle bite along my shoulder in the way that had always turned me on. He remembered my body. The sensation coupled with that thought spiked my nipples with arousal. He ground his body against mine, and I followed suit, arching up to get more friction.
    “That’s the this-feels-good song,” I joked. But I had to swallow hard at a sudden rush of emotion in my chest. He was such a good man. How had he ever left my mind?
    His fingers sifted through my hair and his lips pressed to mine once more. He licked my lower lip, bit it softly and whispered, “If I don’t slide into you right now, Eleanor, I might lose my mind.”
    “That makes two of us.” I found him with my hand and guided him to my slick pussy. But he knocked my hand away and dragged the head of his cock along my entrance. I made a desperate sound, and he shushed me.
    “Patience.”
    “I’ve never had any.”
    “I haven’t forgotten.” He slipped just the tip into me, and my body stretched, my pussy flexed, anticipating more—craving it.
    Evan pushed my hands above my head and threaded his fingers through mine. He held me that way, blissfully trapped beneath his grip, beneath his bulk. I could feel the pounding of his heart and mine seemed to be keeping time. The silence was deafening as he started to move. Every wet sound of acceptance from my body for his was surreally audible.
    “I’ve missed the feel of you, El,” he said.
    I couldn’t answer. My cunt relaxed but gripped him at the same time. It had been ages since I’d had sex. He felt too big; he felt too perfect. Too much and not enough. Conflicting sensations that had one link only—pleasure—coursed through me, and I groaned.
    “Don’t,” I said, but my words held no heat.
    “I just had to say it once,” he chuckled. But the laughter bled into a slow exhalation as he truly started to move, thrusting deep and rotating his hips to press all the secret places in me that made me try to move my hands. He pressed them down more firmly, held me flat. “I’m running this show,” he said. “You stay where you are.” He drove deeper, harder, and I was fuller, fullest. I came with a sudden cry that he instantly covered with his big hand.
    “Shh, baby. No noise. This is stealth sex. It’s not safe tonight.”
    It was the truth, and the strength of his words and the way he was plunging into me now, a bit more forceful, a lot more