Ever Over After (The Over Duet #2)

by J. A. Derouen

  “I’ll catch up. Extra shift just screwed me up this week, that’s all. No worries.”

  Rather than dredge up old history, I’d rather her believe I’m a sleep deprived night shift worker. I have no intention of telling her about my dreams. When Ever had first shown up in Providence, my nightmares returned with a vengeance. Waking up drenched in sweat, heart pounding, fear racing through my body, just like it all happened yesterday instead of years ago. But that’s not what I’m talking about. My flashbacks faded after a couple of weeks, thank God, and were replaced with something else. These aren’t nightmares—they’re dreams. The kind of dreams that would make a Hustler centerfold blush.

  And I’m sure you can guess who stars in these downright filthy, Hustler-blushing, dreams.

  The Ever from my past had been a toe-curling, pulse-thrumming heartthrob. The Ever of today is a rugged man with hard muscles (among other things), and an addictive intensity that draws me in, no matter how much I want to stay away. The Ever from my dreams? He’s a dirty-talking sex machine who knows exactly what to do with that rock hard cock I’d felt in his jeans last week. Oh. Hot. Damn.

  Every single night, I wake up on the brink of orgasm, so close my fingertips are brushing the precipice. I can peer over the side of the cliff and see nirvana, but can’t reach it. It’s like a mirage … a fucking mirage. I could cry … the first couple of times it’d happened, I actually did. Because, let me tell you something—no solo action, not one damn thing I can do on my own, comes close to replicating the dirty mouth and steely equipment of my dream Ever.

  So the days roll forward, and I spend the majority of every night (or day, depending), amped up and let down.

  I think my clitoris hates me. I’m pretty sure I hate me. I really wish I could hate Ever, but I’m too busy lusting after his corded forearms, velvety voice, and that hungry tongue, swiping into my mouth and taking, taking, taking…

  Is it hot in here?

  I shake my head, begging the lustful thoughts to leave me in peace. Peace. Piece. I know what I need a piece of…

  “Marlo, what are you doing here? You promised Alex you’d help her with art class. It started twenty minutes ago,” Sara says from the doorway. She walks into the lab and takes the order form out of my dangling hand. “What language is this, woman? Are you writing in hieroglyphics?”

  She balls up the paper and tosses it in the trash as I groan and fall into a chair.

  “I’m so tired right now, I think I could be on the brink of death. Where’s the Propofol, Sara?” I ask, flailing my arms like a spoiled child.

  “There’s no Propofol, ya big ass. And you won’t even take a Benadryl to sleep.”

  “I’m a changed woman. Lack of sleep has opened my eyes to the wonders of drugs. Pump me up, woman,” I say, extending my arm to her.

  Sara grabs my arm and manages to slap me in the head with my own hand before I can stop her.

  “Hey, cut it out. Don’t slap a girl when she’s down.” I pout … then yawn.

  She shoves my purse into my gut and pulls me off my chair. “Get outta here. I’ll finish the ordering for today, and then head over to help Alex at the gallery. Consider yourself officially off duty.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that. I’m sure you have other things to do besides bail me out.” I clutch my purse in my hands and try to stop her from pushing me out the door. “Crap, and I’m supposed to bring cupcakes … which I didn’t make … because I suck donkey balls.”

  Sara grips me by the shoulders and shushes me with a little shake. “First of all, you didn’t ask, I offered. Secondly, I’m going to swing by the house and grab Lily and Gage before heading to the gallery. That’ll make me the future Stepmom of the Year as far as they’re concerned.”

  “What about the cupcakes?”

  “Ho Hos and Ding Dongs, coming right up,” she chuckles.

  I groan. “No talk of Ho Hos, Ding Dongs, or coming, until I get some sleep or get laid like a boss,” I mumble as I shuffle to the door.

  “What’s that?” Sara calls out as I reach the door to the clinic.

  “Nothing. Just … thank you,” I say, hating the defeated tone in my voice.

  But defeated is exactly how I feel.

  “Darling, how are you? I feel like it’s been ages since we’ve spoken,” Evelyn says as soon as I answer her call. I can see her lips puckering into a pout through the phone.

  I pull out of the clinic parking lot and start my drive home to sleep. Or try to sleep. Or dream about an asshole with a silver tongue and a magic dick. We’ll see how it goes.

  “It hasn’t been ages. We spoke last week.” I chuckle, and she huffs. “And if memory serves, you’re supposed to schedule a trip to Providence to meet with some local jewelers. Are you calling to tell me I’ll have a guest soon?”

  I may have high-tailed it out of New Orleans like someone set my ass on fire all those years ago, but Evelyn and I have maintained a close friendship regardless of the distance. We phone each other often, sometimes staying on the line for hours, and she always sends me gorgeous pieces of jewelry from her latest collections. She makes the trek to Providence a couple of times a year under the ruse of visiting local merchants, but Evelyn’s jewelry sells itself. I play along, though, because I like her company, and I think it’s nice she checks in on me. She doesn’t pry, but she’s watchful, always testing the waters to know if she should dive in.

  She may visit me, but I’ve never stepped foot back into New Orleans. Some things are better left buried and forgotten, and old ghosts haunt too many nooks and crannies of the Quarter. Evelyn understands and never pushes me on the issue.

  “Soon, I promise, but you know Oliver and his trips. He doesn’t like to be away from me, you know, so I’ve become quite the jet setter this year.”

  Her affection for her husband bubbles in her voice. There was a time when I didn’t think Oliver deserved her devotion, but luckily I’d pegged him all wrong. He’s loyal to a fault and loves the hell out of Evelyn. It’s obvious she feels the same way, too.

  “You know you love it,” I say, stifling a yawn.

  “You sound like you’ve got one foot in the grave and the other in the grinder. What’s going on, Marlo?”

  I release a pent up sigh and grip the steering wheel with white knuckles, hoping the pressure on my palms will keep my eyes focused and alert. I feel the slow drift tugging at my senses like a melody lulling me to sleep. Figures I could pass right out in the middle of the road, but can’t catch a single peaceful wink in my own bed.

  “I’m just … I’m having trouble sleeping,” I explain, quickly deciding just how much I want to tell Evelyn. I have no intention of opening the flood gates and raising the white flag of defeat. If I come clean to Evelyn, she’ll be gassed up and speeding down the interstate before I finish my sentence. Evelyn may have been missing the “mom gene” when I was younger, but she’s trying to make up for it these days.

  “Something’s come up, and it seems like every time I lay my head on the pillow, it’s all I can think about. I can’t shut my mind off, no matter how hard I try.”

  “Anything I need to know about? Or Oliver? I’ll call him now and take care of it,” she says, voice hard and clenching.

  “No need to call in the calvary.” I chuckle, trying to keep my voice light so as not to alarm her. “I just wish I didn’t let things bother me so much. Why can’t I just reach into my brain, grab these crazy thoughts, and throw them away?”

  “Face it.”

  “What?”

  “Darling, whatever it is, whatever is holding your thoughts captive … face it. You’ll sleep better for it. You’ll be better for it,” she says, knowing all too well what it feels like to be a prisoner of her thoughts.

  I turn onto my street and slow to a coast. I sigh and nod my head as if Evelyn can see me.

  “You’re right; I know you’re right.”

  The more I try to shove Ever and his sexy lips out of my mind, the more front an
d center he becomes. Obviously, forgetting about him and moving the hell on isn’t working this time. I may have to change tactics.

  I turn into the driveway and furrow my brows at the unknown car parked in my driveway.

  “Don’t let silly stuff eat you alive. Say what you need to say … do what you need to do … and the thoughts in your head will untangle and work themselves out,” she says as I slide off my sunglasses and eye the figure hunched on my front steps, knees to elbows and eyes on me. “Just face it.”

  “I got it. I’m gonna let you go and take care of it right now.”

  Could the timing be any more perfect?

  “That’s the spirit,” Evelyn says in a high-pitched squeal. “And call me later this week so I don’t worry.”

  “Of course,” I say, only half listening as I watch Ever … watching me.

  I hop out of the Jeep and walk to the porch, feeling the air thicken and charge between us with each measured step. Neither of our gazes waver, and the throb of my heart is deafening in my eardrums as I pass right by him without a word. I feel the movement behind me as I walk to the door, my senses hyperaware of his presence, gulping in the urgent and frenetic energy rolling off him in waves.

  I slide my key in the door, but don’t turn the lock, watching his looming figure in the panes of glass. He boxes me in, both hands gripping the door frame as his head lowers to the curve of my neck. He sucks in a ragged breath as his nose runs across the ridge of my collarbone, then he buries his face into my curls.

  “What do you want from me?” I whisper. My voice is sandpaper, and the tension in my body is a frayed length of rope with a flame looming underneath. I drop my forehead to the cool glass and release a pent up sigh.

  He inches his lips up the curve of my neck. The soft roll of his breath on my ear causes a whimper to escape. Goose bumps erupt on every inch of my body, and I barely resist the urge to turn my head and meet his waiting lips.

  “I’m not interested in the past or the future. What I want is right now.” His teeth graze my earlobe, and his arm snakes around my waist, pushing my ass into his rock hard erection. “I fucking need it, Low.”

  I hate him. I crave him. But I hate him so much … don’t I?

  I battle between logical thought and hormones as Evelyn’s words play over and over in my head.

  Face it.

  Face it.

  Face it.

  I doubt this is what she had in mind, but turning my agonizing dreams into reality sounds like a genius idea to my body as it quakes with unrelenting want.

  At the same time that my fingers turn the lock, my head falls back onto his shoulder in surrender. Little does he know, that’s all I’m willing to surrender to him tonight. He’s going to play by my rules.

  He pushes the door open with a swift kick, hauls me inside, and shuts it before I have a chance to blink.

  Oh yes, this is exactly what I need.

  Face it…

  Ever

  I’M ON HER before the door clicks shut. The tiny flick of her wrist to unlock the door was all the permission I’d needed.

  Her purse drops to the floor with a thud, keys clanging behind it. I whip her around to face the door and brush the curls off her neck. I see her heartbeat pulsating just under her porcelain skin, and I run my tongue up the length of her neck as she groans her approval. I slide the strap of her dress off the curve of her shoulder, and sink my teeth into her skin, leaving the faintest marks behind. I grind into her ass to release some of this pressure, this need growing inside me to strip her naked and drive into her right here in the doorway.

  “It’s been too long,” I whisper as I flick open the buttons of her dress and slide my fingers into her bra. Her chest heaves into my hand as I drag an open palm over her nipple. “Too fucking long, Low.”

  She stiffens beneath me where she was languid muscles and throaty moans just moments before. She flips around to face me, placing one hand on the base of my neck and the other on the length of my cock. She squeezes me and pulls my lips to hers as she pushes me farther into the house. Tongues dueling, teeth scraping, and fingers grasping, this feels more like a fight than a fuck, and I’m honestly interested in neither.

  “Whoa, slow down. Let me love you,” I whisper, sliding my fingers through her hair and pulling away slightly.

  She averts her eyes and pulls me back to her, but I resist. When I resist again, irritation flits across her face, and she huffs.

  “Don’t try to make this something it isn’t, Ever. This is sex. No past, no future, remember?”

  My jaw clenches at her callousness, but I swallow my words of protest. I want her to know sex shouldn’t feel like a battle. I want to tell her to throw out the boxing gloves and let me show her how good I can make her feel—how good we’ll be together. Because we will be. Some things never change, no matter how much she wills it.

  Her warning reminds me where I stand with the new Marlo. She may be giving in to me, but she’s not giving it all to me. That’s something I’m going to have to earn.

  And I will.

  I feel the couch hit the back of my knees just as Marlo pulls down the zipper of my jeans. I break our kiss long enough to pull my shirt over my head, and her eyes zero in on my tattoo. Questions flicker in her eyes for just a moment before she washes her expression clean.

  She wants to know, but wishes she didn’t, that much is clear. She won’t ask, and, I won’t tell. She wants to be a hard ass, that’s fine, but I won’t make it easy for her.

  Her thumbs slide into the waistband of my jeans and boxers as her teeth nip my jaw. She pulls them down to my knees and uses both her hands to shove me onto the couch. I reach out and slide my fingers into her hair, pulling her closer, but she resists. I clench my jaw and close my eyes, allowing her the control I want … that I instinctively crave. I’m not sure how long I can play this game with her, but I’m willing to try, just for another chance with her.

  She kneels in front of me and runs her hands along my thighs, her thumbs running delicious circles along my skin.

  “What do you want?” Her brow arches, and her eyes burn with lust.

  “You. Always you,” I say gently, trying to balance her hardened heart with love and compassion.

  “My mouth?” she asks, ignoring my sentiment.

  “For now.”

  Her eyes flick with irritation before her lips curve into a seductive smile. She takes me in her hand and squeezes the base, jacking me twice before placing a chaste kiss to my tip. I jerk in her hand, and she smiles before opening her fist and licking me base to tip. My head rolls to the back of the sofa as she uses her hand, lips, tongue, and even teeth to work me into a pained frenzy. My hips jerk, pushing my cock past her lips, barely containing myself from pulling her close and fucking her mouth. Part of me knows she wants that, so I refuse to give in, although my resolve is waning quickly.

  I see her hand between her legs, and it takes all self-control not to come right then and there. I slide my fingers through her hair, revealing her face as she works me.

  “Why don’t you come up here and let me help you with that?”

  Her eyes flick to mine for the briefest moment before she looks away and ignores my request. She releases me with a pop of her lips and raises my wallet into my eye line, obviously fished from the jeans pooling at my ankles.

  “Condom?”

  I grab the wallet from her and slide out the foil packet, which she makes quick work of. She stands and turns around, giving me her back. She slides her hand up her dress, lifting her skirt to reveal the roundest, most luscious ass I’ve ever seen. The years have been kind to Marlo’s ass. Who am I kidding? The years have been kind to every inch of Marlo Rivers.

  She hooks the straps of her black lace panties and slides them over her hips, bending down to the floor as she does it to give me one hell of a show. She stands up, looks over her shoulder, curls falling into her face, and laughs. Her green eyes dance with playfulness, and the strap of her half-
unbuttoned dress hangs off one shoulder. My heart clenches in my chest. She’s so gorgeous, it hurts.

  “C’mere,” I whisper, holding out a hand to her.

  She lowers herself onto my lap, keeping her back to me the entire time. My cock in her hand, she takes me inside her in one swift movement. The feel of her squeezing me, the sound of her moan rumbling up her throat, her curls brushing against my chest as she throws her head back in ecstasy—it’s more than I could have imagined. And I’d imagined greatness. This? This is pure perfection.

  Our bodies roll together in synchronous waves, pushing and pulling, giving and taking, and all pretense washes away. I pull her back to my chest and run my hungry hands over and under the material of her dress, loving the feeling of her quaking belly and hardened nipples.

  “Turn around, Low. I want to see your face. I want to see what I do to you.”

  She turns her face to my neck and burrows, her breath ragged and strained. “What do you have against reverse cowgirl?” she asks, not making any attempt to move or shift.

  There she is. Marlo. Refusing to give an inch.

  I grab both of her hands and intertwine her fingers with mine. I run the other hand to her bra, pulling down the cup and squeezing. Our other set of hands trail down her stomach to her center, where I place my hand on top of hers.

  “Show me what you like—what gets you off.”

  And she does … and it’s fucking beautiful. Her orgasm rips through her with ruthless intensity, her body shuddering and quaking on top of me. I follow close behind, her body squeezing and pulling me over the edge. It’s relentless—all-consuming.

  She rests her head on my shoulder, her sticky back plastered to my sweaty front, and I have no intention of moving anytime soon. I’ve waited too long to give up a single second. There, buried deep inside her, I listen to her breathing even out and slow. I brush the hair from her face and kiss the part of her jaw I can reach.