Fall Guy

by Liz Reinhardt

  “Evan.” I can hear how my voice is just crossing the line of begging, and I don’t like it. But I can’t risk unleashing things with her. I’ve never had this feeling with a girl, like I was about to lose control.

  She lets go of my wrists, and I relax, but only for a minute. She tugs on the bottom of my shirt and tears it over my head, and her eyes go wide and dark looking at my body. Before I can move her over to the side, she presses my wrists over my head again.

  “Winch,” she breathes, dipping lower, circling her tongue around each of my nipples, kissing over the bruises that explode on my ribs. She pulls back up, her face flushed and her eyes bright. “If I let go of your hands, you have to promise not to push me away.”

  It’s hard to swallow. “Evan, you don’t understand.”

  “Then explain.”

  Her fingers tighten like she thinks she’s actually holding me back. Did she not just watch me beat the shit out of two hulking giants? But I love it, the way she jumps in, all balls and brass, and does whatever the hell she wants with me.

  “Today I broke a lot of my own rules. I pushed too far. And I’m scared that I’ll just keeping doing that with you.”

  It’s hard to get out a coherent thought with her body pressed tight against mine, sliding back and forth with soft little rocks of her hips.

  She leans close and kisses my lips, pulling back before it gets too intense. I half want more, but I know, deep down, that it’s better this way. I need her to keep on the other side of the line at least until I have time to get myself back under control.

  “We’ve done more than this before, Winch. We’ve almost had sex.” Her eyes puzzle over my face, and she licks her lips softly. It makes every raging ounce of testosterone buck and jump in me, and that’s exactly what I’m afraid of. I try to sit up under her, but she pins me with all her strength. I could push past her hold easily, but I don’t. “No. Explain why today’s different. Explain why the first time we’ve had together alone is all of a sudden not going to work for you.”

  Her mouth folds small with stubborn determination, and I’m right back where I promised I wouldn’t take her; I’m forging a shortcut to breaking her heart.

  My arms are starting to lose feeling, but I’ve seen the exact look that’s on her face right now before, most recently when she convinced me to let her come to the fight. I’m still in shock that she talked me into that. She’s determined as hell, and she’s not going to give up until I spill.

  “The fight today?” I stop, she nods, prodding me to go on. “I like to fight. I like it a lot. More than I should.”

  Pride marks her smile, and it makes something hot and crazy flash through me. Because she’s proud of me. Of what I do. Who I am. Even the ugly parts. “I know you liked it. I watched.”

  “I liked it, but I have to be careful. Anything that makes me lose my focus or lose control? It’s no good.”

  “Why?” she demands, her fingers digging into my wrists.

  “I can’t trust myself. I don’t lose it. It’s not my thing. So when I do…I just can’t. Because I don’t know what will happen when I do.”

  I replay my words in my brain, and they don’t make an ounce of goddamn sense.

  “I don’t believe you’d ever hurt me.” She kisses me on the side of the mouth, softly. “No one’s ever protected me the way you do.”

  Her words tear me up and leave me feeling a swell of guilt. “You deserve better than what I’ve given you.”

  “I don’t want anything but you.” She flexes her hips against me, and I wonder if this is just lust talking. Like she can read my thoughts, she adds, “And I’m not just saying that because I want to get in your pants.”

  I can’t hold the laugh back. “You’re crazy.” I kiss her back, softly, when she moves her lips to mine. “Can I have a few minutes? Can I just get my head cleared?”

  She lets go of my wrists and sits up, and her face is open, frank, curious.

  “What do you think a few minutes will do to change how you feel about me? How we feel about each other? You can’t control everything, Winch. Neither one of us can control what we feel. You’ve been trying to run away from this since day one. And it’s not working anyway. So let go. You’ll like it. I promise.”

  Her mouth comes back over mine, and I groan.

  “I know I’ll like it.” I run my hands, tingling with the blood that’s shooting back through them, up her thighs and rub my thumbs along the curves of her hips. “I’ll love it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to leave you alone once I get a taste of this.”

  “Why would that be a bad thing again?” she asks, her smile sweet and wickedly sexy, tormenting me in ways I never imagined possible.

  I put my hands up at her shoulders and drag my fingertips down along her body, brushing over her nipples, hard from the way I’m touching her, along her ribs, over the soft curve of her stomach, bumping over the waistband of her thong and running in at her thighs, to where I can bet she’s slick and wet, ready for me.

  Ready if I can stop being a damn coward and just let go.

  “It would be a bad thing because I’m afraid to gamble with your heart, Evan. I’m afraid to hurt you.” My voice catches on the words.

  Her blink is lazy. “But I love a risky bet. They’re always the ones that feel the best when you win. And I have a really good feeling about you, Winch. Plus that, I’m tough as hell. You won’t hurt me. I promise.”

  And then it’s all her mouth, her skin, her hands unlocking, opening, loosening, freeing every single thing I’ve held tight to for so long, and I spread my arms wide and free fall into her, not sure what either one of us is doing, but willing to take this gamble and put all my weight behind it.

  Evan 11

  Watching Winch open up is a like a cross between conducting a delicate science experiment and rereading the steamiest sex scene in my favorite romance novel with my hand pressed low under my waistband. I’ve had glimpses before, when we kissed, when we talked on my balcony and in my bed, stolen moments here and there when we’ve been together. But, for the most part, Winch was a closed book I always had a really hard time prying open.

  Until tonight. His arms are around me, his mouth crushes and sucks all over my body and, in the shadows of my room, in my bed, with the sound of the waves crashing outside the window, he kisses like kissing my skin is essential to his very existence.

  He runs his hands over my body like he’ll lose everything if his skin isn’t moving over mine.

  He whispers low, mixed things, some in a language that’s foreign, but sounds a little like Russian to me. I don’t need to know the language to get the drift of what he’s saying. And sometimes he slides into English, and his words shock me and flood my body with the hot waves of a blush I can’t control.

  Eyes wide and lust-blackened, he grips my hips with strong, sure hands and flips me underneath him, covering my body with the long, muscled crush of his. I balance between wanting to press hard against him and yank him closer, and being careful with his damaged, bruised body.

  But, if it hurts him, he’s not letting it show. His kisses are hard and hungry, and I know some are going to mark my skin. His fingers bite into my hips, drag in lines that leave shallow imprints up my thighs, then dig in along my backside, up on either side of my spine, and stop only to grip my shoulders. He rocks hard and presses urgently against me.

  “Evan, Evan.” My name tears out of his mouth over and over. “Evan, you feel so damn good.”

  His right hand pulls down my body, brushing a rough palm over my nipple, rubbing along the skin of my hip, and grabs onto the waistband of my tiny thong. He winds the elastic around his hand once, twice, a third time, then gives a yank. I gasp when the cloth bites against my skin for a second before it shreds off, and I feel the familiar shake and pulse low down in my body when I sit up enough to see the ragged fabric laying, frayed, against my leg. His hand rubs roughly along the smooth skin and his moan is loud and appreciative.

/>   “Tell me to touch you.”

  I’m surprised by the way his voice sounds, almost like a command. I whip my head up to look at him, but his eyes are still gentle, still Winch, still protecting me, even while we’re walking down this unknown path together. Even when he’s showing a side of himself I’ve never seen, because I’ve never known him to let go like this.

  To let go like I asked him to, because he trusts me.

  “I want your hands on me. Now. I want your fingers in me,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. I can feel the hot burn of a blush prickling down my body.

  He rubs his thumbs in slow, steady circles on my thighs. “Open your legs.”

  The dark blue of his eyes is barely visible behind the black of his pupil and his mouth is set, straight and tense.

  I let my knees fall apart, and he runs his fingers all the way down my inner thigh and higher, just the slightest tickle of a touch. My skin tingles in response to his fingers’ gentle movements, but he increases the pressure and his fingers play against the slick, wet, needy center of me. I arch my back and feel his fingers slide inside, then he pulls out with a quick jerk of his hand that leaves me panting and desperate before he slides back in.

  “Do you like it?” His voice is low and cracked with the effort of trying to keep calm.

  “Yes.” My voice hisses between my clenched teeth.

  His free hand roams all over my skin, and its rough press leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His hand curls around the back of my neck and pulls my face close, kissing me with almost bruising force as his fingers slide against me in a rhythm that follows the cues of my panting breathing and bucking hips. That persistent rhythm uncoils a tight need burrowed deep in me.

  “Winch,” I moan, my body so close to the shaking, shuddery release I’ve wanted for weeks every time I looked his way.

  I clamp a hand around his wrist, and he slows down, drawing all the perfect, tremors out until they’re teasing me right to the edge of torture.

  He presses his mouth close to my ear, kissing the outer edge. I squeeze my eyes shut, and all my senses hone in on the touch of his fingers and the rough grate of his voice.

  “Come for me,” he orders.

  I shake right at the edge of where I need to be.

  The next few words out of his mouth are the trip and twist of a language I don’t know, punctuated by a low, long moan.

  He switches into English, and once I can comprehend what he’s saying, his words rush me toward a total, complete, delicious loss.

  “Evan, you are the sexiest girl I’ve ever been with. I think about you…every day. All day. I can’t stop. I’ve imagined doing this…being with you…doing this to you a thousand times. You’re so wet. You’re so tight. Come for me. Come,” he coaxes, his voice thready and rough.

  His hand moves against me, fast and insistent, setting the exact rhythm I’m hoping will never end, but is driving me crazy. My back arches, I twist my hips, I grab his biceps and press my face into the salty skin of his chest.

  “Winch! Winch!”

  I can’t say anything but his name. I can’t think anything but his name and him and the way he touches me. And then the tiny, focused place where he’s touching my body and making me spin loose has had all it can take, and I shake with a fierce jerk of my body, once, twice, and a third long, gripping time. Then I go limp against him.

  He pulls his hand away and drags me close, kissing my face, down my neck, sucking and kissing down my shoulders and arms, and moving in to pull at my nipples with his hot mouth and tongue.

  For a few seconds, I feel liquid-boned against him, like I could close my eyes and snuggle into sleep. But the fevered sweep of his hands and the insistent lick of his tongue unleashes the coil of a new build-up, and I find myself ready all over again for him, for whatever he wants and wherever he’s going to take this.

  Take us.

  Completely take us both.

  Foreign words slip off his tongue and make my body move against his as if I can actually grasp any of what he’s saying. My hands work down to his waist, suddenly irritated beyond words at the clothing still covering him.

  I want him out, I want him naked, I want him exposed and with me and mine. All mine.

  I flick the button open and drag the zipper down, the metallic zip an instant, frenzied turn-on. His hard-on strains against the thin cotton of his boxer briefs, and his jeans are barely hanging on his narrow hips. I push with my hands, and he moves his hands down to help. It’s a tangle of rough and soft cloth, rough and soft hands, our frenzied need to get his clothes off, and the distracting, amazing feel of his skin suddenly there for my greedy taking.

  I press his jeans off with my hands, then my feet, and he kicks and peels away until we’re both hot and naked, our bodies pressed so close, it’s right on the cusp of where we both want to be so badly.

  But there’s the amazing, mind-blowing feel of these few moments of skin-to-skin perfection buzzing through us, and it’s something we both slow down and savor for a minute. Winch pulls up and looks down the length of our bodies. I follow his gaze, and feel the dizzying, possessive pleasure of seeing his tan skin pressed against mine, the two of us alone and nothing to interrupt us, nothing to worry us, for at least this one magic night.

  He shakes his head, still looking down, and loosens a litany of flowing, liquid words that could just as easily be a prayer or a string of curses.

  Then his mouth gets busy kissing me, hard, nipping at my lips, catching the skin on my neck between his teeth with gentle bites, grazing down my arm, and sucking in at my breast. His teeth edge on my nipples, and every experience I’ve ever had with any other guy dissolve as if those memories had been dipped in acid.

  It’s only Winch. It will only ever be Winch for me, from now on.

  I feel the polarizing twist of total euphoria over the fact that I got a chance to know him mixed with dread over the true, but unbelievably heart-breaking, reality that I probably won’t be able to hold onto him.

  Every wall is down, every stake has been pulled out, and we’re both tumbling into something we couldn’t even imagine controlling.

  I want to be with him in every way that matters.

  Even if it’s impossible.

  And, if I can’t, I want to have as much of him as I can while I can.

  But I also want this to never end.

  His racing, pleading words transition into English. “Evan, I want you.” His mouth and hands are everywhere, covering me with goosebumps and smoothing them back out, whipping me into a passionate frenzy and massaging me back to baited anticipation. “Say you want me.”

  He slides up and I feel the long, hot press of him, so close but not nearly close enough.

  I open my eyes wide and look at his, wild and black with lust for me, and, maybe, love, too.

  But that’s too much right now. I’ve always been happy to take what I can get, and what I have my hands wrapped around right now is Winch; wild, on-the-edge-of-his-control Winch.

  “I want you,” I whimper, ready and sure.

  I reach over and find the basket with my iPod and hairbrush, fishing underneath for the condoms that I’ve always kept ready. They used to be for anyone who I brought here, but I know when I grab the packet that they’re only ever going to be for Winch.

  Winch and no one else.

  Because this time with him proved exactly what I was excited about and terrified of; once I was with him, once I fell for him, even the remote possibility of anyone else would just cease to be a reality for me.

  He takes the packet out of my hand, rips it open, and rolls the condom on. We both glance down, and his chest rises and falls with the rapid breaths he’s pulling in and out of his lungs.

  “You want this?”

  I swallow hard. I do. I want it all, every single thing he’s willing to give me. And I want everything I know he can’t give me.

  But I’m willing to take whatever I can get.

  I wrap my hand around
the hard length of him and fit him against my body. “I want this. I want you. I want it now.”

  He braces his arms on either side of me. He closes his eyes, his bruised face so handsome and so wild all at once. For a split second, everything is still and tense. Then he presses into me, and I suck my breath through my teeth and bite my lower lip.

  He goes perfectly still for one long second, then pulls back slightly and presses against me again.

  I’ve had sex before. This is nothing new for me. But when I’m with Winch, he fills me in a way that is only partly physical. It’s like he’s inside my pores, like his taste is imprinted on my tongue, like our bodies forgot to exist as two separate entities and are now one.

  I’ve had sex before, but it’s a completely new experience with Winch.

  I’m stretched around him, and I wrap my legs around his waist, look him in the eyes, and instruct him the way I’ve fantasized a thousand times. “Faster,” I whisper.

  His mouth compresses, and he pumps into me with quicker, sharper thrusts. Unlike the guys I’ve been with before, Winch watches me, pays attention. He moves my body under his, repositioning my hips until we click in just the right way for his body to jolt mine on a straight slide down to that perfect, crazy, shaking, smashing release.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and bring his mouth close to mine.

  “Winch,” I breathe against his lips before I kiss him deep and slow, drawing his wild, unchecked moan from low in his throat until it tumbles into my mouth.

  The sound of it, the feel of it in me, cracks through the eggshell walls of my calm, and urges me to press against him harder and then let go.

  I’ve always been good at letting go. Freefalling. Opening up and letting everything wash over me.

  The hard part for me has always been holding on after the fact.

  Head back, legs tight around him, arms holding him close, I let myself slide and shake into perfection. But when it’s over, I have to resist the urge to pull back.

  I want to. Deep in my gut, I want to kick away from him, be alone with the fill of my own happiness, protected and disconnected. I always knew being with him would eventually hurt me, because it would have to end. But now I’ve been exposed to the full extent of exactly what it is I’m going to miss.