Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book) by Reinhardt, Liz (knowledgeable books to read TXT) 📕

put the day, my family, her playing hooky, all the uncertainties of our relationship into the back of our minds tonight.

I pull up at the beach house for the second time, but this time, my phone is on vibrate, and I'm eighty-nine percent sure it won't ring. Or, at least, seventy-four percent.

The pull to take care of Remy is strong, because he's my blood. He's my responsibility. I don't take either of those aspects of our relationship lightly.

But Evan?

What I feel about her defies everything I've ever thought I knew about myself and my loyalties.

I watch her jump out of the car and run to the door, her bag of beach stuff flopping against her back, her hand waving for me to follow.

I follow. Of course I fucking follow this gorgeous girl.

I come up behind her at the door, and the last few weeks of having to pull away at the very last second hit me hard. I wind my arms around her waist and kiss her neck, rub my face in her hair, let my hands move up along her ribs and cup under the full swell of her tits, remembering the tiny scraps of red fabric that did a fantastically crappy job of covering them a few hours ago.

Evan drops the keys and turns around in my arms, her mouth missing mine a few times, landing hurried, sucking kisses on my neck, my bruised cheek, my ear, and finally, she catches my mouth in a hot, sweet press of her lips that tears a groan out of my throat...right alongside a wince.

"What's wrong?" she breathes, then her light blue eyes go wide. "Oh no. I'm sorry." Her fingers brush softly over my mouth and flutter up and along my bruised eye socket. "You're still bleeding from the cut by your eye. Maybe it needs a stitch? I can take you to the hospital."

I love the look of crazed concern that presses her dark eyebrows low over her worried eyes and makes her mouth soft, like she's begging me to kiss it. So I do, instead of answering. I kiss her hard, and don't give a fuck that it hurts, because I'm finally with her, in her arms, around her for this entire long night at least. And I plan to make the most of it.

"Winch," she sighs, and she ducks down to scoop up the keys, then stuffs one in the lock, her hand rounds the doorknob, and we both crash in through the swinging door. I yank it closed and follow her, kissing her neck and under her hair, all the way up the huge flight of stairs to a small room with an enormous bed. The fact that we're so completely alone is making me crazy, like someone ripped the top bindings off my life. I feel free for the first time in years, free to do whatever the fuck I want.

And I want Evan.

I want her so badly, my hands shake and my heart beats like a boxer tearing up a new bag in training. I lay her back on the bed and kiss her face, along her neck, down to her shoulder. I unbutton the yellow dress, but I can't push enough of the fabric away to get to a satisfying amount of her skin. She moans, a sweet, sexy sound that fills the room and echoes off the quiet walls.

"Evan." I look down at her face, all dark hair and light, sweet eyes, and that mouth tipped up in a smile that I love so much because half the time she's using it to tell me to go fuck myself. "You're gorgeous."

She moans and presses up against me, and I have a sudden need to get everything off as fast as I can. I undo the belt on her dress, but it's just for show; it doesn't loosen it at all. The buttons on her top don't seem to go anywhere or do anything, and I'm worried about ripping the thing off of her or making a bigger mess.

Leave it to my sister to dress my girlfriend in something I can't get her the hell out of.

After a few minutes of watching me fumble with the fabric, she shakes her head and backs up, leaving me on the bed. She raises an arm and pulls down on this secret zipper that's underneath.

I'm pissed at how infuriatingly complex a single piece of clothing can be with all its hidden zippers, useless belts, and frustrating buttons.

"Why does that dress have to be so damn complicated?" I sit up on my elbows to see her better.

She pulls it over her head, and she's not wearing a bra. Just the tiniest thong and all that long, sweet, tan skin. I work hard as hell to keep my jaw from swinging.

I've seen girls before. Good-looking girls. But she's by far the sexiest, most confident, most in-control girl I've ever been with. She's the only girl who's ever bossed me around or questioned my every move, and I like it.

I like the whole damn package when it comes to her.

"Dresses that are complicated," she says softly, the smile on her lips pure wicked fun, "are essential to teach girls that they shouldn't bother with guys who won't figure out how to take off a dress."

She walks back to the bed and straddles my lap, sinking down on top of me and pressing against my chest, her skin burning through the thin fabric of my shirt. I'm trying to keep calm, trying not to let go and spring at her, but it's hard to control myself when she's everywhere, the smell of burnt sugar dry and sweet on her skin and in my nose.

"Is everything okay?" she asks softly, all her tough, demanding intensity folded back for now.

"Yeah, of course. It is." I put my hands on the warm skin of her back, because I want to steady myself, get my emotions jarred up and lidded. But I feel like