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

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