Well, at least that’s easy to fix.
I want to go faster, get off the street, find some place quiet and ask her. But she’s slow, hampered by her walking stick, and she seems lost in thought. I take the time to study her heart-shaped face, the long sweep of her lashes over her bright eyes, the elegant arc of her neck and her pouting upper lip...
Oh fuck. She’s so sexy. I try to look away, but my gaze is drawn to the swell of her breasts under the stretchy cloth of her hoodie, and my body tightens. What would her lips feel like, pressed on mine, and how would she taste? How would her naked body fit against mine?
I shiver and force my mind on other things, like the honking of the cars, the pigeons fluttering on a roof, the shape of her small hand in mine...
Fuck, why can’t I control myself? My jeans feel a size too small right now, my aching dick trapped sideways against the seam. I grit my teeth.
Thankfully, the cafe I have in mind is just around the corner. Then we can talk. Then I will know who she is, and then she will know who I am, as well.
Even if it’s her, she probably doesn’t remember me. We never spoke to each other. Except for that fateful night, I only watched her from afar, much as I did the past week, doing her rounds, checking on the homeless.
And when I came out of hospital and slowly got on with life, she wasn’t anywhere to be found.
A drop hits my face, and I glance up at the heavy clouds. Before I can even blink, another falls on my mouth, and I lick it off my lips. I lift my hand and more splash on my palm. They patter on the street and sidewalk, the parked cars and the benches.
“Is it far?” she asks, and I squeeze her hand. “Maybe we should head back.”
“Not far,” I say. “Trust me.”
The rain falls harder now, soaking through my hair, frigid rivulets running down my neck. She looks up at me, her gaze distant, and nods, letting me pull her along faster.
Not fast enough. From one moment to the next, the skies open, and water falls in buckets. In seconds we’re soaking wet. We hurry down the street, the sound of our footfalls muffled by the downpour.
I see a shop awning and turn my head to tell her we could find shelter there until the storm passes, when the stick falls from her hand, and she stumbles. A small cry escapes her lips, and I snag an arm around her slim waist, steadying her, pushing her under the shop tent, against the wall.
My intention is to prevent her from falling, to protect her from the rain. But as I press her back, feeling her body molding to mine, I’m lost. She tilts her face up, and a strange play of light makes it glow. The day is dark, the sky sleet gray, and she’s made of old, rich gold.
Precious. Too precious for the likes of me—but when I bow my head, I feel her warm breath on my mouth. Our lips brush.
A jolt of fire goes through me and cascades down my nerves. I shake. Planting my hands on either side of her lovely face, I push my tongue into her mouth and can’t help the groan rising in my throat. Her taste is fucking incredible, like a candy bar stuffed with toffee and peanut butter.
As she arches into me, her tongue hesitantly touching mine, her breasts push into my chest, and I almost lose it then and there. My hard-on returns with a vengeance, and my breath catches in my throat as the pressure mounts behind my balls. My whole body strains to meld with her, bury itself into her through the layers of clothes.
Fuck, I’m going to come in my pants just from kissing her. Dammit. I slip my hand under her hoodie and t-shirt and find her smooth, silky skin. I stroke the curve of her waist, up her ribcage, reaching her bra. I cup her breast, and she lets out a breathless gasp. I squeeze lightly, feeling her nipple harden through the silky cloth, and we moan together.
This is so hot I can’t stand it. My cock twitches, and I thrust my tongue into her mouth faster, harder. Holy shit, I have to stop touching her.
I pull back for air, and her reddened lips draw me right back in a heartbeat. Another moan escapes me as I hunt for her mouth again. My dick swells more.
Now it’s her turn to pull back. Through the haze in my mind, I realize she’s pushing her hands against my chest.
“Sorry,” I croak, trying to gather my wits. I shove off the wall. “Fuck. Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Her eyes are half-lidded, the gold of her irises veiled by copper lashes. She doesn’t look upset. She gives me a tiny smile that turns my heart over in my chest.
And then she says in her low, musical voice, “By the way, I’m Evangeline. Friends call me Ev.”
We’re sitting in the cafe, small puddles forming around our feet. At least we’re not the only wet customers. Two girls sitting at the next table wipe rainwater from their faces and dry their hands on paper napkins.
I rub my fingers through my short, drenched hair and glance at Ev, who’s settling her fancy purple-and-white walking stick against her chair.
It’s her. I’d guessed right. I still can’t believe I’m sitting across from her. That I held her and kissed her.
She catches my gaze and smiles at me. Her lips are red and puffy from our kiss and damn, all I want is to take her in my arms and taste her again.
We order coffee and apple cake with cream cheese frosting, then sit back and look at each other. She brings her long ponytail over her shoulder and fiddles with her shiny hair. She bites her lip.
She has no clue what she’s doing to me. I swear, every look, every gesture goes straight to my cock. I shift on my seat, biting back a groan. Any minute now the buttons of my fly will pop from the pressure.
“Ev...” I say and then catch myself. I’m not her friend, not yet. “Evangeline.”
“Just Ev is fine.” Her smile returns, bright.
I smile back, relieved. She’s been Ev in my head for a long time now. “Ev it is.” Where to start? How to tell her how she saved me? “You like walking in town.”
The words just spill out of my mouth, and she frowns, delicate, honey-colored brows drawing together. God, everything about her is so pretty. “How do you know that?”
Oh shit. “I used to...” ... what, watch you? From afar? Before? Oh yeah. Now she’ll be sure I’m a stalker. “I used to think...”
“Think what?” She pulls back as our coffees and cake arrive, then draws her coffee cup closer and cradles it in her hands, looking at me expectantly.
I pour a package of sugar into mine and stir slowly, to buy myself time. “That people with leg injuries must be the ones who walk the most.” I lift the cup to my lips to hide a wince.
Yeah, real smooth. Christ.
But she laughs softly. “Well, you’re spot on. I used to walk a lot. But then I had this accident, and my parents and brother took it as an excuse to convince me walking in town is a bad idea. That talking to the people on the street is a bad idea. And then...” She stares into her coffee, the light in her eyes dimming. “Never mind.”