Even the lingerie.
Tonight, I chose an outfit that I would never in a million years have ever had the guts to try. It’s a pair of tight black pants—not necessarily leggings—that hug every inch of me from waist to ankle. They’re shimmery, almost a metallic shine. It’s paired with a white silky camisole that doesn’t cut too low over my breasts, but doesn’t quite reach the waistband of the low-slung pant. Some of my stomach is bared. Of course, I felt a little too naked wearing that, so the stylist gave me a faded jean jacket to wear over the top. And after she advised me on what to wear, she provided a small bag of makeup. I only took advantage of a little eyeshadow and mascara, as I’ve never liked the way that stuff feels all over my face.
I look back up to Evan as he sings the last few lines, the roar of the crowd starting to peak as they know the end is nearing.
What in tarnation am I doing here? Wearing clothes he’s bought me—including a matching bra and panty set done in white lace. Coming to a show that he commanded me to attend, despite it not having anything to do with my job.
Is it because of that kiss?
Am I subconsciously putting myself out there… in his line of sight… to tempt something more?
My entire body slumps with the realization that I might actually be devolving into a tramp.
With the last strum against the guitar strings, Evan reaches a hand out and wraps it around the mic perched on a stand. Placing his lips close, he says, “Thank you all for coming. Good night, Miami.”
The fans go crazy and the arena starts blazing with lit cell phones waving furiously. The word “encore” floats around until it becomes a loud chant that can be clearly heard above the cheering.
Evan smiles and steps off the stool, resting his guitar against it. He starts walking my way, looking out over the crowd and waving to them as he exits.
Then his head turns and he stares at me.
But only at my face for a moment before his gaze travels so very slowly down my body, all the way down to the strappy black sandals I’d been given to wear with this outfit, adding an extra four inches onto my petite height. He continues walking straight at me as his eyes slide right back up my body, and when they lock onto mine, I feel my entire body tremble.
Blazing satisfaction is written all over his face, whether it’s because I wore his clothes or because I came to see his show, but he bears the look of triumph.
Evan walks right up to me and without saying a word, grabs my hand. I gasp as he pulls me off to the side and behind a curtain, which houses another curtain right behind it. He draws me a few steps in until we are completely out of sight and then his hands are on my face and his mouth is molesting mine.
He holds or touches me in no way except with palms to the side of my head and his lips and tongue battling with mine. I strain to press into him, but he holds our bodies at a distance, letting this kiss occur with only what God blessed us with from the neck up.
And because of that, I become acutely aware of every sensation inherent in that kiss. The stubble on his chin as it grazes mine, the heat of his mouth, and the strength of his tongue. His taste… warm cinnamon.
Oh, God… I’m drowning.
My eyes flutter closed and a bubbling groan warbles out of me as my hands wrap around his wrists to hold him in place.
And then… his mouth is gone and the cool air coats my lips.
I blink my eyes and look at him in the gloom of this area between two curtains. I want to launch myself back at him, but he releases me with a reluctant smile.
“I have to go back out… do an encore song,” he explains softly.
“Oh,” I say as my fingers come up and dazedly stroke over my lips, which are still tingling from his kiss.
“You look amazing,” he says softly. “So fucking sexy that if I didn’t have to do this encore, I’m quite sure we’d be looking for an empty coat closet or something I could fuck you in.”
My face flames, as only Evan can make it do, and for the first time since he’s tried to embarrass me, I’m not disgusted by his crude words. Instead, I want to go look for a closet and have it at the ready for when he comes back off that stage.
Oh, God Emma… you are so turning into a tramp.
“You’re going to the after party, okay?” Evan asks as he pinches my chin in between his thumb and forefinger.
I don’t respond, because I’m still in somewhat of a daze, his ability to render me speechless almost an art form.
“Okay, Emma?” he asks as he peers down at me.
“Okay,” I whisper in agreement, completely caught up in this moment with him.
“And then,” he says in a low growl that sounds ominous as he releases his hold on me. “We’ll see what happens after that.”
And for the first time in my life, something happens to my body just from mere words hitting my ears. A low, throbbing cramp hits me square between my legs, and I have the sudden urge to hump Evan’s leg or something.