Free Break Me by Evelyn Glass Page B

from. She patted the couch, next to her, and he sat down. He pulled two beers out of the six pack.
     
    “Mind it warm?”
     
    That same electric vibration sparkled up her spine. Was every interaction going to be like this now? How long would she spend treating everything he said as a double entendre? And was she even wrong? “Not at all. Not if it’s good.”
     
    “It’s really good,” he said. She watched his forearms flex as he cracked open the bottles. He was dressed in more casual clothes than he would have worn to his meeting. Chinos, a button down shirt, open at the throat and the sleeves rolled up. Did he keep a change of clothes at the office for partying after hours?
     
    Stop it .
     
    His pants looked like they’d cost more than her couch. Which, honestly, wouldn’t have been hard.
     
    She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to take a deep breath. He was sitting on the couch. Not lording over it, and not trying to hover over it in case her relative poverty somehow stained him. He was here. He’d come to her this time. He deserved credit for that.
     
    When she opened her eyes, he was looking at her expectantly, the bottle extended to her. She took it and smiled. The first sip was bright, almost sharp, but the second—the hops came through, mellow and warm, with a hint of fruity softness. “This is good,” she said, glancing at the label. It was a company she’d never heard of, but that wasn’t surprising. Every bar in the city had a microbrew, it seemed like.
     
    “A friend of mine makes it.”
     
    “You know someone who knows microbrews?”
     
    His smile seemed brittle. “I know a lot of people, Zoey. Not everyone is a rich snob.”
     
    “No—that’s not why I’m asking,” she said. “I’ve actually been wanting to do a profile on someone in the community. Is the microbrew thing over, what’s it like, how do you deal with hipsters. Stuff like that.”
     
    His expression softened. She hadn’t even noticed that it was harder. “I’ll put the two of you in touch.”
     
    “Please.”
     
    “Plates?”
     
    “Oh—yes, of course. Let me—”
     
    He pressed a hand into her thigh, and she felt like a live wire had been brushed over her skin. His pupils dilated fast and hard, and she heard the small sound she made. “Zoey,” he said, his breath strangled.
     
    She was very proud of herself. She took both the bottles from him, his and hers, and she set them on her coffee table. She reached back and pulled the pony tail out of her hair. And then she slid into his lap as if she were magnetized, his hands coming to her hips to complete the circuit of electric need between them.
     
    “I don’t have a condom with me,” he breathed between kisses, then nipped at her lower lip, drawing it out between them.
     
    “I don’t care.” She surprised herself with that, surprised him too, by the way he slipped a finger between their lips and caught her eyes. “I’m on the pill,” she answered. “Are you clean?”
     
    He took a long, ragged breath. “I haven’t been tested in a year or so. I should be fine, but I’d rather go get a fresh round before I take that step.”
     
    She put the reins on her libido and nodded. “That’s a good idea. And yeah, I probably should as well.”
     
    He kissed her again, his lips moving from her mouth down her chin and along her neckline to her collarbone. “I feel like history has shown us, though, that we do just fine without penetration. After all.”
     
    “There’s a few things in my bedroom I could show you.” She felt the blush flare over her skin as she said it.
     
    He shook his head. “No. I need—to get the vision of you hurting out of my head first. I’d rather we keep things vanilla for a bit.”
     
    She nodded. “Just so long as I get to touch you.”
     
    “If I had my way, we’d never stop.”
     
    A while later, he stopped her again. “The pizza’s getting cold.”
     
    “I don’t care.”
     
    He chuckled