And, dear Lord, his cock liked it, too. He was hard. Painfully so. And he wanted so badly to sink inside of her.
He knew better, though. He didn't want a repeat of the other night. All he wanted tonight was pleasure. All he wanted was to see her wild for him, to hear her cry his name. To make her shatter in his arms.
He teased her clit and her pussy mercilessly, and he could feel the tension building inside her, making her climb higher and higher. And it was him taking her there. The power of that humbled him, knowing that he was bringing her such pleasure. Knowing that they could share such incredibly intimacy.
And there it was.
He wanted that. The sharing. He wanted to feel her tighten around his cock. He wanted her to milk him, to go over the edge with him.
He wanted that--he did, dammit.
And before he could talk himself out of trying, he stripped off his jeans, then slid on top of her. His mouth found hers as he straddled her, pushing her knees up to open her even more too him.
"Tyree, are you sure?"
But he didn't answer her with words. He just slid his fingers inside her, making sure she was wet enough for him, ready enough. And then he slowly thrust his cock into her. Just a little, just a test. But it was good--oh, Christ, it was good--then a little more and a little more until finally he was pistoning against her, their bodies slapping together, and she was crying out, telling him how good it felt, how deep he was, how she never wanted him to stop.
And he was close, so damn close. So was she, her muscles clenching around him, taking him further and further until finally his entire body shattered, the force of his orgasm ripping him apart as intense waves of joy shook him. Joy. Pleasure. Passion.
Eva.
It was all Eva. Every thought. Every feeling. Every wild sensation.
She filled him. Illuminated him. Made him whole.
He wanted her. Needed her.
For one short moment, he reveled in that simple truth. Then everything imploded, and reality hauled back and kicked him hard in the balls.
A shudder cut through him, and he pulled out of her as a tidal wave of heavy, potent guilt cra
shed over him, sweeping him away. Sweeping everything away. Until he was lost. So damn lost.
"Tyree?" She sat up, confusion flooding her voice. "Are you okay?"
Christ, he probably looked like he'd had a stroke. He held up a hand to stave off her touch. "Fine," he said. "I'm--"
Lost? Guilty? Confused? Pitiful?
He didn't know. Dear Lord, he didn't know.
"I'm sorry," he said as he slid off the bed. It was all he could say.
It was the best he could do.
And though she begged him to stop, to stay, to explain, he just moved faster, hurrying into his clothes and then out the door into the Driskill's abandoned hallway and the illusion that he'd gotten his shit under control.
Chapter Seventeen
"I don't know, Mom," Elena said, fidgeting with her phone as she perched on the bed Eva had been using. "I still think you're being a little hasty."
Eva frowned as she turned a circle in the room, checking to make sure she'd tossed all her personal things into her duffel. Eva had returned to the apartment in the middle of the night, then waited up for Elena to come home. They'd talked on the couch for hours, and Eva had explained to her daughter that she needed to go back to San Diego. Not only because she had a business to run, but because Tyree needed space.
"I'm not saying it's over." Please, don't let it be over. "But I am saying he has some things to work out."
"Then work them out with him. I mean, come on, Mom. This is my dad."
Eva sighed, and stopped packing, her attention focused entirely on her daughter. "I know. And I know that you'd thought you were getting the fairy tale. Honestly, I thought I was, too. But that's not the way the story's turning out. Your father loved his wife. Really loved her. And that's wonderful, but it's also confusing for him. And it only makes it harder for him when I'm here."