“How can you blame me? You like wandering with filthy beggars and won’t look out for yourself! Joel says you’re still doing it. Of course I’m worried.”

This again? “Well, I’m fine. Talk to you later, Mom.”

“Evie, wait—”

I put the cell down and sigh in frustration. Quickly, I type a text to Joel, letting him know I stayed at a friend’s last night.

I know they all mean well. I’m actually quite a rational person most of the time. But it’s not as if I ran off to Vegas for a month. I even let them know I was staying out, for God’s sake.

Micah runs his hand up and down my arm. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” His touch is calming, and I close my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. “Parent stuff, you know?”

He says nothing and when I open my eyes he’s looking past me, at the far wall.

“Like, they want to know where I am every minute of the day,” I say, “and think they have a say in who I see and what I do… It’s annoying.” Micah’s face is blank, and as nervousness swamps me I start to talk faster. “Is that normal? I mean, I guess it’s different with boys. Joel is pretty much free to do as he pleases, and I know for most boys it’s like that. What about you? What about your parents?”

“What about them?” Micah mutters and leaves the bed. He stands in the middle of the room, facing away from me, his body tense, every muscle outlined in his strong back.

“Are you okay?” I hesitate, the sheet wrapped around me. “Micah?”

“Fine,” he snaps.

I gape at his back. Unexpectedly, my eyes sting. Gathering the sheet around me, I slip out of bed and pad to the door. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to pull myself together.

“Ev, wait…” Micah intercepts me before I reach the door, his hand heavy on my shoulder. He slips his arms around my waist and turns me around. “Wait.”

“What?” I mumble.

Uncertainty flickers across his face. His hands move to my hips, holding me gently but securely.

“Sorry,” he says, his chin dipping to his chest. From where I stand, I have a great view of his square jaw and high cheekbones, the sexy ruffled state of his blond hair. “Please don’t go yet.”

Standing this close to him is different from lying down on his bed. He looks huge, powerful, dwarfing me. My pulse accelerates, and yet it’s not from fear. I’m not scared he’ll hurt me in any way. The only thing I feel is need– the need to be closer, always closer to him, to burrow inside him, and it’s just crazy. I barely know him.

The thought makes me pull back, and the uncertainty flashes again over his features, like distant lightning. “Please, Ev. My parents… I just don’t remember them much.”

My mouth opens. but no words come out. I didn’t expect this. I also didn’t expect him to start talking. For me. To stop me from going.

“It’s okay,” I say quietly, reaching up to grip his biceps. “It’s none of my business. I never thought…”

“My dad left when I was very little. My mom was never home.” He gives a rueful smile and a slight, apologetic roll of his shoulders. “Then came foster care and foster families, and they were all different in how they treated me. So…”

So he has no real feel for what parents normally do.

Crap. Of course he doesn’t. Come to think of it… His smile is still in place, but it’s tight and etched with sadness. He told his tale so quickly I almost missed the fact he skimmed over lots of stuff. Important stuff. The most important: an absent father. An absent mother. Foster family after foster family. No stability. No home.

My heart aches for him. I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him, our lips brushing, and then he draws me flush against him and kisses me thoroughly, exploring my mouth with his tongue, flooding me with his dark taste, making me want him again.

His arousal presses between us, steel-hard and hot. I moan when he slides his hands behind me to cup my ass and grinds his hard-on against my belly. He walks me backward until my knees hit the bed, and we fall on it. His mouth moves over my body, scorching and urgent. I’m lost in a storm of sensation, pleasure assaulting me on every side, arousal making my center throb with painful intensity.

Then he pulls back for a moment, leaving me writhing on the mattress, and I hear the crinkle of foil as he takes out a condom and puts it on.

He leans over me again, a question in his eyes. His arms tremble and his chest heaves. His cock nudges my opening, and I can’t help a moan at the feel of it. I love how he holds back until he’s sure I want it, despite being painfully hard and barely able to stop himself.

And this barely reined-in control when it comes to being with me… I love it, too.

“Micah,” I whisper and reach down between us to touch his erection. He’s throbbing through the thin rubber, and he gasps when I guide him inside me.

Oh God, he feels amazing, stretching me, filling me. His stomach muscles contract. His hips roll, and I cry out at the waves of pleasure washing through me. I never knew I’d be so vocal in sex—never was before. His face dips down for a kiss, silencing me, and for a fleeting second, I wonder if he thinks someone will hear, if he lives alone in this apartment or not—but he grabs my hips, lifting me, entering me deeper, and all thought is erased in another riptide of unbearable pleasure that borders on pain.

Holy crap. I can’t stop myself from crying out again as my orgasm starts, rising in me like a flame, making me thrash under him and sob for breath. His mouth is on mine again, stealing the sounds, his tongue thrusting just as he snaps his hips faster.

Isn’t this a sign of addiction—wanting something—someone—more and more every time?

His cock swells bigger inside me, sending new waves of pleasure down my spine. I draw back and force my eyes to remain open, fixed on his face, to see the moment he tips over the edge.

And he does. A grimace contorts his features, and he drives deep inside me, stilling, then rolls his hips again.

“Fuck,” he whispers breathlessly, “oh shit, Ev…”

His arms give out, and he rolls next to me, panting harshly, pulling me to his chest. Cradled like that, I listen to his pounding heart, and it hits me that he always says my name when he comes.

For some reason, it makes me smile.

***

Going back to work, to normal life, feels like a slap in the face. I feel I’m still dreaming. Then again, the guy watching from across the street is back. He’s smoking and staring holes into me. Jesus.

Well, if this is Blake’s doing, posting a lookout man to watch me, he’ll be disappointed. Not doing anything of interest anyway, and hey, watching isn’t hurting anyone.

It only makes me feel like shit.

Cassie takes a look at me, and her eyes widen. “Oh. My. God.” She squeals, grabs my hand and drags me to the changing rooms and closes the door. “Who is it?”

“Whoa.” I take a step back, torn between giggling and having a mini breakdown. “Who is what?”

“You got some.” She plants her hands on her hips and tilts her head to the side. “So who is it?”

The breakdown threatens again. Oh God, do I have a hickey? I lift my hand to my neck, hoping to hide any evidence of what happened last night. And this morning. Twice.

Crap. My face heats. “How do you know I got some? Is it written on my face? Am I walking funny? What?”

“That.” She points a finger at me. “That flush, and that self-satisfied smile. I can read you, girl.”

I bite my lip and can’t help but grin when I think of Micah. “That obvious, huh?”

“Yep. So who’s the lucky guy?”

I shake my head and try to side-step her to escape the interrogation. I am a bit torn. I do want to share my big news with Cassie, but on the other hand it’s all so new, so shiny that I want it to myself for a while longer.

“Do I know him?” She taps a finger on her lips. “Have I seen him with you before? Wait.” She’s watching my face like a hawk. How can she read me so well? “Is it that blond guy who was staring at you from across the street at the donut shop?”