I knew family dinners were tense, but Jesus. The Voss’ are full of emotional outbursts and petty comments. I tried to help her relax by keeping my hand on her thigh. I’ve watched enough movies and read enough books to know that pulling that kind of stunt is either supposed to turn a girl on or drive her insane. Or, in Scarlett’s case, both.
The small glances she gives me each time I squeeze her thigh make my chest bloom with pride. The way she stands up for herself against her brother is probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I’m fully convinced that pretending to date Scarlett for one night might be the best thing to ever happen to me.
We eat the lasagne Scarlett’s mom made mostly in silence as small talk gets dragged out by long chews or generous gulps. I don’t usually enjoy talking about myself, especially when I’m nervous, but I can’t mess this up for her. So, when her mom asks me what I study at NU, I feel like I can’t stop talking.
Scarlett cuts off my rambling, finally. “Loves to talk, this one,” she says, laughing lightly. Everyone on the table laughs too. Apart from Arthur – he just glares at me.
“Ah, not as much as you,” I say back, and she gives me a fake smile.
“So, Evan,” Henry starts whilst he’s in the middle of eating some garlic bread. His mom swats him at the back of his head for talking with his mouth full. He swallows before speaking next. “Do you speak any languages?”
“Uh, French and a little Italian,” I lie. I had a tutor growing up who taught me how to speak fluent Italian. I only picked up a little French after countless trips there. Henry’s eyes light up.
“Only a little, huh?” Henry asks and I know he’s got me figured out. This must be where Scarlett gets it from. She looks at me curiously, probably not realising what she’s about to find out. “Come va?”
“Bene e te?” I reply. Henry replies back in Italian, telling me that he’s doing okay. Scarlett rests her head in her hand now, looking at me seriously. I smirk at her and she shakes her head a little, as if silently asking me what I’m doing.
“Cosa ne pensi dei cavoletti di Bruxelles?” her mom asks me, wanting to know how her brussel sprouts tasted. “Erano a norma per te?”
“Sì, erano perfetti,” I say. Smiling as I whisper, “Proprio come tua figlia.”
Scarlett’s mom claps her hands together happily. “Ah, I see you learnt all the good stuff.”
I nod, grinning. I turn to Scarlett. Her cheeks are a little pink now, which is hard to tell if it was from the wine she’s had or if she’s blushing.
I know what her brother asked her earlier and I know what she said. I just wanted her to admit that she said what she did.
“Did you fuck him?” he had asked earlier. “No, I didn’t fuck him, asshole. Not yet, anyway,” she replied. She can’t hide from this as much as she tries to.
“Sei fluente, vero?” she asks me.
“Sì, tesoro, lo sono,” I admit, unable to stop the smile exploding across my face as her mouth hangs open.
“You little shit. You knew what Henry said earlier, didn’t you?”
I lean into her and whisper, “Every word.”
The rest of the meal went smoothly. Well, as smoothly as it could with my brothers there. We even make it to dessert. Until Leo asks Evan about how B&Co is doing, no doubt to cause drama. Evan answers the questions with ease, telling my brothers exactly what they want to hear. Their sales are doing fine and they’re picking up more now as it’s getting closer to the holidays. My mom eats it all up, but Arthur can’t stop himself.
“Your little rebellious phase isn’t cute anymore,” he spits at me.
“Who said I’m trying to rebel or act cute?” I ask confidently, keeping my posture straight, looking and acting picture-perfect as I take a sip of my wine. He’s trying to get to me, and I won’t let him.
“What are you trying to prove?” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned.
“God, give it a rest,” Henry mutters. Evan’s trying to act like he can’t hear, probably not wanting to get involved in a sibling argument. I would be surprised if he had even a molecule of understanding what it’s like to grow up with four older brothers, him being an only child and all.
“No, because she’s acting out like a desperate whore who could have a decent man in her life, but instead chooses him,” he argues. My mom gasps, but she doesn’t say anything.
Evan does. He bangs his hand on the table. Everyone turns to look at him. I’ve never seen him look this upset before. No. Not upset. This is pure rage.
I watch as he forces his breathing to settle – a technique I’ve noticed too many times not to pick up on it.
“I know I’m a guest here and I knew you were not going to be happy with my presence. By all means, call me every name under the sun because of who my family are, but do not talk to her like that. Indirectly or not, you should never call your sister what you just did. You’re a fucking animal. Pardon my language, but it’s true. You’re supposed to be protecting her from guys like yourself. Scarlett can date who she wants to, and it really shouldn’t matter who their family is, especially when your family isn’t perfect either,” he shouts. I blink up at him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at my mom, his eyes stormy. “I’m sorry for raising my voice, Mrs Voss. La cena è stata deliziosa.”
His hands are balled into fists on the table. I place my hand gently over his and they are fucking scorching. I push out my chair, trying to pry open his fist so I can slip my hand into it. He finally lets me and I squeeze his hand.
“Evan and I would like to be excused.”
I drag us from the table and he almost trips over his chair. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I can’t sit at that table with them for any longer. He follows behind me and I take him into my old bedroom to cool off.
My room is one of the biggest in the house; one of the limited perks for being the only girl beside my mom. It’s still painted the same pale blue colour I asked for when I was younger, a beige canopy bed pushed against one wall, huge pillars surrounding it.
Evan has been awfully quiet since his outburst at the table, and I don’t know what to say. He’s subtly looking around the room and when his eyes find mine, he drops them to his shoes. I turn away from him, walking towards the pillar of my bed, playing with the tassels. For the millionth time today, I contemplate why I’m nervous.
“You didn’t need to do that,” I whisper quietly. “But thank you.” Am I really thanking Evan Branson right now? Apparently. I turn around, trying to lean causally on the pillar. His hands are in his pockets, his chest heaving.
Is he mad at me?
“Do they talk to you like that all the time?” he asks, grinding his jaw together.
I shrug. “Sometimes. It’s only Arthur since Alex left. He’s just trying to play the role of the big older brother, but it’s really just annoying as fuck,” I say with a weak chuckle.
“God, Scarlett,” he mutters angrily. He runs his hand down his face, sighing. “And what do you say back?”
“So, you don’t talk back to them, but you want to argue with me any chance you get?” he asks, his eyes squinting.
“It’s different with you. You’re an only child, so you don’t get it. You can act how you want around me, and I can’t hold that against you because you don’t owe me anything,” I explain.
He nods. “And how do I act around you?” he asks, slowly walking towards me. His chest is so close to mine now, I have to tilt my head up slightly to look at him, those piercing green eyes staring straight into mine.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “You hate me most of the time or you act like you hate everyone else but me other times. I thought I had you figured out, but now… It’s confusing.”
His face is so close to mine. A breath away. He gently angles his head down, so it moves to the side of my face, his breath hot on my neck. What the hell is happening and why don’t I want it to stop?
His hand drops onto the pillar behind me, just above my head and he places his other hand on my hip, squeezing me gently. I try to swallow, but my mouth goes dry. It feels like his heavy hand could burn straight through my clothes.
“And this?” he rasps. My body registers it before my brain does as he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss onto my neck where my pulse beats rapidly. His mouth barely grazes the surface and I still get chills everywhere.
Evan’s touch is like something I’ve never experienced before. It’s not like anyone else’s. It’s overwhelming, calming, yet powerfully seductive. It’s just his.
♫ Call Out My Name – The Weeknd
“Ev,” I plead breathlessly, not sure what for. My voice catches as his breath hovers over my exposed neck, my stomach somersaulting.
He inhales, his nose brushing against my neck as he murmurs, “You smell so fucking good, and I want it all over me.”
I try to relax, but it’s really fucking difficult. My chest is rising and falling rapidly, the space between us no longer existing as our bodies press together. His hand is still on my hip, his thumb slowly caressing my hip bone.
“I can, um, find the perfume I’m wearing if you don’t mind smelling like a Voss,” I joke.
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” he says into my skin.
He brings both of his hands to each side of my face. His grip is firm as his long fingers snake into the back of my hair, pulling it tightly to turn my head up to him as he crowds over me. He runs his thumb under each side of my face, slowly caressing my cheeks. He runs his thumb across my lip and my knees go weak. Immediately, my mouth parts in a desperate gasp.
“Don’t play coy with me, Angel,” he warns.
“Me? Playing coy? How dare you assume that I-”
He slips his pad of his thumb into my talking mouth, and I almost fall apart as he tips my head back, looking down at me. I’ve never enjoyed this kind of intimacy before – the way he looks at me with fire in his eyes, the power he has over my body. I should not be enjoying it, especially because it’s Evan’s hands that are invading my face. He pins me against the pillar with his hips and I can feel him through his trousers.
“See how much I like it when you’re quiet?” he rasps. “Can’t talk now, can you, Scar?”
A strange whimper comes from the back of my throat, and I disguise it by biting on his thumb. A wicked grin spreads across his face as he withdraws his finger and strokes it under my eye. My chest is heaving now, my eyes silently begging him for something. He’s tripped me up and I need to regain control, but I just can’t.
“So pretty,” he murmurs, almost to himself. His strong hands pull my head forward and he leans down so we’re eye level, our noses basically touching. I’m frozen with lust as his breath moves over the base of my throat and he actually kisses me there.
This is it. This is what I wanted right? I just didn’t expect to enjoy it either.
“I’m not,” I seethe, instantly getting defensive.
“You are on the inside,” he says, still kissing my neck. I can’t ask him to stop. Hell, I don’t think I want to. My hands fumble for something to hold onto and I settle on holding onto his lapels, keeping him close to me. My neck is so sensitive to his touch, and it feels like my whole body lights up at the sensation.
“And what about on the outside,” I ask breathlessly.
I’ve never cared much for words of affirmation, but there’s something about the way Evan says it that turns me inside out. He says it like it’s true.
I try to turn my head to catch his lips but he’s just a breath away, not touching me just yet. He’s teasing me. Making me work for it. It was even up until now. Until one of us makes the final move.
“Are you going to kiss me?” I ask out of impatience, my voice sounding old and scratchy.
“Maybe,” he whispers, brushing his cheek against mine and inhaling my scent. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“What do you mean ‘maybe?’ It’s either yes or no, Branson. Because I can find someone else to do it if you’re going to keep-”
He stops my rambling with a firm grip on both sides of my face, forcing me to look directly into his green eyes. We’re both staring at each other, breathing heavily, the energy between us crackling like fireworks.
There’s something about him that lights me up on the inside, making me feel like I’m somehow refracting light through every opening of my body.
“Fuck it,” he mutters.
My mouth parts in exasperation before he captures my lips with his in a strong battle of dominance. My eyes widen in surprise as I register that his lips are on mine. Evan Branson’s perfect, hot, wet lips are on mine, and I don’t care. In fact, I encourage it.
He tips my head back to deepen the kiss as his tongue runs across the entrance of my mouth, teasing and retreating while I melt into his touch. It’s a frustrating feeling, but it makes me want it even more. I pull on the hair at the back of his head and he groans happily in response. So, he likes it when I touch his hair. Good to know. Because this definitely won’t be happening again.
Kissing Evan is like seeing the end, but being happy that you spent this moment with him. There is no easy way to say this – kissing Evan feels like fucking. Kissing Evan might be the only thing keeping me sane right now.
My back is probably going to be bruised from pressing into the pillar as his hips pin me to it I’m desperate for him. Desperate for more. All I want is him. His mouth. His hands. Is this a selfish and greedy thing to want? His hands are strong and certain, like he knows what he wants. Which is a good thing because I fucking don’t.
The kiss is all tongue, whimpers, and strangled moans. It’s everything.
“Scarlett,” he whispers against my mouth. For a second, I don’t think he’s going to follow it up with anything as he keeps his lips pressed against mine. He’s just saying my name as if he needs to believe it. As if he’s trying to convince himself that it’s me that he’s kissing. “I can’t- It’s just…You.”
My thoughts come to a stop when his hand drops from my face, stretches across my chest before dipping down over the material of my dress where my nipples are hard. He pinches me and I moan into his mouth. I fucking moan. And because my bedroom is huge, it echoes on the walls.
It snaps us both back to reality as he sighs while he breaks away from me, leaving my chest heaving as I blink up at him. I open my mouth to speak, hoping to say something – anything – as I take in his smug face, but no words come. I press my fingers to my swollen lips, my hands practically shaking.
“Desserts ready,” Henry calls with a flourish as he raps on the open bedroom door.
I would smile at him and thank him, but he saunters off while I stare at Evan. His pupils are dilated, and his eyes search my face, watching the arousal and heat across my face and neck.
“What was that?” I ask when I can remember to form coherent sentences.
“Nothing,” he replies, fixing the cuffs of his shirt.
“What the fuck does that mean? Your tongue was just inside my mouth,” I say, searching his face for something, but coming up empty. He chuckles again, running his hands over my shoulders as if he’s trying to straighten me out.
“I mean that was nothing compared to what I would do if your family wasn’t one floor below us,” he whispers as if that makes more sense.
“I do have a thought though,” he says, cutting me off, looking at me thoughtfully as if he didn’t just try and fuck me with his tongue. He brushes a strand of hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear. He tilts my chin up and I swallow as he turns my face towards the large mirror on the wall across from us. “Look at you. So undone. So messy. I want to know if you look exactly like this after you come.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he looks at me for a second as my face floods with heat for the millionth time and he smirks to himself, knowing what his proximity does to me. He steps back. He takes another step. Then another, still staring at me before turning on his heels and walking out of my room.
