She stood there with her hands still on his shoulders after she had pushed him back, the space between them only a few inches, and the heat of his breath still ghosted against the soaked fabric covering her crotch.
Lucas's face stayed tipped slightly forward as if the scent had not finished working through him. His arms had loosened from her waist but they had not dropped all the way. His fingers lingered at the narrowest part of her, the same place they had locked when he fell.
Evelyn's thighs trembled. Love juices still ran in thin warm lines down the inside of her long legs. Some of it had already reached the back of her knees. The air between them carried it now, sharp and sweet and heavy, and she knew he could smell it even after she had pulled away.
"L—Lucas," she said again, the same broken whisper, only quieter this time.
He lifted his head at last. His eyes were dark. A faint shine sat at the corner of his mouth where her scent had clung.
