2

Evans

2:45 AM.

It's so dark in the bedroom that I can barely make out the body of the woman lying before me, spread out as I hold her ankles.

I can only see her by the light from the alarm clock on my nightstand, big, red numbers.

For two in the morning, she's being far too loud.

"Quiet," I remind her, sliding a hand under her ass to flip her onto her stomach. She moans as I do that, as if she didn't even hear me. I want to add her name to the reprimand, but to be honest, I don't even remember what she told me.

Kaitlyn? Catherine? Katie?

Something along those lines. It doesn't really matter. After all, this is the only night I'm planning on sharing with her.

I grit my teeth, positioning myself behind her. There's no sense in taking things slow, savoring the foreplay. She's already wet, and I've been hard for a while, craving the release of an orgasm. I'm not exactly trying for romance, here.

Of course, she starts to moan even more the second I'm inside her, so I remind her a second time, more forcefully, "Quiet."

That finally seems to turn the volume down.

Impatiently, I drive into her from behind, drawing myself closer and closer to orgasm. She mewls as I do, trying to stifle her screams of pleasure.

It doesn't take long before I feel her walls clench. She gasps as she comes on my cock, her fingers grasping at the bedsheets. I allow myself to follow her over the edge rather than continue.

I go still for a moment, my hands loosening on her hips. My shoulders relax, and I savor the looseness in my muscles, the lack of tension. In the aftermath of an orgasm, my mind goes temporarily blank—pure bliss, for a brief time.

When I can collect my focus, I pull out and secure the condom with my thumb and forefinger. I slide it off, then carry it across the large bedroom, toward the attached bathroom. My feet are cold on the marble floor as I dispose of it in the wastebasket.

I splash some water on my face, then wipe my eyes with the hem of the cotton t-shirt I'm still wearing. I blink blearily at my reflection, then turn away from the mirror.

When I come back into the bedroom, the woman in my bed is sprawled against the satin pillows, grinning at me. She looks sated, and there's something smug in her expression.

"Look at you," she murmurs, clearly trying to be seductive.

She gets up on her knees as I come closer to the bed, pressing herself against me. Her hands slide up my chest, her arms slinging around my neck.

"You wanted me so bad, you never even took your shirt off," she says in a breathy whisper.

I bite down on my sigh. I'll go ahead and let her think that, even if it's not the real reason. No sense in being overly cruel.

I sit on the edge of the bed, and the woman tucks herself next to me. I still can't remember her name, but that's fine—she's satisfied. I'm satisfied. We both got what we needed from each other, and we'll probably never see each other again, so that's all there is to it.

"Come on," she says, her tone coaxing. She clings to my shoulders, draping herself over my back. "That was amazing. You were amazing. So strong, so powerful. Don't you want to keep it going?" She presses her lips close to my ear. "I wouldn't be surprised if you could go all night, with stamina like that."

I let out a short breath through my nose. She's starting to grate on me already. In truth, all I really want is to sink into restful sleep—alone, if I can help it. I'm ready for her to go.

I reach up to remove her arms from around my shoulders, my touch gentle. I'm about to tell her that it's probably time for her to leave when I hear a sound from the hallway.

My head snaps up. I'm always alert to small sounds in the house, but never more so than when there's a strange woman in bed with me. I'm careful not to let Brandon see any of the women I bring over.

And since there's no one else in the entire house, that has to be him. He's out of bed. Probably needs a glass of water, or had a nightmare or something.

A few seconds later, I hear his shuffling footsteps outside the door. I jump out of bed, scooping up my pants from where they're lying in a heap on the floor. I stagger toward the door, throwing them on quickly.

"Stay there," I whisper to the woman in my bed, who stares at me, perplexed.

I meet Brandon at the door, angling it so that it blocks his view of my bed. "Hey, buddy," I say, squatting down to his eye level. "What's going on? It's real late."

"I'm thirsty," Brandon says tiredly, rubbing one eye.

"Thirsty, huh?" I scoop him up into my arms and start down the hallway, toward the kitchen. "Well, we'd better get you some water. Maybe we need to start putting an extra sippy cup by your bed. What do you think?"

Brandon nods. He seems like he's still half asleep, blinking in the hallway light. At five years old, Brandon is usually tired by seven and fast asleep by eight, so one in the morning is a little bit of a stretch for his endurance.

I set Brandon on the counter while I root around in the cupboard for a plastic cup—lots of plastic in this house, ever since Brandon moved in.. I pour him some water out of the tap in the fridge, then hand him the cup.

Watching him sip the water, his feet swinging on the counter as he wakes up a little, I can't help but smile. He's a good kid. The best.

As Brandon is finishing his water, I hear a little gasp from behind me. I look over my shoulder to see the woman I was with. She's wearing one of my shirts, which hangs off of her body, covering her up. She probably thinks that's supposed to be cute, or something, but it brings a scowl to my face.

She coos at Brandon, waving at him with her fingertips. "Oh, look at you! Aren't you sweet?"

Brandon stares at her, then tips his head to one side, like a confused puppy. Fury burns through me. I told her to stay upstairs. Can't she follow one simple instruction?

But I don't want to let Brandon see my anger, so I force a tight, reluctant smile onto my face.

"He was just heading back to bed," I say shortly. I pick Brandon back up, carrying him off toward his bedroom. He gawks at the woman over my shoulder, and I hear her laugh.

I pull Brandon's covers back as he gets settled, then tuck him in, pulling the blanket all the way up to his chin. He blinks at me, more awake now.

"Who was that woman?" he asks.

I restrain myself from clicking my tongue in annoyance, forcing another smile. "She's just a visitor," I say. "And she's about to go home. It's way too late for visitors."

I ruffle Brandon's hair, then stand, crossing his room to turn off the light. I watch him from the doorway as he starts to drift off to sleep, curling up on his pillow.

For a long time, I've felt like I'm doing a shitty job raising him. The other day, while playing poker with Declan and Reed, I voiced that concern for the hundredth time, and my friends managed to dig up a new piece of advice, which I've been turning over in my head ever since.

They told me that I've been doing the best I can do to raise Brandon since my sister's death, but that it might be time to find some help. Hire a nanny.

Maybe I do need to hire a nanny. Brandon's getting older. He needs more attention than I'm able to give him alone.

I close Brandon's door slowly, trying to make sure the hinges don't squeak and wake him. Out in the hallway, I sigh. Somewhere in this house, I have one more fire to put out tonight.

I'm not sure if she's still in the kitchen, but I head back to my bedroom regardless. Either she'll be there, in which case I can tell her to get out, or she won't, in which case I can forget about her and pass out. I'm tired, and Brandon wakes up early in the mornings.

But when I get back to the bedroom, she's there. Sitting on my bed, a huge grin on her face, perched on her knees like she's ready for round two.

My jaw tightens. "You can go now," I tell her coldly.

She blinks, the eagerness fading from her expression, to be replaced by surprise. "Wait—are you joking?"

"No." I point to the bedroom door. "I'm not."

"Are you mad that I came downstairs?" She pouts at me, sticking out her lower lip.

"It's time for you to go," I say, my tone icy. "Don't make me ask again."

All of the playfulness vanishes from her eyes. She whips my shirt off over her head, revealing her naked body once more as if unveiling a trump card.

I glare at her. I don't have the patience for this—not after what she just pulled, and not this late at night. "Come on. I'm serious."

She scowls and starts to grumble, climbing out of the bed and picking up her clothing from the floor one article at a time. She dresses herself, then seizes her purse off of the nightstand and marches to the door, sniffing at me in distaste.

I follow her out into the hall, then stand on the landing to make sure she actually leaves. Once she's gone, I head downstairs to lock the door.

Before I sleep, I take a quick shower to rinse the scent of her perfume from my body. I don't want to wake up with it lingering in my hair tomorrow.

Hookups like these are so much easier when the women know what to expect—which is nothing. Things only get awkward like this when they start to assume that they're in for anything more than a one-night stand.

It's almost two by the time I'm done in the shower, and I'm bone tired. But I still trudge down the hall before I collapse into my bed. I always make a point to check on Brandon while he's asleep whenever I get the chance, and I want to make sure that the woman's exit didn't wake him.

I open his door a crack, careful not to make a sound. He's still fast asleep, curled beneath his blanket, his blue teddy bear tucked under one arm.

The nerves in my jaw soften as I watch him, and my teeth unclench. It's late. Odds are, he won't remember this tomorrow—and even if he does, I can just tell him that she was a friend of mine who stayed over a little too late.

Closing the door, I turn away, back toward my own waiting, empty bed.