Screwed
Page 44
“I’m trainable. Entirely.” I rub careful circles over the back of her hand.
“We’ll see about that.”
A tiny flicker of that spark I fell for is back, and I breathe just a little easier. Then Emery jumps to her feet again, looking panicked. “Shit. What time is it? I’m going to be late for work.”
A quick glance at the wall clock shows it’s almost eight, and my gut cramps at the thought of her leaving. “Call in sick. Spend the day with me.” I’m pretty sure I’ve never once muttered that phrase in my life, and once it’s out of my mouth, it’s further proof that this woman does strange things to me.
She’s silent for several moments, leaving me terrified that she’ll reject me. She takes a deep breath and I think she’s going to blow me off, tell me that she can’t. But then she straightens her shoulders and looks me in the eye. “If I do that, you’re going to spend every second of today groveling . . . and I need to study.”
I nod, suddenly eager to please. “Absolutely. You can study, and I’ll even go out and pick up lunch later.”
A small smile adorns her lips, and she digs her phone out of her purse and begins typing a message—which I assume is an e-mail to tell her boss she won’t be in today.
“The lunch will be of my choosing. Correct?” she asks, glancing up at me as she taps out the rest of her message and then shoves her phone back in her purse.
“Of course. Anything you want. But first . . .”
“What?” she asks.
“I’m going to kiss you.”
Unable to resist, I cross the room in two long strides and pull her into my arms, her chest bumping against mine. She releases a surprised gasp. Then my lips crash down on hers and she opens for me, letting my tongue invade her mouth in a passionate kiss. With our mouths fused together in hungry kisses, my hands wander down to squeeze her ass. Emery groans into my mouth, and I know she wants this every bit as much as I do. Even if we don’t quite know where we stand, even if our future is still murky, even if she hasn’t completely forgiven me yet. She and I both know how perfectly we fit together.
“Let me take you to bed.”
She breaks from the kiss, her eyes on mine reflecting so much emotion—past heartbreak and confusion, but underneath it all, lust.
“I’m not going anywhere. I swear this time. I just want to make you feel good.” It’s the only way I know how to fix this. I don’t want to get off—I want intimacy and physical closeness with her.
She nods and lets me guide her into my bedroom.
As I take my time slowly stripping her from her dressy work clothes, one thing strikes me. It’s Dottie’s wisdom from weeks ago—that nice girls don’t wear the kind of panties she’d found under my bed. I think Dottie would be pleased to know that Emery’s wearing white cotton, no-nonsense granny panties. And she’s still the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. If Dottie’s right about this, and she usually is, then Emery is a keeper. And viewing her as wife material doesn’t make me want to run. It makes me want to keep her all to myself. For always.
We fall into bed, my lips at her throat, her hands on my cock, my fingers inside her panties . . . and while our movements are hungry, nothing about this is rushed. We take our time exploring each other’s bodies, stroking, kissing, murmuring encouraging things about how good it all feels.
As I slowly enter her, her breathing hitches and her eyes never leave mine. “We fit together perfectly,” I say, kissing her parted lips.
“So perfect,” she cries, tilting her pelvis up to take me deeper.
Soon I can’t hold back, and I’m pounding into her body again and again while she makes little mewling cries of pleasure. And while I still wonder what’s next for us, I push those thoughts away and lose myself in the pleasure of her body, taking all she’s offering and giving all I have in return.
After we make love twice more, I go into the kitchen to make us a snack while Emery naps. If she’s serious about getting some studying done today—and I know she is—she’ll need some brain fuel. I start a pot of coffee and fry up a couple of eggs. When I peek back into the bedroom, I love the way she looks in my bed. Dark hair spread out over my pillow, her rounded hips draped with the sheet.
As I watch her while she sleeps, I can’t help the tender thoughts floating through my brain about how close I came to losing her . . . and how lucky I am that I didn’t.
Now I just have to do my best not to fuck this up.
Chapter Twenty
Emery
Surrounded by teetering stacks of class notes and thick textbooks splayed open on their spines, I sit cross-legged on the living room floor. I started studying on the dining table, then moved to the bed when I ran out of territory to spread out in. Then I shoved the coffee table outside on the balcony, tossed down a couch cushion, and turned the entire floor into my desk.
Now I’m curled up at the center of a paper-and-pillow nest. My back is killing me, my eyes feel gritty, my tongue tastes sour from too much coffee, and . . . my ass is vibrating?
I thought I left my phone on its charger, but when I dig in my shorts pocket, there it is. And I have a text from Hayden.
Hayden : You still up? Wanna make a taco run?
I pat my hollow stomach, trying to remember the last time I ate. Probably my dinner break at work. And it’s midnight now, which means . . . how many hours ago? My brain has no room left for basic math anymore. I’ve crammed it too full of legal definitions and case histories.
“We’ll see about that.”
A tiny flicker of that spark I fell for is back, and I breathe just a little easier. Then Emery jumps to her feet again, looking panicked. “Shit. What time is it? I’m going to be late for work.”
A quick glance at the wall clock shows it’s almost eight, and my gut cramps at the thought of her leaving. “Call in sick. Spend the day with me.” I’m pretty sure I’ve never once muttered that phrase in my life, and once it’s out of my mouth, it’s further proof that this woman does strange things to me.
She’s silent for several moments, leaving me terrified that she’ll reject me. She takes a deep breath and I think she’s going to blow me off, tell me that she can’t. But then she straightens her shoulders and looks me in the eye. “If I do that, you’re going to spend every second of today groveling . . . and I need to study.”
I nod, suddenly eager to please. “Absolutely. You can study, and I’ll even go out and pick up lunch later.”
A small smile adorns her lips, and she digs her phone out of her purse and begins typing a message—which I assume is an e-mail to tell her boss she won’t be in today.
“The lunch will be of my choosing. Correct?” she asks, glancing up at me as she taps out the rest of her message and then shoves her phone back in her purse.
“Of course. Anything you want. But first . . .”
“What?” she asks.
“I’m going to kiss you.”
Unable to resist, I cross the room in two long strides and pull her into my arms, her chest bumping against mine. She releases a surprised gasp. Then my lips crash down on hers and she opens for me, letting my tongue invade her mouth in a passionate kiss. With our mouths fused together in hungry kisses, my hands wander down to squeeze her ass. Emery groans into my mouth, and I know she wants this every bit as much as I do. Even if we don’t quite know where we stand, even if our future is still murky, even if she hasn’t completely forgiven me yet. She and I both know how perfectly we fit together.
“Let me take you to bed.”
She breaks from the kiss, her eyes on mine reflecting so much emotion—past heartbreak and confusion, but underneath it all, lust.
“I’m not going anywhere. I swear this time. I just want to make you feel good.” It’s the only way I know how to fix this. I don’t want to get off—I want intimacy and physical closeness with her.
She nods and lets me guide her into my bedroom.
As I take my time slowly stripping her from her dressy work clothes, one thing strikes me. It’s Dottie’s wisdom from weeks ago—that nice girls don’t wear the kind of panties she’d found under my bed. I think Dottie would be pleased to know that Emery’s wearing white cotton, no-nonsense granny panties. And she’s still the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. If Dottie’s right about this, and she usually is, then Emery is a keeper. And viewing her as wife material doesn’t make me want to run. It makes me want to keep her all to myself. For always.
We fall into bed, my lips at her throat, her hands on my cock, my fingers inside her panties . . . and while our movements are hungry, nothing about this is rushed. We take our time exploring each other’s bodies, stroking, kissing, murmuring encouraging things about how good it all feels.
As I slowly enter her, her breathing hitches and her eyes never leave mine. “We fit together perfectly,” I say, kissing her parted lips.
“So perfect,” she cries, tilting her pelvis up to take me deeper.
Soon I can’t hold back, and I’m pounding into her body again and again while she makes little mewling cries of pleasure. And while I still wonder what’s next for us, I push those thoughts away and lose myself in the pleasure of her body, taking all she’s offering and giving all I have in return.
After we make love twice more, I go into the kitchen to make us a snack while Emery naps. If she’s serious about getting some studying done today—and I know she is—she’ll need some brain fuel. I start a pot of coffee and fry up a couple of eggs. When I peek back into the bedroom, I love the way she looks in my bed. Dark hair spread out over my pillow, her rounded hips draped with the sheet.
As I watch her while she sleeps, I can’t help the tender thoughts floating through my brain about how close I came to losing her . . . and how lucky I am that I didn’t.
Now I just have to do my best not to fuck this up.
Chapter Twenty
Emery
Surrounded by teetering stacks of class notes and thick textbooks splayed open on their spines, I sit cross-legged on the living room floor. I started studying on the dining table, then moved to the bed when I ran out of territory to spread out in. Then I shoved the coffee table outside on the balcony, tossed down a couch cushion, and turned the entire floor into my desk.
Now I’m curled up at the center of a paper-and-pillow nest. My back is killing me, my eyes feel gritty, my tongue tastes sour from too much coffee, and . . . my ass is vibrating?
I thought I left my phone on its charger, but when I dig in my shorts pocket, there it is. And I have a text from Hayden.
Hayden : You still up? Wanna make a taco run?
I pat my hollow stomach, trying to remember the last time I ate. Probably my dinner break at work. And it’s midnight now, which means . . . how many hours ago? My brain has no room left for basic math anymore. I’ve crammed it too full of legal definitions and case histories.
