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I can hold on tight enough for both of us.
“Where are we going again?” she asks me as we pull onto the main freeway.
When I brought up buying an engagement ring, I expected her to put up a fight. Instead, she said if we’re presenting as an engaged couple, then engagement rings make sense. I had to bite back my reply. If I tell her we are an engaged couple, not presenting as one, she probably will fight me. Emma can justify it in her head any way she needs to because both explanations will lead to the same conclusion.
Us at the end of an aisle, saying our vows.
Emma continues to pretend our marriage will be in name only, that this is some elaborate front to hide our son behind. The attraction is still there, and it’s not one-sided. When she thinks I won’t notice, she checks me out. Her eyes linger at all her favorite places, like my chest and shoulders. I don’t know how she hasn’t realized that I know. I always flex just for her.
She can wage the internal battle of accepting her attraction to me. I can be patient.
“My family has a jeweler we have been using for a while. I figure we can see what he has available now and if nothing suits you, then we can have him custom-make something. We will leave the shop with something on your finger today, even if it is just a placeholder. I’m not willing to leave that finger of yours unoccupied.”
She lets out a chuckle that comes with a snort. It's an endearing sound. “I doubt I’m going to meet the love of my life now. It’s been five years since I dated. Prince charming won’t come and sweep me off my feet as soon as I’ve agreed to marry you.”
She looks out the window, completely oblivious to the glee swelling inside of me with the information I’m not sure she meant to share with me. One of the biggest qualms I had with my father was the fact that her going to university meant dating. No one she might have met and dated scared me. Even if she fell in love, she would be with me in the end, but I hate the idea of sharing that part of her. “You haven’t dated in five years?”
“I’m a single mom and a full-time student. Not exactly a catch on the dating apps. Besides, I never had time to date between trying to keep up with my classes and raising Enzo.”
“You were a single mom. You’re not one anymore,” I remind her. I tamper down my glee at the rest of her revelation. Although she doesn't say it, I can’t help but feel the reason she never dated after going away to university is because she was waiting for me.
Unconsciously, maybe. We don’t give the brain nearly enough credit sometimes for what it does for us. And her brain knows she belongs to me.
We drive in silence the rest of the way. I move our entwined hands from the center console onto her lap. She’s always had gorgeous legs. I didn’t get to spend nearly enough time getting acquainted with them when we first met, but the way they’ve filled out with the rest of her has me about ready to go mad to get my head between them. The skirt she’s wearing allows me the place our hands against her bare skin. I stroke my hand along her thigh and she stiffens. She still doesn’t take her hand away from mine.
The center where Camilo has his shop is wildly generic. He shares a parking lot with a budget hair salon, a sporting goods store, and a chain coffee shop. If it weren’t for the discreet bodyguard, there would be nothing discernible about his shop. Hidden in plain sight.
Emma goes to release my hand so she can undo her seat buckle, but I don’t let go. When she turns to question me, I use the hand not holding hers to cup her face and move her mouth to meet mine. Her only reaction at first is a gasp that I swallow down greedily. She doesn’t resist me after that. Her mouth moves in time with mine, a little clumsy which speaks to her inexperience. She more than makes up for it in eagerness.
I meant it to be a chaste kiss but fuck, the little breathy moans and the way she struggles to keep up with me have my dick hardening in my pants. Her inexperience shouldn’t be a turn-on for me, but it’s like kissing that 18-year-old virgin in the garden all over again. After all this time, she’s still mine.
I nudge my nose against hers, encouraging her to tilt her head back. As she does, I move over her and deepen the kiss. My tongue slips past her lips effortlessly. She doesn’t fight me as I take control of the kiss. Little sighs and moans call from her mouth and steal each one away from her. I want those sounds ingrained in me. I want to hear them in my sleep.
My hand that has been cupping her face slips down to her throat. I rest there, my fingers and thumb a steady reminder. I don’t apply pressure, but I can tell the presence of my hand around her neck makes her wet. She squirms in her seat, those sounds coming out with renewed urgency.
Her surrender is intoxicating. I want to drink it down, consume every ounce.
Not here and not now. I’ve already had Emma fall apart for me in public once. The next time it happens, I want to see what noises I can pull out of her when she isn’t worried about anyone hearing her.
Her lips chase mine as I pull away from her. I don’t think she realizes the way she leans in, asking for more. There’s a dazed look in her eyes when they meet mine. It takes a minute to clear up. She’s kiss drunk off me. All of the invisible weight she carries around on her shoulders that she refuses to let anyone else help with melts away if only for a few moments.
If this is how she reacts to a kiss, I’m eager to reacquaint myself with a well-fucked Emma.
The change in Emma is instant. As soon as the kiss ends, I can see her retreating into herself. She pulls her lips into a tight line and the tension returns to her shoulders as she squares them up like she’s heading into battle.
“Is this the jeweler?” she asks as she eyes the entrance. Like I said, it doesn't look like much to a random passerby.
Instead of irritation, I can only feel amusement. She’s so determined to ignore the electric charge that exists between the two of us. If I hadn’t been a participant in the kiss, I would wonder if it ever happened at all.
“Yes, it is.”
I slide out of my seat and Emma doesn’t wait for me to open her door for her. I meet her as she walks towards the front of the car and slip my hand into hers once again. She hesitates for only a second before wrapping her fingers around mine.
Progress.
Emma might not realize it, but every day the walls surrounding her are starting to come down.
The entrance to the shop is barely larger than the single door that leads inside. On the outside, there is a little hanging sign that sticks out from the all-black wall that reads Camilo’s Custom Designs. As soon as we step inside, we are met by a guard who checks our IDs before ushering us through to the backroom, which opens up into a spacious showroom. It’s a bit like Mary Poppin’s bag, bigger on the inside.
