Page 57 of Anything But Lonely

Kissing Emerson is like a spark to gasoline.

Like going from zero to one hundred in less than a second, growing into something impossible to control.

My hands instinctively go to her waist, and just the feel of her lips has me hard. My fingers dig into the skin hard at first before I realize how tightly I’m holding her, releasing my grip slightly.

“Don’t go easy on me, rockstar,” she says against my lips before pulling me back in, her fingers tangling in my hair and pulling on the strands.

Our kiss deepens, her tongue lining my lower lip, and I eagerly grant her access.

It’s been years since I’ve felt someone’s lips against mine—even longer since it had such an effect on me, practically panting into her mouth and coming apart at the seams.

If this is what it can feel like, something as simple as making out like teenagers, how am I ever supposed to stop?

How is one night ever going to be enough?

The first touch of Emerson’s tongue against mine sends a jolt of pleasure through me, and I groan into her mouth as I taste her.

If we only have tonight, I plan on taking full advantage of this.

I just hope I can fucking last.

Slowly lowering her to the bed, I hover just above her as she lays her head down, never breaking our kiss. Her arms go from the nape of my neck, down my sides and around my torso until she’s pulling me down.

Feeling her under me is almost too much, but she then holds me against her, her nails digging into my back, and I hope she leaves marks—just so I can look at them tomorrow to remind myself that this wasn’t just a dream.

My cock is hard as she pulls my lower body down to meet her, only a few layers of material between us, and my body instinctively begins to grind against her.

And I almost come on the spot.

Groaning at the contact, I feel her teeth find my bottom lip as I repeat the motion, growing addicted to the feel of her. It’s almost painful—the pressure building low in my stomach is overwhelming, but I don’t want it to stop.

The more we move with each other, the more instinct begins to take over. And when I move against her again, and she moans into my mouth, it’s like my body knows its sole purpose is to make sure she makes that noise again and again.

“Right there,” she says against my lips. “Harder.”

And I have to obey, grinding against her until we’re both writhing messes.

My forehead is slick with sweat as I try to hold out, already feeling the pressure building. “If we keep this up, I’m not going to last.”

“You’ve already lasted longer than I thought you would,” she teases.

“You really know how to stroke a man’s ego, has anyone ever told you that?” I reply.

She shrugs her shoulders. “Not the only thing I know how to stroke.”

A chuckle escapes my throat, just as I use my grip on her waist to switch our positions, falling onto my back and pulling her on top of me.

She straddles my waist. “What? Dry humping like horny teenagers isn’t your thing?”

I want to tell her it’s not enough yet more than enough at the same time. I want to tell her that I need to feel her come on my hand, taste her as she comes on my tongue, watch her as she comes on my cock.

I want it all, over and over again, until the sun comes up.

And maybe even then.

“I’ll even let you cop a feel,” she teases, grabbing my hands and sliding them up her body until I feel the soft skin of her breasts in my hands, and I’m groaning at the contact.

I try to make sense of the thoughts swirling through my brain to come up with some sort of witty comment, but it’s already impossible to keep up with my nanny when her clothes are on.