Page 84 of Anything But Lonely

I close my eyes, remembering how she looked in nothing but that old Cross My Heart T-shirt and this little black thong and how she shoved it out of the way before sinking on my cock, wanting me so bad she didn’t even waste time taking them off.

I don’t even know how they ended up in the bed. Maybe she took them off before we fell asleep, or lost them when she was quickly getting dressed the next morning.

Either way, I couldn’t help myself from taking them, needing something besides my memories to remember the night.

My cock hardens as I remember the night, my body begging for a release that it hasn’t had since then.

I’ve gone years without having sex.

I thought I could do it again after Emerson—especially since her idea of helping me gain my confidence back to start having random hook-ups or whatever she said to convince me that the one night was a good idea—but it just awakened a part of me I thought died a long time ago.

I press against my erection through my pants, hoping to ease some of the pressure, but it only makes things worse when I realize I’m still holding Emerson’s underwear.

It’s the closest thing I have to having her.

And once the thought crosses my mind, I can’t let it go.

Maybe it’s because all the blood that should be in my brain is somewhere else, making it impossible to think about anything except the black fabric in my hand.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I unzip my pants, shove down my briefs, and wrap my hand around my cock. The hand holding Emerson’s thong strokes me from tip to root, the soft material brushing against my sensitive skin.

And then something in me snaps.

I work my hand up and down, picturing myself sliding in and out of her. I lean into the wall, my forehead pressed against my arm as my hips begin to move on their own, fucking into my fist harder and harder until I’m coming all over my nanny’s underwear, biting into my own skin to stifle the groan.

CHAPTER 30

EMERSON

How am I supposed to go to sleep when I’m pretty sure I just heard Mateo groaning?

And not in an I just laid down in a comfy bed after a long day sort of way.

In an I just got off type of way.

Did he actually bring someone home?

My stomach drops as jealousy burns through me. I have to force myself to unclench my teeth before I crack a molar, something bitter and possessive rearing its head before I can shove it back down.

No.

I know this hotel room has a third bedroom, but I didn’t actually think he’d bring someone home tonight.

Not when Crew is here sleeping.

Not when I’m⁠—

I cut the thought off before it can fully form.

It’s none of my fucking business what Mateo is doing in his bedroom right now.

I turn over in my bed, cranking up the volume of the next Cross My Heart album, making sure the “repeat one” setting is enabled, not wanting to wake up in silence again, but also needing to avoid what’s on the other side of that wall.

But sleep completely evades me, my mind wandering back to Mateo every time I try to close my eyes—even when I pretend it’s not his voice I’m listening to.

As if that’s ever worked before.

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes until it starts to hurt.