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Shit, maybe I really will toss her up on the counter and fuck her till neither of us can walk. I’m not sure I can hold on to my self-control much longer.
“West…”
Her voice is soft and breathy, and my cock is fully hard now.
Fuck it. Neither of us needs coffee that badly.
I set my mug down on the counter and then gently take hers from her, placing it next to mine. My palms land on the smooth countertop on either side of her, boxing her in, as I step a little closer. The heat of our bodies mingles together in the space between us, and her chest rises and falls faster as she swallows.
“Yeah?” I murmur, my voice rough. “What is it, Ems?”
“I…” She can’t quite meet my eyes anymore, and her hands fall to my chest as she speaks, her small palms resting against my pecs. “I had a dream last night that…”
She trails off, and I go completely still. Her pale cheeks have a pretty pink flush to them, and her blonde hair is a little wild, framing her head like a halo. Whatever that dream was, I have a very strong feeling I’m gonna want to hear about it.
“That what?” I dip my head a little, still enclosing her against the counter with my arms. “What did you dream about?”
She looks nervous and a little shy, and it only makes me want her more. Emma has this incredible mixture of strength and vulnerability, of innocence and sensuality, that drives me insane. It makes me want to draw out the bad girl in her, the dirty girl who let me fuck her on the kitchen counter and enjoyed every filthy second of it.
The deep chocolate pools of her irises gleam as she looks up at me. I can see her gathering her courage, and I lean a little closer, as if my proximity can force the words out of her.
“What, Ems?”
She draws in a breath. “I dreamed that you and I, and Trent and Reese, were—”
The sound of the doorbell ringing makes us both startle, as if we’ve forgotten that anyone else in the world exists besides us. Emma jumps, and I grip her shoulders to steady her.
What the hell was she about to say? She dreamed about the four of us? Doing what?
Given the way her blush has deepened, I think I can guess.
My cock throbs lightly, and my thumbs rub over the bare skin of her arms as I pull her toward me. “We were what, Emma?”
Before she can answer, the doorbell rings again. I hear cursing from the living room as Trent’s bedroom door slams shut. Reese was asleep on the couch when I came into the kitchen, but he must be awake too now.
Fuck. The moment is broken, and Emma looks slightly relieved to have been given an out.
“We should see who that is,” she says softly, slipping out of my grasp and padding toward the kitchen door. “Maybe it’s about Leslie.”
Damn it. That’s just about the only thing she could’ve said that would get me to drop this, but she’s right. It could be about Leslie, and that has to be my number one priority. I need to know Emma is safe before I can focus on anything else.
We both head into the living room, arriving in time to see Trent ushering a dark-haired man inside. He’s not one of the cops who questioned us last night, thank fuck—they all seemed pretty incompetent and slow on the uptake, so I’m glad not to see any of them have been assigned to our case.
But who the fuck is this guy?
“Detective Walton,” he says, answering my unspoken question as he shakes first Trent’s hand, then Reese’s. He looks up to see me and Emma enter, and he steps forward to greet us too. Then he turns to Ems. “I’m here to ask you a few questions about your old roommate, Leslie. I read the police report you filed last night, and I believe I may be able to help you.”
Emma lights up, stepping forward quickly. “That would be amazing. Thank you. What do you want to know? Whatever I can do to help, I’m happy to.”
She’s still wearing the tank top and shorts she slept in, and I notice Detective Walton’s gaze slide down her body as she moves to sit down on the couch, gesturing for him to sit too. He’s not openly ogling her, but his perusal isn’t exactly disinterested either.
My body instantly tenses, and I sit down on the couch next to Emma, close enough that our legs touch. I want this fucker to know that she is in no way available, and that if he looks too long or tries to touch what isn’t his, he’s liable to lose a hand.
Trent and Reese moved at the same time I did, but instead of sitting, they’re both standing in front of the couch with their arms crossed—effectively boxing this Walton dude in.
He glances up at them, not missing the expressions on each of our faces. Trent gives him a tight-lipped smile, and for the first time in what feels like a long time, I find myself entirely on Trent’s side.
Walton shakes his head as if to clear it, turning his attention back to Emma. He keeps his focus firmly on her face this time.
