AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As soon as I was buried to the hilt, I wrapped my hand around his nape, tugged him forward, Sam closing the distance until our lips met. Possessed his mouth with my own, a welcome invasion of my tongue, before he slid his inside me. It felt like we were both taking our pain and turning it into want for each other, giving what we could, taking what we needed, because nothing else was ours. I was too filled with self-hate, and he put everyone else before himself, but right there, in that moment, this was ours.
I held his hips. Thrust up and into him. Sam met each one, bouncing on my dick, riding me with the smooth grace he had my horse the weekend before.
We went fast and hard, then slow and tender. Each time one of us was close to coming, we’d back off before giving it all again. We were sweaty, and I loved it. I wrapped my arms around him, felt the muscles in his back, his breath against my face, wished everything could be as easy as this.
“I need to come, Emerson. Make me come,” he begged.
I pumped my hips, stroked his cock, soaked in all the tight heat of his body as he worked it around my dick.
When my balls let loose, when my erection jerked inside him, my release filling him in hot spurt after spurt, Sam came too. He shot on his stomach and mine, on my chest, dropped his head back, the long column of his throat beautiful as he cried out with pleasure.
And as we sat there, bodies stuck together, I acknowledged to myself that this was different. It was dangerous. It was a whole lot more than it was ever supposed to be.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sam
That was the best sex I’d ever had in my life.
I’d known something was off when I’d walked in and seen Emerson. He always looked sad and alone, but it was as if it had taken over him, as if he was struggling to compartmentalize it the way he usually did. I’d felt it in the air, tasted it, hoped my dumb joke would help, and for a second, it had, but it was just a Band-Aid over whatever he was living with. Something I wished he would share with me.
But now that we’d come, the tension in his body had returned. He’d closed down, keeping me locked out of reading his emotions. Something he could do better than me. I hadn’t mastered it yet.
“We should get cleaned up.” Emerson’s voice was clipped.
I rolled my eyes and climbed off him. “Yep.” Anger heated my blood. Partly at him, partly at life, I reckoned, but he was there, so it was easy to feel like it was all at him. “You know what I’ve noticed about you? Every Friday starts off with an orgasm—you fucking me or sucking me or feeding me your dick like you’re trying to remind me of my place, tell me what this is without words. News flash, Emerson, I know you’re fuckin’ me because I’m the only choice you have. That you give me money at the end of it. You don’t have to put on a big play about it first thing like you’re afraid I’m going to forget.”
I threw his jeans at him before finding my own. With each second that went by, I got hotter and hotter, all the pressure building up in me more and more. I was pissed at Emerson. At life. At myself. Aunt Sherry and Mama. Hell, even Jasper for having parents different than mine, and at Molly, who was content with life the way it was and didn’t want more.
“Sam…”
“And also, I ain’t gonna catch feelings for you if we fuck in a bed. The only time we do anything there is when you wake me up in the middle of the night. Otherwise it’s the couch, the porch, the kitchen, outside. You’re so damned afraid I don’t know what I’m doing or that I might want more from you than a few orgasms and a pocket full of cash when I leave. You’re a little too grumpy for me, is all I’m sayin’, so you can stop actin’ like you’re irresistible and I’m a dumb kid who can’t tell my dick from my heart.”
“Sam,” he simply said again, but I wasn’t paying him any attention. I was too…hell, I didn’t even know what I was or why I was acting that way. Everything I’d said was true, but this also wasn’t like me. Losing it this way. “Sam.”
“Emerson.” I took my hat off and tossed it to the coffee table, if only because he’d asked me to wear it.
“What’s wrong?”
“How do you know somethin’s wrong?”
“Because you’re stomping around my living room and throwing a temper tantrum for no reason. It’s not like you. And you didn’t smile when you first came in like you usually do. Your eyes don’t look the same, and even though you fell into character, into your jokes and your grins, that distant look didn’t leave your eyes, and now it’s even worse.”
