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Emerson sobers. “My brother came to visit me this week, and I was an asshole. I pushed him away. Told him he should leave, and never come back. But that’s not strength. Strength is what you do for your family.”
“You have a brother?” I don’t know why I find it so surprising. Maybe it’s just that Emerson seems so solitary.
“I have two brothers.”
“I’m sure you do more for them than I do for my family. I don’t do anything.”
He taps his fingers on my chest, over my heart. “The worrying, and caring—you love them. That’s what you do for them.”
“You don’t worry about your brothers?”
“No.” The way he says it sounds like a lie. “I’m not like you.”
“Maybe you’re better off that way.” My voice cracks on the last word, because I mean it. I really, really do. Maybe it would be better if I was strong and independent and not just someone to worry about. Maybe it would be better if Leo had never had to carry me upstairs away from our rampaging father. Maybe it all would have been better.
“I’m not.” Emerson’s arms fold around me. I would cry if it weren’t for the strong embrace. His hard chest under expensive clothes.
A cage, I think, and sensation lights up all down my spine. It feels good. It feels good to be trapped here by him. It feels good to be held in place. I search out his jacket with my hands and hold on. I can feel his heartbeat. Fast. Understanding crashes into my mind. He’s tense. Holding me and holding back. Emerson’s arms tighten and I suck in a little breath. I couldn’t get free now. Couldn’t pull myself away.
“Stop me,” he mutters.
“What?”
He takes my face in his hand and tilts it up. Those blue-green eyes are all shadows now. “Stop me,” he says again.
I shake my head.
And then his mouth is on mine, aggressive and searching and hot. Nothing like it was in the gallery. That was gentle, I see now. An overture. Now he’s powerful verging on rough. Teeth sink into my lip like he can’t resist biting me. Just enough to hurt me. Just enough to make me gasp, and press against him. Emerson takes my breath away, kissing it out of me, not letting me have more air. I know I should pull away, but I don’t want to. I push into him instead. Kiss him back as hard as he’s kissing me. Embarrassment flickers across the back of my mind. I haven’t done this, I’m not good at this, but I am compelled. I want this dangerous man closer and I tug wildly on his jacket. He’s already as close as he can get.
I bite him back.
Emerson hisses. “You think it’s weak, how much you give, how far you bend, but it’s not. Look at how much I need you.” He takes my hand from his jacket and pushes it down to the front of his pants. He’s hard and huge underneath the expensive fabric. “You’re holding all the fucking power.”
I can’t speak. Can’t breathe. Can only shake my head. No. I don’t have any power. I’ve never dreamed of power. My family is powerful, and I am safe. That’s all I’ve ever thought about.
“I’ll make you believe me.”
He lifts me by the waist like I’m weightless, and I don’t even have time to gasp before he perches me on one of the tables. My dress crumples in his fist. Oh, Jesus, I can’t go back out there in a ruined gown. Everyone would see. Everyone would know. But Emerson doesn’t rip it. He pushes it up to my waist.
Emerson looks down at my naked thighs, breathing hard, and when his eyes meet mine again, a shock goes through me. I’ve never seen this in a man’s eyes before. Desire like this. It’s dark, and terrifying, and I want it.
He gets to his knees in front of the table.The dust, I want to say. His beautiful, expensive suit. Warm palms meet my knees, and he opens my legs.
A moment of sheer terror engulfs me and I scramble for his wrists, try to close my legs at the same time. He won’t let me do it. He’s stronger, even on his knees, and he arches a disapproving eyebrow at me. Shame heats my face.
“No one,” I say, breathless, my voice thin. “No one’s ever seen me like this.”
I’ve never seen a more feral grin. It’s only a flicker, gone in a heartbeat, but that single moment is enough to make my face combust. Emerson plucks one of my hands from his wrist and puts it on his shoulder. Then the other. “I’m going to do more than look.”
His hands glide up to my inner thighs and he pushes them apart with even pressure. One hand stays in place to hold me open. He can’t see anything yet. I have panties on. Lacy, but they still exist. Emerson runs the pad of his thumb over the placket. Good thing I’m holding on to his shoulders. I would collapse otherwise. Crumple to the ground from the sheer sensation.
“Wet,” he comments. “Show me the rest. You can move one of your hands to do it.”
“Oh my god,” I whisper. But my hand is already moving between my legs. It’s shaking so much I can barely hook a finger into the fabric, but I do it. I pull it to the side. The panties aren’t made for this and it’s an uncomfortable stretch, pulling at all the seams against my skin.
Emerson looks.
He puts his thumb idly to his mouth and licks me off of it. “Fuck,” he murmurs. “Look at you. Look at this pussy. It’s fucking gorgeous. Is it bare for me?”
