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DAPHNE
I’ve been way too honest with Emerson. Said much more than I wanted to admit to him. Tears fall faster as he carries me to the bed, but he doesn’t mention them, doesn’t tell me not to cry. He probably sees it as more information. More honesty. And I guess that’s what it is.
I’m too tired not to be honest. I was too cold for too long, and now all I want is heat and movement.
What I want is him.
He doesn’t ask for any other explanation. He just yanks down the covers on his bed, stands me next to it, and strips my clothes off. No games. No seduction. I said I wanted them off, and now they are. His own follow in a matter of seconds.
“Emerson—”
No more discussion. He puts me on the pillows as dispassionately as he would rest a canvas there, but when he pushes my legs apart, I see that for the illusion it was.
Emerson’s breath catches. He looks at me, his hands on my thighs, the firelight from that cave flickering in his eyes. It burns there as bright as anything I’ve ever seen. It shows everything.
“Hate me,” he demands. Stop me, whispers my memory from the charity auction.
“No. I won’t.”
“Fuck,” he whispers, relief ringing even in that soft sound, and then he’s eating me like an animal. Like a man who’s been starving. My vision shuts down almost immediately in favor of feeling. Lips and tongue and teeth. His hair under my fingers. I must be pulling it, must be hurting him, but he doesn’t stop. It’s like having his arms and legs around me in the cave, holding me here—the same amount of force, only it’s his palms on my hips pinning me to the pillows.
I’m all nerve endings, brushed by his tongue, tortured by it. He licks me like he has to paint every secret place that exists in my folds. Like he’ll die if he leaves even one of them untasted. After the water and the frozen wind on the ride home it’s like being burned. I can’t stop making noise, but I can’t hear it, not exactly. I can only feel it in the back of my throat.
And Emerson answers.
The words themselves don’t matter. I couldn’t make sense of them anyway, even if I could turn my brain back on. I just feel the hum in that place where only he’s been, where only he has ever licked. Embarrassment breaks over me like a thin layer of ice and disappears under his tongue. Emerson digs his fingers in. Hard. Ten points of pain. I don’t understand why he’s doing it until the orgasm hits.
He must have seen it coming. I didn’t. It tears me away from the last of my self-consciousness and turns me into a wild, thrusting thing, completely out of control. More out of control than I’ve ever been in my life. More than I’ve ever allowed myself to be. It’s dark and magic and I’m powerful in it. Dangerous. Or maybe it’s the pleasure that holds such danger.
No. It’s me. It’s all me.
“Yes,” I hear myself saying. “Yes.” But I can’t actually do this. I can’t actually come again. Emerson closes his mouth over my clit and catches me as I’m coming down. He won’t let it happen. Oh—I was foolish. I was wrong. I’m not the powerful one now. I’m in the clutches of a villain who is currently drilling so much pleasure into that bundle of nerves that it hurts.
It circles around my hips and I battle it out. I can’t do this. That’s what I mean to say. But instead I keep saying
Yes
Yes yes yes
Until pleasure bursts over me again and I really can’t see anymore. I’ve squeezed my eyes shut. No interest in opening them.
I’m still saying it when he kisses me there, softly, gently. Still trembling on the pillows. Another kiss, higher up. My hip. My belly. One nipple. The other. The side of my neck.
“Please, little painter,” he murmurs into my ear. It takes a full heartbeat to understand what he’s asking for.
I want that, too.
It’s the most extraordinary effort, locking my legs around his body. Lifting them up is in direct defiance of gravity. I’m part of the bed now but I fight until we’re together. He nudges at my opening, thick and pulsing, and pushes in.
It’s different this way. Him, taking what he wants, his body warm and solid over mine. The stretch intensifies. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to him. I don’t think I want to.
Emerson makes a helpless sound and shudders. “Stop me.”
I tilt my hips up toward his instead and take him deeper. There’s no room in my mind for embarrassment now. I would be embarrassed of these noises if there were. Panting pleas, more helpless than he is. Emerson braces himself over me and smooths back my hair. It’s so gentle. A little apology for the way his control breaks and he thrusts in until there’s nowhere left for him to go and does it again.
And again.
And again.
