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“Maybe because earlier in the week every news source in Seattle ran the story that Christian and I are engaged, and the very next day a text from you showed up. Forgive me if I’m jumping to conclusions here, but it’s coincidental timing.”
Émile’s hit my sinking feeling on the head. The hunch that I knew, deep down, was the only reason they reached out at all.
Émile is a somebody.
And they might have the money, but they don’t have a family name that commands respect in the way his does.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dad says, but I ignore him.
This has been a total waste of time. And I’m sorry Émile had to endure this.
“When we get married,” I tell him, “I’m taking your name. I don’t belong with these people anymore.”
“Well then, what do you say to getting out of here and grabbing Mexican on the way home?”
“I love that idea.”
“Wait,” Mom says, voice hitching desperately. “We were prepared to give you another chance, you seriously won’t do the same for us?”
“This was your second chance. And you blew it.”
“If you walk away from this table—”
Émile cuts Dad off. “I’m afraid he must. You see, I plan to have him extremely naked within the next half an hour and if we don’t leave, the waitstaff might ask us never to come back. And how else will we celebrate the anniversary of the day my fiancé told his good for nothing parents to fuck off if we’re no longer welcome here?”
Dad chokes on air. Mom’s eyes almost fly from her face. But I’m still stuck on that last bit.
“I don’t think I actually said those words.”
Émile waves a hand in their direction. “No time like the present.”
“Fuck the hell off, and don’t ever message me again.”
For the first time in my life, I really really mean it.
Chapter 27
Émile
My place is closer. But still, after stopping for the fastest meal in history, it’s twenty-nine minutes before we stumble through my door.
The apartment is dark, long shadows thrown through the space from the light spilling in my large windows, and somehow Christian and I make it down my hallway and into the living room without separating our desperately groping hands from each other.
“That was”—he cups my face—“so fucking”—his tongue dives into my mouth—“terrifying and amazing”—teeth grasp my bottom lip—“I’m still afraid tomorrow I’ll realize I messed everything up, but for now …” His hands hook under my arse and he hauls me off my feet. “You promised I’d be naked in half an hour, and I’m still wearing these fucking clothes.”
“Someone’s impatient.”
“I’m getting the feeling I’ll always be impatient for you.”
The words are everything I could hope for from him. This pit of emotion sitting heavy on my chest. We’re both claimed by theadrenaline of his confrontation, and okay, a whole hell of a lot of horniness. Turns out, seeing Christian stick up for himself is a complete turn-on, and if I have it my way, he’ll be doing a whole hell of a lot of it in the future.
“That way,” I direct him, before threading my fingers through his hair. I lean in, mouth grazing his throat, his neck, until I rip open his top button and sink my teeth into the place his collarbone runs along his shoulder. I’m goddamn obsessed with them. With the taste of his skin. Maybe this has an end date, and we’re doomed to crash and burn, but I’ll start the goddamn fire myself if it means getting to have this time with him.
I’ve never craved someone as much as I crave him.
I’ve never had that need to show someone how perfect they are. Never felt that burst of pride and satisfaction over them finally glimpsing some self-worth. And, frankly, never wanted to bounce on one cock as desperately as I want his.
He crashes through my door, hiccups a laugh, before tossing me onto the bed. I land heavily before he crawls up over me, and we’re all hands and mouths and ruined buttons as we try to dispose of these clothes as quickly as possible. Each strip of skin that’s revealed to me, each muscle, each taut tendon, gives me a dizzying contentment that this divine man is choosing to be here. With me.
