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“Crickets,” I correct, reaching over and trying to grab the remote from his hand.
He switches it to his other palm and leans away from me. I keep leaning, rising on my knees and using his shoulder as leverage to reach across him.
He’ssotall. He’s so much taller than me that the tips of my fingers barely reach his forearm. But I’m not a quitter. I push further, reaching both my arms out to claw at him. He starts laughing at my feeble attempt, wrapping a hand around my back to hold me still. His thumb catches under the hem of my tank, and the faint grazing of skin sends me into a spiral.
I’ve known him for three years now and know his strengths as well as his weaknesses.
And I remember the one spot on his body that he’s ticklish.
With my left hand, I reach up, pretending to grip his shoulder for balance before quickly moving my hand to the back of his neck and squeezing the sides. It works like a charm and he immediately giggles, bringing his shoulders up to his ears and trying to squeeze my hand out. It’s enough to reach my weight over and grab the remote.
Except at the same time I lunge for the remote, Emmett shifts. I lose my balance and fall on him, pressing us both into the sofa. I throw a leg out, my toes bracing against the coffee table, so I don’t send us both flying to the floor. Somehow, during the chaos I find myself straddling his waist, our hips pressed against one another.
I feel every long, hard inch of him underneath me.
I no longer care about the remote, or my show, or the fact that a family member could come home any minute and catch me straddling their son. All I can think about is the feel of him between my legs, the thin fabric of both of our shorts doing little to hide how hard he is. And how hot I am between my legs.
I wait for him to move first, to clear his throat and make an excuse as to why he needs to get up, or to tell me that we shouldn’t do this, but he doesn’t. He looks up at me, his eyes finding mine as his hands come to rest on the tops of my thighs. Fingertips moving up to dance along my soft skin.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” my voice barely above a whisper, throat tight as my heart thumps wildly against my ribcage.
I adjust my hands, resting both firmly on his chest, pressing down on his pecs, the move pushing my breasts together and his eyes flick to my chest. Everything intensifies: my breathing, the rise and fall of his chest. I slowly work my hips left to right, adjusting my position over him as his grip tightens.
I don’t know if he moves first, or if my hips take on a mind of their own as they start swirling over him. But neither of us argues as I rock against him, his eyes falling shut as his head digs back into the suede couch cushion. It isn’t until he forces his hips up, humping me through the fabric of his shorts that I know he wants this as much as I do.
Finally.
The feel of his hands on me,finallyon me, touching me in places friends don’t touch one another spurs me on and I arch my back, forcing my ass up further into his hands, whimpering as he squeezes me, kneads me, fingertips working their way underneath the hem of my shorts.
“Jenna,” he rasps, my name a plea on his lips.
It’s a sound I want to hear over and over again. I lean down, letting my hands slide off his chest and grip the arm of the couch behind his head, ready to finally seal our lips together and . . .
“Mom, I’m home!”
The sound of his sister's voice and the thump of a duffle bag hitting the floor in the entryway forces me to jump off him. I fall to the floor but quickly scamper up, adjusting the straps on my tank and making sure a boob didn't pop out in the process.
Emmett sits up, reaching for a throw pillow to hide the tent in his pants as his sister Savannah comes around the corner.
“Oh, hey guys,” she says with a knowing smirk. “What did I interrupt?”
“Nothing,” Emmett says, reaching to grab my half can of orange soda from the coffee table, chugging the rest of it.
“Nanners!” I rush to her for a hug. She wraps her arms around me, squeezing tightly as we rock back and forth. “I didn’t know you were coming home tonight.”
“Finished exams early,” she says, eyes darting back and forth between us. “I wanted to surprise everyone. Should I leave, let you two kids finish what you started?”
Emmett grabs the throw pillow nearest to him and chucks it at her. One by one, she dodges them until he stands up and wraps his arm around her neck, pulling her into a chokehold. “Shut up,Nanners,” he says, wrapping his hand into a fist and bringing it up to her hair, giving her a noogie.
“Emmett,” she squeals, “knock it off, you asshole!” She starts pinching his sides and punching him in the thighs.
I curl back up on the couch to watch their WWE wrestling match unfold.
“Kids!” their mom shouts, opening the door with a thud. The sound of rustling plastic breaks the air around us. “Savannah, is that you?” she exclaims, coming to wrap her arms around the struggling young woman. “Emmett, let her go. Goodness, will you two ever grow up?” She playfully slaps him with the back of her hand, and he releases Savannah.
“Come help me carry these groceries in.”
