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“I'm yours,” I whisper, taking a deep breath as the emotions threaten to steal the moment once again. “I promise.”
That promise must be all he needed to hear.
He picks up his pace, driving his hips so hard, the handles on the old wooden dresser clatter with each thrust and I worry for a moment that it won't hold up to the force. This isn't the sex we would have had as teenagers, no awkward first-time nerves, continually asking the other if it feels okay.
No, this is sex between two adults who have spent years pining for one another, wondering what it'd be like to be doing what we are doing right now, in this moment, and I love it.
“Fuck,” he grunts, a sheen of sweat beading on his forehead. “I can't slow down, baby. I can't take it slow and savor this. I want you too badly.”
I pull him in for a searing kiss. “Don’t stop. Take what you want, fuck me like you mean it, and when we're done, you can fuck me again.”
His hands trail down my thighs, pulling me to the edge of the dresser, slinging my legs over his forearms. I lean back on my palms, fingers curling to grip the edge of the dresser for support as he pounds into me.
The change in position forces my orgasm out of nowhere, hitting as fast and powerful as a freight train. I cry out, my voice echoing off the walls, and I send up a silent prayer, thankful that we are home alone.
His thrusts pick up speed, and his hands grip my hips so hard I'm sure I'll bruise, but I don't care. I'll take any punishment he has to offer, coaxing them out of him every day if I can, and when he thrusts deep, so deep I feel a cramp in my belly when he comes, I know that he is so intertwined in my being I could never stand to be apart from him again.
He rests his head on my shoulder, letting out a few rough pants before lifting me off the dresser, carrying me further into the room, fumbling with the comforter, and laying me down on his bed. The sheets smell like him, the cool fabric immediately soothing the burn on my bottom from the dresser.
And when he sinks into me again, he takes his time rocking, and the words pour freely from his mouth. Promises to never let me down, reminding me how much he cares. When he tells me that I’m it for him, I’d later wonder why that didn’t scare me. Why his openness about his feelings didn’t send me fleeing or spark any sort of fear, but instead is the closest I’ve felt to happiness in a long time.
Chapter Nineteen
“Y
ou can tell me about Allie’s mom now, if you want.”
My head rests in the space between Emmett’s shoulder and jaw. His arms are wrapped around me, holding me to him and my leg is slung over his thigh. We’re both still naked, wrapped up in each other, the sheets twisted after the most mind-blowing sex I’ve ever had. Now that rounds one, two, and three are done, and the last ten years of pent-up sexual energy has been released, I think I can stomach the idea of hearing about his ex.
He cracks one eye open to look down at me. “You're sure?”
I nod, rolling into him and propping myself up on my elbows to see his face. “Apparently three orgasms are the key to lowering my crazy.”
I don’t really want to hear about her, but if we are really going to do this, to be together and not hold back, he’s probably right that it’s something I need to know about.
“Well, for starters,momis a loose term for her.”
“We agree on something already.”
He plants a soft kiss to the top of my head and pulls me closer to him. I nuzzle in, focusing on the wall in front of us as he continues.
“I've told you a little bit about life on the road. It gets lonely, working fourteen-to-sixteen-hour days, six days a week, sometimes seven, for weeks on end. Not a lot of time to socialize, and lots of the guys I worked with were a lot older than me. We got along fine during the day, but after work, many of them would go to the bars or strip clubs in the evening. Even married, they would often cheat on their wives, or blow half of the cash made in that day’s work on strippers. I couldn’t connect with them, too hard to make friends at all with all of the disagreements outside of work.”
One arm loosens and he starts drawing lazy circles on my skin with the pads of his fingers. “I was in Louisiana for storm work, toward the end of my apprenticeship. It was supposed to be a six-to-eight-week job, then head to Kentucky for a few months, before I’d finally be done. I was so ready to be done, too. To move back here, be with you . . .
“My days became monotonous. I’d work all day, text you when I could, eat a greasy dinner at this hole-in-the-wall bar and go back to my hotel room and sleep. Our job kept getting extended, eight weeks turned into ten, and then twelve. I had gone to the same bar most nights and had gotten to know the bartender. Her name was Gina.
Gina.
So that’s the bitch’s name. Jealousy licks up the back of my neck at the sound of her name, the way it rolls off his tongue so smoothly.
“She wasn’t anyone special to me, as awful as that sounds,” he continues. “She was cute, around our age, easy to talk to and it passed the time. We didn’t ask personal questions; we weren't trying to get to know each other.”
I thrash my legs, attempting to kick the comforter and sheets off, the thin material feeling too heavy on my skin with the way this conversation is going. Emmett sits up, gently untangles the bedding from our legs and pulls the top sheet over me. He lays back down, ushering me to lie on my side so we are facing each other.
He pauses his story to watch my face, and I offer up a fake and practiced smile. He chuckles, leaning forward to plant a soft kiss on my lips.
“You okay?”
