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“Why are you thinking about famous nurses?” I ask, turning off the light in the ensuite and leaning against the frame, waiting for Emmett to see my outfit.
Except he’s not looking at me, he’s looking at the folded newspaper in his hand, pencil scratching in the answer to five across.
“Since when do you do crossword puzzles?”
“Since I—” He pauses mid-sentence when he finally looks up and sees what I’m wearing, a look of surprise and adoration crossing his face at the same time.
“You kept my sweatshirt.”
I look down, taking in his Kenny Chesney sweatshirt, the same one he let me borrow the day of my mom’s funeral, not knowing it would be years before he’d ever see it again.
I make a show of smoothing the fabric over my stomach, down my arms, feeling the soft cotton under my fingertips. “There was a dark moment in time where I thought about burning it. Or cutting it into a thousand little fabric squares and mailing it back to you, but I’ll be honest, it’s too comfortable to destroy.”
For the most part, it lived in the abandoned back corner of my closet, collecting dust except for the days when I was feeling particularly vulnerable and in a mood to self-sabotage, so I’d take it out, run my fingers over the embroidered letters, let a few tears fall before I’d bundle it into a ball and throw it back in the closet.
“I’m glad you held onto it.”
“I suppose you want it back now?” I ask, running my fingers down to grab the hem where it hits mid-thigh. I hear him start to tell me no, that I can keep it, but his words fall flat once the sweatshirt is up over my head, revealing nothing but a pair of strappy black underwear.
I toss the sweatshirt at his head, and he fails at trying to catch it. His eyes are focused directly on my chest, where the cool air has instantly made my nipples perk.
“What do you think of my new underwear?” I make a show of turning slowly, tucking my thumbs under the dainty silk straps and spinning, letting him see how tiny they are. The lingerie industry is where it’s at. The amount of money they ask for in exchange for three pieces of string sewn together is insane, yet I didn’t pause handing over my credit card because I wanted to see the look on Emmett’s face.
And the look I imagined is nothing compared to the way he's looking at me right now.
He looks like a man about to commit a crime.
The newspaper and his pencil hit the floor, the clatter of the pencil echoing in the otherwise silent room as it rolls into the ensuite to land against the wall.
“Come here,” he says, his voice low and slow, sending shivers down my spine.
I do as he commands, perching myself on the foot of the bed, perking my ass up as I climb up on all fours, crawling to him on my hands and knees, prowling, keeping my eyes locked on his until we’re face to face.
Propping myself on his shoulders, I lift my legs to slide over and straddle him when he stills me.
“Not so fast,” he whispers before placing his mouth on mine. “Turn around and sit.”
I do as he asks, confused at first, until I turn around and settle between his legs, only to come face to face with our reflections in the mirror. His hands rest on my thighs, running up and down before coming to my center. His nose grazes the side of my neck, my entire body alert and waiting, and he hasn’t kissed me yet.
“You have a particularly well-placed mirror,” I tease, letting my head fall back into his shoulder. His hand rests between my legs, palming me over the underwear.
“So warm,” he says, kissing my neck. “So wet.” His hands run up and down my legs, leaving a path of goose pimples as they go. His fingers tickle and tease as they move under the skinny straps along my hips, before he moves his hand under the triangle of fabric at my center. Broad fingers caress me in slow teasing circles, gathering wetness as he goes. It feels so damn good to be held in his arms, feel his chest rising and falling against my back, but like always, I'm too impatient and I want more. I drape my hand over his, following his wonderful torture for only so long before I add pressure, trying to force his fingers deeper.
He brushes my hand away. “Mm mmm, hands off or I’ll stop.”
With my eyes closed, I smile at the bold side of him, letting him use my body to play. For someone who’s normally so nice, so kind, my thoughtful teddy bear, I’m curious what hidden side he wants to unleash.
He slides the black underwear down my legs, leaving them tangled around my ankles before forcing my legs wide, adjusting his ankles over mine to hold them apart.
He works my nipples with his free hand, pulling and twisting enough to pull a gasp from me, distracting me for a moment as he slides his fingers in between my legs, circling so slowly, occasionally pulling away, only to gently slap my pussy and I squeal.
“Shhh,” he murmurs, the asshole having the nerve to tease me after what he’s putting me through. “You’ll wake Allie.”
He inserts one finger, gently moving in and out before returning to my clit. It’s enough torture to keep me restless, to pull embarrassing, whimpering sounds from me, without pushing me to where I really want to be. “I need more,” I pant, practically thrashing in his arms.
“I know what you need, baby.” His voice is deep against my ear, infiltrating my system as he pushes two fingers in deep, letting me rock my hips against the motion of his hand, my whole body tingling with the need to orgasm so badly.
My mind has turned to mush, unable to focus on one singular part of me since he's everywhere, surrounding my senses and invading my blood stream with his touches, the little bites he gives me in between kisses. My plan tonight to show him my new underwear, to taunt and tease him until he was salivating and eating out of the palm of my hand has completely backfired, but I don’t care.
