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I reach an arm up to grip the back of his head and pull him to me, needing more from him as my orgasm starts to build. My legs quiver, knees trying to pull up and together as I chase that high. And I'm so close, on the verge of tipping before he pulls his hand away, leaving me feeling empty and whiny.
He slaps my inner thigh. “Spread those legs, baby, let me watch.”
I groan and do as he commands, my eyes meeting his in the mirror as I widen my legs, watching his fingers pump in and out of me, his pace increasing.
Something about this whole set up is so erotic. The mirror, him fully clothed behind me, using only his hand and his words to drive me toward orgasm. It's like watching the hottest porn while experiencing it at the same time, and as soon as he pushes in, curling his fingers to hit that one spot, I cry out.
He holds me tightly to him, unrelenting as he wrings every ounce of pleasure from me, letting me take my time reaching that high before I come down, kissing the shell of my ear and murmuring sweet nothings that I can't understand because I'm panting too loudly.
He shuffles behind me, gently pushing me forward on the bed, hands grasping my hips and arching my ass up into the air. With my hands stretched out in front of me, I glance up into the mirror and see him stand at the edge of the bed, shedding his sweatpants and t-shirt. All the while his eyes are glued to my backside.
“You're glistening.” He groans as he kicks his briefs to the floor. I lick my lips and wiggle my ass, stretching down like a feline.
“What are you gonna do about it?”
He climbs on the bed behind me, grasping the base of his cock and rubbing his head back and forth, picking up the wetness from my earlier orgasm. And once I've waited long enough, when I'm so horny all over again and he's taking his sweet time, I rise on my palms and look over my shoulder.
“Emmett,” I whine, trying to back myself onto him, but he stills me.
“Let me look for a second.” His voice is quiet, almost thoughtful. His eyes look into the mirror and meet mine as he slowly pushes the head of his cock into me.
“You should see yourself from here,” he says, gripping my hips hard as he rolls himself forward. “You're fucking perfect, Jenna. Always are. I'm not gonna last.”
My eyes fall shut at his words.Jennaandperfectare two words that never are used together. I know most people think I’m loud, that I talk too much, that I don't shut up when I need to yet don't speak up when I need to, but the more I think about his words, the more I feel like I could be perfect in some ways. “You say that every time.”
“I mean it every time. It doesn't get easier for me. You have no idea how sexy you are.” His words become choppy as he picks up the pace. “I've wanted you for so long, it still feels like a dream that you're here, ass in the air, riding my cock.”
He pushes a hand between my shoulders to push me down onto the bed as he picks up the pace, slamming into me with such force the bed shakes.
I let the ruffled bedding muffle my screams as I roll my face to the side to look in the mirror. And through blurred vision I see him prop one foot up to change his position, deepening the angle of his thrusts. His eyes never leave my backside, vision locked on the area where our bodies meet. Lips hanging open, skin flushed, a sheen of perspiration on his forehead is the last thing I see before I cry out my orgasm.
He groans, pumping faster to ride out his release, pulsating so deep in me I feel a cramp start, before he pulls out, wrapping an arm around me as we both collapse into a pile of sweaty, satisfied limbs at the end of the bed. He doesn't speak, doesn't need to. Doesn't rush to get cleaned up or grab a glass of water; instead, he holds me, pressing kisses to my shoulders, my spine, because that's how Emmett is. And that's why I bury my face in the comforter, praying he doesn't see the tears welling in my eyes and the words caught in my throat.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“D
o you think you bought enough princess dresses?” Emmett’s lips brush against the shell of my ear as he leans in to tease.
Christmas Day with the Owens’ family is unlike anything I have ever experienced. It starts with a full breakfast, everything from mimosas and hot chocolate to donuts and quiche. We spent the better part of the morning playing outside, building snowmen. Emmett tried to tackle everyone in the snow except his mom. He even shoveled out the area under the tire swing so all the girls—his mom, included, could take a turn on it. And after a three-course dinner, all the adults are sitting around watching three kids under five years old, hopped up on cookies and without a nap, tear through their Christmas presents.
My Christmases weren’t terrible growing up. My dad wasn’t always able to make it home for the holidays, but living on base, it was common that one parent would be gone, so families would get together and make it sort of a group holiday celebration. There would be a ton of food, my mom would bake, and we’d exchange presents. It was always loud and chaotic, but it didn’t feel like today.
“There is no such thing as too many princess dresses,” I whisper over my shoulder.
I turn back to Allie as she rifles through the box of dresses I bought her. She already has a Belle gown over her Christmas dress, and she’s running each one to Emmett’s mom, asking her if she can add a cape to it. I won’t admit it, but when I realized there was a dress or costume for every single Disney princess, plus play dresses in general, I ended up going a little crazy.
“Look how happy she is,” I whisper to Emmett as I lean back into him, slapping his knee with excitement.
He’s sprawled on the floor, legs spread, his back leaning against the edge of the couch as he sips his spiked hot chocolate. And I made myself at home, curling my legs up inside of his and pulling his arms around me as we watch her in front of the tree.
With a hot toddy in my hand, Emmett’s arms wrapped around my stomach, and the smell of Pat’s pie baking in the oven wafting through the house, all I feel inside is pure, unadulterated joy.
I look around the room and watch everyone as they tear through their presents. His nephews are busy with their first gift of monster trucks, zooming them up and over the armchair. Emmett’s dad is sitting on the floor, reading the instructions on his new air fryer. My eyes land on Patricia’s and she holds my gaze, smiling at me as her eyes glaze over.
Besides a lingering hug and whispers of how happy we are to see each other; we haven’t had time for more than small talk. I have been hoping to catch her on her own at some point today, or at least make plans to see each other when there isn't such chaos around us. My chest aches with an apology that I’m desperate to give, hoping she understands why I did what I did at the time, even after everything her and Rich gave to me. She silently excuses herself and crosses to the kitchen, stepping over the mess of wrapping paper and plastic wrap as she goes.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Emmett and he sets down his drink to help me stand and follow her into the kitchen. Her back is to me, and I walk up behind her, reaching an arm to squeeze her shoulder. “Patricia, is everything okay?”
