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I know she expects me to leave when we finally go back up to her condo. She closes the door to the balcony behind her as we step inside, and turns to face me, biting her lower lip. Her mouth looks soft and pink and faintly swollen from making out on the beach—like a couple of teenagers, although I never did any of that when I was a teenager. Sex was easy to come by as soon as I decided I wanted it, but I never did anything so innocent.
Before she can say a word, I step forward, cupping the side of her face in my palm as I run my thumb over her cheekbone. “What if I take you back to bed?” I murmur softly, and I think she understands what I mean by it. That I want to stay the night, here, with her.
She takes a deep breath, and nods slowly.
That’s all I need. I reach down, sweeping her up into my arms, finding her mouth again with mine as I carry her down the hall to her room, feeling her hands curl into my shirt.
There’s nothing in this entire fucking city that could pull me away from her right now. The restrained desire that I felt on the beach tears loose as I spill her back into the bed, both of us tugging at each other’s clothes, and I barely have time to get a condom out before I’m inside of her again, unable to wait any longer.
The desire overcomes me, urgent and overwhelming, but it still feels sweeter than it has before, more poignant. I look down at Emma’s upturned face as I thrust into her, her thick dark hair tangled around her face, breathe in the scent of salt on her skin—and it feels like more than sex. More than pleasure.
More than anything I’ve ever felt before.
I almost don’t want to come, just so it doesn’t have to end. The urgent arousal thrumming through my body drives me to fuck her hard and fast, but I hold back, taking my time. I watch her pleasure build with every slow stroke, my abs tight with the effort of keeping myself from orgasming, wanting to feel her come on my cock again.
When she does, rippling around me as she cries out my name, I can’t keep myself from following her. I drive into her, wishing I could feel her bare against me, savoring every part of her heated skin that I can feel.
Afterward, when I reach for her, she doesn’t pull away. Her head rests on my chest, her eyes fluttering closed, and the weight of her against me is the best thing I’ve ever felt. Better than sex, better even than being inside of her—and that’s when I know for certain that this has gone further than it should.
I just can’t find the will to stop.
* * *
I’d looked forwardto waking up next to Emma again, to seeing her face first thing in the morning—something I’ve never wanted before in my life. I’d had visions of sliding under the sheets and eating her out until she woke, making her come on my tongue before fucking her again, sleepy and slow. But when I wake up, there’s nothing but a dented pillow and rumpled covers on her side of the bed.
A wave of frustration washes over me. She’d let herself get closer to me last night, but in the light of day, she’s pulled away again. It’s not difficult to piece that together.
I get up, reaching for my pants and not bothering with a shirt. I want to find Emma, and I stride down the hall, looking for her.
The scentof cooking bacon tells me where she is before I see her. I lean against the doorway of the kitchen, quiet for a moment as I watch her, her back to me as she cooks breakfast.
“I can’t say I mind waking up to a meal, but I would rather have had you in bed next to me.”
Emma whirls around, spatula still in her hand. Her eyes go wide when she sees me standing there shirtless, her lips parting slightly as her gaze rakes over me. I see the flash of desire there before she restrains it, the look of something that almost seems like regret before she forces a smile, waving the spatula and turning back to the stove.
“I thought you’d be hungry. And I was wide awake, but I didn’t want to wake you. It’s almost ready.”
There’s a tense, forced cheer in her voice that prickles the back of my neck. If I had to guess, I’d say that she’s panicking because I spent the night, but I’m not entirely sure why.
“Are you alright?” I sink down into one of the chairs, drumming my fingers against the worn wood of the table. “Did you sleep okay?”
“I slept fine.” Emma turns, opening up a waffle iron next to her, and slides the contents onto a plate. “You probably need to be getting back, yeah? Or, if you want, after breakfast, I can touch up those lines on your back. I have my stuff here.”
“That sounds good to me.” I watch her as she moves around the kitchen, getting plates and cups, pouring a cup of coffee. I’ve never gone to anyone’s apartment who I was dating—or fucking—never been in a woman’s space before like this. I’ve always preferred to bring them home to mine, where I feel in control. Where I can stay, and they can go.
I wonder if that’s what has Emma on edge this morning—that she’s allowed me into her home, to stay the night, not because I was hurt this time, but because she wanted me to.
Because we both wanted it.
Some of the things we talked about last night on the beach flit back into my mind, as she sets down plates with waffles, scrambled eggs, and bacon on the table, along with a glass jar of syrup. There’s orange juice and coffee, and I get the distinct impression that all of this is because she’s nervous. It’s easier for her to keep herself busy making a big breakfast than it is for her to think about why she feels this way.
“I can see why you like it here,” I tell her, taking a bite of eggs. She looks up from her own plate, a look of surprise crossing her face.
“You can?” The surprise is evident in her voice, too.
I nod. “It—feels like a home. Like you’ve lived here a long time. Not in a bad way,” I add hastily, seeing her eyes flick to where the linoleum along the counters is worn.
“I have.” Emma toys with her fork, as if she’s deciding whether to tell me something or not. “I’ve lived here since I was little, actually. My father bought this condo. He was a stunt driver.”
