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I venture further into the room, although my gaze is stuck on the balcony overlooking the rainforest with two hammocks swaying gently side to side, as if in wait.
I pause, another scent catching my attention, and whirl around to see a glass and gold table in the corner set with golden cutlery and two plates of roasted salmon and grilled vegetables.
Emerson rubs at his chin with a pleased nod. “So that was why they wanted to know the exact time I planned on arriving.”
We sit down and eat. Every bite is delicious, with an unusual mix of spices and flavors I can’t put my finger on. The texture, the give of the salmon under my teeth—it’s all perfect.
And then, of course, there’s the handsome man across from me with his own sort of perfection.
I’m just chewing my last roasted zucchini when Emerson’s phone goes off.
“Hey, Landon,” he says, picking it up. “Can’t really talk right now.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him, but he shakes his head.
“Can’t talk now,” he repeats more firmly. “Yeah, having dinner with Wynona right now, actually. Yeah, you, too.”
He hangs up with a chuckle. “He was worried about me. But he doesn’t need to be. Not with the great company I have.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I quip as he moves a forkful of sautéed cauliflower to my lips.
As I bite into it, our gazes meet.
Heat flushes between my legs.
Jesus.
Only Emerson could make me feel sexy while eating a freaking piece of cauliflower, of all things.
Our gazes hold as I chew it, then swallow. Then, our lips land together.
A twist of lips, teeth, and tongue. He grabs the back of my head and holds it there, holds us there.
He tastes like the meal we just ate and kisses like I’m dessert.
“God, you’re fucking hot,” he breathes between kisses.
Both his hands go on either side of my face as he kisses me. He kisses me wildly and he kisses me hard.
When we pull away again, we’re out of breath.
He’s wearing a dark musky cologne that’s got my thoughts jumbled all over each other.
Like how I’ve never had a man look at me with the kind of want Emerson does. The kind of intensity that doesn’t seem safe—and yet makes any other attraction seem paltry in comparison.
“Wynona,” he says, scowling suddenly.
He closes his eyes and exhales. “The cake will get cold.”
I have to laugh. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”
He shrugs and gives his head an I’m-annoyed-yet-pleased roll. “Only the best for my girl.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Oh, is that what I am, now?”
He gives the smile nod that you give to the slow child who finally grasped 1 + 1 = 2. “Glad you’re finally catching on.”
I snort. “Because you’ve been so upfront about everything.”
“I’ve tried to be.”
“Wonderful.”
“Great.”
Our eyes do a battle of their own, while he uses his fork to cut a piece of the cake. He lifts it to my mouth. Eyes still on him, I bite down.
Blueberry-chocolate richness awakens my taste buds.
“Good?” he asks.
“Why not have a taste?” I offer him.
Next thing I know, our lips are locked again.
“You,” he growls, the flats of his palms pressing down my body like they can’t help themselves, “aren’t making this easy on me, are you?”
I pull away, taking his lip with me part of the way. “Want me to stop?”
My voice is all innocence, but my smirk is pure devilry.
Emerson’s response is to grab me and set me on his lap. “That’s better.”
Our lips find each other’s again.
Emerson kisses with a hunger, a power, a leading that I have no choice but to follow. The twining and untwining of our lips and our tongues is a flow that’s always leading further, seeking more.
The slightest of teeth on my lips, while his hands trace the curve of my rib cage to my waist to my hips, almost puts me on the edge.
Have I ever been this horny when clothed?
Our kiss moves us off the chair and away from the table, all the way to the wall. He presses me into it. I straddle him and our pelvises rub together.
Fuck, I can feel how hard he is through his pants, even with four layers separating us.
Another kiss and my dress is riding up. Another, and he’s taking off his pants.
Only two layers now.
He kisses me onto the bed, covering my body with his. He pulls off his briefs as I pull off my soaked panties.
No layers now.
Pussy and cock grind together until he’s about to slip inside me and...
“No.” I groan, my pussy straining for him.
That jerk, he teased my opening, only going in partially.
“Yeah?” Emerson grunts, twisting his lips on mine.
“Yeah,” I pull away to say.
Another grinding together, and he—oh, fuck yes!—finally dips into me, but oh, fuck no, he’s pulling out as my pussy trembles with pleasured frustration.
