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She presses her ass into me. “Fuck me again.”
Just like that, I’m instantly hard. I kiss her harder, all the way to the sandy ground. We’re grabbing and stroking and kissing and pressing against each other all at once, furiously.
I’m back inside her, deep inside her. Jackhammering her furiously. Her pussy is clasping for my cock as fast and as hard as I’m pounding her.
In and out. In and deeper and out.
Until she’s coming, and I’m coming, losing it inside that beautiful, sweet pussy of hers.
Fuck yeah...
Afterward, we lie on the grass and look up at the stars.
It’s quiet out, save the soft beat of the waves. Like even the world is sleeping too.
The breeze is cool on my skin, Wynona a warm blanket.
“Want to know what I think?” Wynona says suddenly.
Chapter 19
Wynona
“What?” Emerson asks.
My mouth opens and the words won’t come out. There’s something you should know.
So, instead, I say the only ones I can bear to say. “I think it’s time to go to sleep.”
Emerson gives my butt a little squeeze. “Oh, yeah?”
No.
No, I don’t want to. I want to lie here with you and tell you that I’m pregnant with our child.
I want to tell you everything.
But I don’t.
Instead, I kiss him like there’s nothing the matter and rise, taking his hand.
That night, I don’t sleep much. The bed is comfortable. I’ve never been safer than when I’m in Emerson’s arms.
And yet, what I haven’t told him is as good as a shot of caffeine at keeping me awake.
How long can I keep it to myself?
I thought waiting longer would make me feel more ready. But if anything, the closer we get, the less ready I feel.
I practice it out in my head. Hey, there’s something I need to tell you. I’m pre—okay, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’m—
But every time, even my mind stumbles over the words.
The words that could change everything.
Finally, I’m tired of my own melodramatics and fall asleep out of sheer frustration.
The next morning, I wake up to a delicious smell.
“Rise and shine,” Emerson says, coming onto the bed beside me with a platter loaded with two food-heaped plates. “Or I’ll eat all this myself.”
“Jerk,” I mumble sleepily.
Emerson slips a piece of bacon between my lips. “Still a jerk?”
I take an experimental bite—holy yumminess—then sigh. “Okay, maybe not.”
Emerson snorts as I wrestle myself upright. “Maybe?”
He hands me a plate, and I take another bite. “Okay, definitely not. Though you should know by now that I’m not a morning person.”
Emerson smirks. “Oh, good. I was taking all those death threats personally.”
We crack up as we dig in.
“You want a good mood in the morning, you should try Josie,” I continue as we eat. “The girl actually sings and does house chores first thing.”
Emerson slings me a sidelong glance as he finishes up his toast. “And you two are related.”
“Only twins,” I say with an offhand shrug.
We chuckle.
“I used to wish I had one,” Emerson admits, staring off. “Nolan and Landon, they seemed so good together. Just a pair. Yeah, they fought and sometimes pulled these awful pranks on each other, but at the end of the day, they were best friends. The best. Greyson was already independent, even back then. Nolan and Landon had each other, and I had my music.” He shrugs. “Not a bad setup, I guess.”
“See, when I was a kid, I hated having a twin,” I admit with a lopsided smile. “Not Josie—trying to hate her is like trying to hate chocolate, basically impossible. It was the twin thing itself that drove me nuts—us always being compared to each other, always being measured up against each other. She always got to be the happy twin, the fun twin, the well-adjusted twin, and I was... whatever was left.”
Emerson gently takes my hand. “What was?”
I shrug, then gesture to myself with a wry laugh. “Whatever this is.”
“Good,” he says simply.
I stare at him.
For saying something so simple, so perfect, that I never would’ve thought or expected it myself.
Not a compelling argument, not a list of reasons. Just a statement of truth that one glance at him reveals he meant.
We eat the rest of the meal in silence. Although it’s a silence all its own.
Not a silence brimming with the unsaid, loud with inferences. Not even a silence wondering what to say next and when.
Just the comfortable silence you see in movies or read about in books and think doesn’t exist until it does for you. And then, you understand it and that there’s no explaining it.
Might as well try to explain hope to a parrot, freedom to a blade of grass.
We get our stuff packed up and head to Emerson’s boat. The view of the water and the shore as we get on the boat is the kind they use on desktop and phone wallpapers, the water an impossible blue, the sky a similar shade. The suggestion of a shore on the horizon, which I know is closer than it looks.
