I’m done for.
With an elated scream, I come hard into his waiting mouth. My limbs shudder with the force of the orgasm that rolls wildly through me, lighting up every nerve ending with unprecedented sensation. Emerson drinks me up, unable to get enough, until I’m absolutely spent. I turn to look back at him, dizzy and amazed. In the throbbing aftermath of my bliss, I can only think of one thing.
“I need you to fuck me, Emerson,” I breathe, on my hands and knees before him. “I need to feel you inside of me. Now.”
“As if I could wait another second,” he growls, taking my face in his and kissing me deeply. I can taste myself on his tongue, and shudder with delighted anticipation.
With his mouth on mine, he lifts my body and presses me hard against his wooden headboard. I grab on tight as he moves behind me, flattening me against the sturdy surface. There’s just enough time for me to take a breath as he produces a condom from the bedside table, tears the package open with his teeth, and rolls it down his throbbing shaft. I brace myself, lifting my ass to Emerson as I feel him poised behind me, his hard chest heaving with anticipation.
Our voices rise together in a soaring moan as Emerson drives his cock into my waiting, eager body. My fingers dig into the headboard as he splits me open, slamming into the very core of me. I’ve never felt him this way before, never dreamed anyone could reach me so deeply, so fully. I press myself back into his every thrust, taking him in as far as I can. My head falls back between my shoulders as Emerson pounds into me, his fingers digging into my hips and his thumb pressing around my ass—the feeling so intensely illicit it drives me crazy.
With every pass, I feel more of him. I swear, he grows harder by the second as I cling to the headboard, dashing myself against him with all my might. His grasp tightens as he careens toward the edge himself. I bear down as his pace becomes quicker, his bucking hips more intent. I know he’s about to lose it.
“Come,” I gasp, turning to meet his gleaming blue eyes. “I want you to—”
He rears back and drives into me with one last, breathtaking thrust. We cry out in unison as he erupts inside of me. Our bodies are run through with sweeping sensation, and we ride the crashing wave together. We peak and collapse together, folding into one tangle of spent limbs. Our chests rise and fall like mad as I curl into Emerson’s muscular side.
He pulls me close, enclosing me in his arms as our breathing slowly evens out. The record finally ends as we lay in Emerson’s bed together. In the warm, easy silence, we finally swim back to the surface of reality, gazing at each other in the half light.
“I can’t believe I went nearly a decade without this,” I laugh softly, running a hand through his closely cropped brown hair.
“Me either,” he grins, kissing my palm, “Let’s not do that again, OK? The being-apart thing, I mean.”
“Sounds good to me,” I sigh happily, resting my cheek against his chest. “I couldn’t stand to lose this again.”
“You won’t,” he says, his voice taking on a serious cast. “Whatever happens, Abby, I won’t let anything ruin this.”
As the world reforms around us, the nagging intrusions of the real world creep back into my mind. I want to believe that nothing can derail us now, that we’re home free. But what about my family? Our parents? Our history? What about our careers, and that fact that we live on different continents?
But as Emerson kisses away the worried crease between my eyebrows, all those unknown factors fade away. It’s only him and me, now. Alone in this beautiful Soho apartment with another bottle of wine just waiting to be opened and a little bundle of white fur leaping up onto the bed to cuddle at our feet.
I wonder if this is what things would have been like if we hadn’t been separated all those years ago. Would we have been able to continue on as a pair and wind up here eventually? Or did we need to be apart for that time, grow into our own selves before we could be together? It’s impossible to know, of course. But still, it’s a comfort to think that all the pain we’ve been through, separately and together, hasn’t been in vain. That our whole lives have been leading up to something wonderful that we now get to share.
“Come on,” Emerson says, easing my up from bed and handing me my top, “We haven’t even had dessert yet.”
“You’re perfect, you know that?” I sigh, slipping back into my clothes.
“Yeah. I know,” he teases, leaning in for another kiss.
We head back out into the loft half-dressed, open up a bottle of Pinot Grigio, and dig into a couple pints of ice cream—Tahitian mint for me, black cherry for him. Settling down onto the expansive, pillowy couch, we talk late into the night, halfway paying attention to some mushy rom-com that’s playing on TV as we revel in playing house together. I hardly even notice as I start drifting off into a sated, happy sleep. My appetites—all of them—have never felt so satisfied as they do tonight.
Chapter Sixteen
Sloppy kisses land all over my sleeping face, dragging me out of slumber. Man, has Emerson lost his smooching prowess already? I think to myself, prying my eyes open. But as I blink into the morning sunlight, it isn’t Emerson’s blue eyes I find staring back at me, but Roxie’s chocolate brown peepers. I laugh, giving her a good scratch behind the ears and pulling myself to sitting. I’ve fallen asleep on the couch with my head in Emerson’s lap. He’s still out, and I help myself to a moment of watching him sleep. His features are soft and relaxed, as gorgeous as ever. I can’t believe I have the privilege of seeing him this way again.
Swinging my legs over the couch, delicately so as not to wake him, I reach into my purse and grab for my phone. I blink down at the welcome screen and see a dozen texts from Riley, asking where I am. There are missed calls, too, a good handful. And not just from Riley, either. The Bastian offices seem to have called my phone, more than a few times. At first, I can’t imagine why. That is, until I see what time it is.
“Fuck!” I cry out, tumbling off the couch.
“Huh? What?” Emerson mumbles, snapping out of his slumber and looking wildly around. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s twelve thirty already!” I tell him, scrambling to my feet in a panic. “We’re supposed to be at work! How the hell did we oversleep?”
“Guess we wore each other out last night, huh?” Emerson smiles, reaching for me.
“Don’t,” I snap, tearing off in search of my clothes. “We’re going to be an hour late to work, Emerson. And it’s only my second day.”