Chapter Eight

Emmett

With my hand lightly touching the small of her back, I follow Jenna’s lead into her building, up two flights of stairs, and down a hall until she stops in front of a door.

“Here we are.” She unlocks it and pushes it open. “Sorry it’s kind of a mess,” she says as she flicks on the light. “I’ve been crazy busy.”

I glance around her living room with curiosity. The plush green couch looks like it could swallow people whole, and it’s strewn with throw blankets and pillows in jewel tones and bohemian patterns. Framed landscape panoramas and art nouveau prints hang on the walls. And of course, a large bookcase dominates the far side of the room, overflowing with books of all shapes, sizes, and jacket colors.

Overall, the eclectic decor isn’t necessarily what I would have guessed, but it suits Jenna. I can see why she likes it. Cozy, soft, inviting . . . I might even use the word cute. It’s a far cry from the sleek, hypermodern aesthetic of my penthouse. Compared to this, my place feels uncomfortably sterile instead of elegant.

“I don’t see any mess,” I reply truthfully. Sure, there’s some clutter, but it makes the place feel lived-in. Like somewhere people go to feel at home, not just to sleep.

She chuckles. “That’s nice of you to say. Do you want anything to drink?” She bends down to slide off her boots and drops them in the tray by the entry closet.

“No thanks.” I start to take off my shoes too, and am struck with sudden nerves.

This is it, I think, my heart rate picking up. When we first met, I wondered how Jenna was still single, and now that we’ve gotten to know each other better, I still have no fucking idea. She seems like the total package—not just gorgeous but smart, funny, and cool. Utterly magnetic. And after all our talking about sex, I’m finally getting my hands on her, getting inside her. I’ve been half-hard since last night from anticipation alone.

For the first time since high school, I feel unsure of myself. This isn’t exactly a conventional post-date scenario. How should I initiate? Are we going to ease into intimacy, maybe sit on the couch and talk first? Or will we just cut to the chase and hop right into bed?

“Okay, then.” Jenna takes a few steps across the living room, then pauses to glance back at me. “Are you ready now?”

That answers my question. If she wants to get straight to the main event, I’m not complaining. “Absolutely,” I reply with a grin.

We continue through the hall and into the bedroom. But instead of turning on the light, the shadow beside me that is Jenna moves around in the dark. I hear fabric rustling—she’s getting undressed? What the hell? I frown in disappointment. I wanted to see all of her, and I never would have pegged her as the shy type.

I feel the wall for the light switch, find none, and grope around blindly. Jenna steps away. Bedsprings creak, followed by more rustling. My hand hits a lamp and I click it on.

Jenna is in bed, lying on her back under the sheets, not even looking at me.

“What are you doing?” I ask, trying not to sound exasperated.

All she says is, “Come on. Turn that off and get in.”

Starting to get annoyed, I click the bedside lamp back off and strip as fast as I can, dropping my clothes on the floor since I can’t fucking see to put them anywhere else.

A second later, her voice in the darkness asks, “Are you coming?”

“Hold on, I’m taking off my clothes,” I mutter, concentrating on trying not to stumble.

“Why?” She sounds like she genuinely has no idea.

“What do you mean, why?” I’m totally bewildered. “We’re having sex. I’m getting naked. Isn’t that normal?”

“I’m well aware we’re having sex,” she says with a slightly frosty tone. “What I meant was, you don’t have to remove everything, you know?”

I’m torn between laughing and getting pissed. This whole situation is spiraling into insanity. I wasn’t prepared for any of this. “Because I want to,” I say flatly. “Is it a problem if I’m naked?”

A pause, then she says, “I guess not, but, I mean . . . you don’t need to be.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just climb into bed beside her. My body warms in anticipation—finally, I’m going to touch her. Inhaling her wonderful flowery fragrance, I lean close for our first-ever kiss. But I pull right back when she stiffens at the touch of my lips.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” she stammers. “I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

Is she nervous? As gently as I can, I say, “Do you need a rain check? We can try again some other time.”

“No,” she says, and the sudden fierceness in her voice makes me blink. “I want you to fuck me.”

“All right,” I say slowly, confused. If she’s not getting cold feet, then what’s the problem? “I can do that. But is it all right if we kiss first?”

Another long pause. “I . . . guess so.”

I lean forward again. I try to ease her into the idea of my lips on hers, deciding to go slow, keep it chaste, no tongue. The awkwardness gradually melts out of her body and her lips start to open against mine, at first just accepting me, then reciprocating.

Despite everything she’s done to throw me off, I start to get back into the groove. I pull her close. But when our bodies brush together, instead of warm, velvety skin against my bare chest, I feel cotton.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. She’s still wearing her bra.

I skim my hand down over the delightfully round curve of her hip and feel a waistband. She’s still wearing panties too. No wonder I’m thinking about Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, because apparently Jenna’s relying on immaculate conception to get pregnant.

Weird. She took off her clothes, but not her underwear? I guess we’re still in the foreplay stage, though, so I can work with this.

I cup her crotch and grin against her mouth when she squeaks. My fingers stroke through the thin fabric, teasing her. I’ll work her up a little before I move on to grinding the heel of my hand against her clit—

But I never get to that part because Jenna freezes up again, and I pull my hand away.

I draw back and break the kiss, ignoring her tiny questioning murmur. “Okay, what’s going on with you? Are you feeling all right? Should we stop?”

“I can take them off.” She wriggles around under the covers. “There, all ready for you.”

“No, not all ready,” I huff. “The panties aren’t the point. You’re probably not even wet yet.”

“I have lube.”

She rolls away. I hear the scrape of a wooden drawer, then rummaging.

It finally dawns on me. She’s expecting me to just stick it to her. Get in and get out. Use her like nothing more than a warm hole. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. Deposit my semen and move on.

Well, no fucking thank you. I might as well be jacking off into that damn plastic cup. I’m not going to fuck somebody who lies limp like a dead fish . . . the thought makes my skin crawl. I jump out of bed and flip on the lamp.

Jenna sits up to squint at me in the sudden flood of light. “What’s wrong?”

“What isn’t wrong?” I snap. I start pacing around the bedroom, too angry to care that I’m buck naked and probably look ridiculous. “I didn’t sign up for a pump-and-dump. And I’m sorry, but this isn’t what I expected, not what we talked about.” I turn at the end of the bedroom and make a second lap around the room, my brain still processing. “I have some rules of my own. First, we’re going to have foreplay. Second, I’m going to make you come for me, more than once.”

She doesn’t answer, and I turn back to her. Her eyes are wide and she’s blinking at me, apparently stunned.

Then I realize where she’s looking, and despite my anger, I have to smirk. Annoyance and confusion have dampened my lust, but I know I still measure up, even with a slightly wilted erection. “Like what you see?” I tease. “It gets even bigger, I promise.”

“Wh-what?” Her eyes snap up to mine. I note with amusement that her cheeks are flushed. “Uh . . . it’ll do just fine.”

Smugly, I cross my arms over my chest, making a point of not covering my lower half. “Of course it will. Did you hear a word I said?”

She stares steadily at me. “Yeah, you want me to come. That’s fine. The vaginal contractions of orgasm increase the chance of concept—”

Interrupting her with my sexual frustration, I growl, “But how am I supposed to do that if you’ll barely let me touch you?”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about it. I just figured I’d use my vibrator after you left,” she says nonchalantly.

My jaw drops and I gape at her. “What the fuck kind of men have you been with?” Obviously, the kind who don’t know how to use their dick. “Never mind—that changes now. We need to talk.” I sit on the wooden chair in front of her desk, ignoring the unpleasant chill on my bare ass.

She sits up, tugging the sheet up to cover her bra. “Talk about what?” Now she’s getting annoyed too, but I don’t really feel bad about it. “You took high-school sex ed, right? All you have to do is come inside me.”

“Trust me, I know all about the birds and the bees. But I want you to enjoy this too, not just put up with it for the sake of getting pregnant.” I look in her eyes, hoping she can hear my sincerity. “I want to fuck you, Jenna Porter, the whole woman, not just . . . leave my sample at the door and walk away.” I grimace. “So, can we try that?” Actually having fun in bed like normal, horny people, I don’t add.

“Hmm . . .” She chews her lip, as if the idea of enjoying sex is brand new to her and she has to mull it over.

I don’t understand why this is apparently such a hard decision, but I try to sit patiently and wait for her to finish thinking.

Finally, she murmurs, “I guess it can’t hurt.”

“It’s not supposed to, and if the guy you’re having sex with knows what he’s doing, it’ll actually feel pretty damn epic.” Unless the participants want it to hurt, but that’s way outside the scope of this conversation. “Trust me, I’ll do everything I can to make this good for you . . . if you’ll let me.”

She nods slowly. “I will.”

“I’m attracted to you, Jenna. I find you sexy and smart, and I want to fuck you. Do you want that too?”

She licks her lips. “Yes.”

With a victorious grin, I stalk back across the room to the bed. “Then come here,” I growl. I haul her up onto her knees into the most searing kiss I can manage. No more going slow and chaste—I’m going to take her like I’ve wanted to all night.

A half gasp, half moan escapes her and I smirk against her lips. Nice to know I haven’t lost my touch. And speaking of touch . . .

As my tongue explores her mouth, I reach around her supple back to unclasp her bra. I pull it down over her arms and let myself drink in the feel of her bare torso pressed against my chest. Full breasts, plush and heavy, silky-soft skin, topped with already-hardening nipples . . . damn, I just have to get a taste.

Jenna stifles a disappointed noise when I abandon her mouth, only to sigh in bliss as I kiss down her jaw, her neck, over her collarbone, and then to my prize. I suck and lick at one of those pretty pink nipples, rolling the other between my thumb and finger.

Her moans soon escalate to needy cries. I work my free hand lower and run my fingers along her cleft, feeling the wetness I’d sought earlier. Her hips stutter forward and my cock gives an answering twitch. Oh, hell yeah, now we’re talking. I delve in, slicking two fingers, and slide them back and forth over her clit. She whimpers and clutches at my shoulders, trembling with each pass.

Her shivers abruptly ramp up, her whole body quaking. Shit, already? My cock throbs. I only intended to tease her, but it looks like I did a little too good of a job. I rub her through her orgasm until she flinches and sags against my shoulders. I ease her back onto the bed where she sits down with her knees splayed, still breathing fast, her eyes wide.

“Poor thing, you must’ve been pent up,” I purr. “How long has it been since someone gave you what you deserve?”

All she says is, “Fuck.” She sounds dazed.

I hold back a laugh. “That’s the plan. Now . . . are you ready for more?”

“Absolutely,” she says, her voice still weak, but husky. Already eager for more.

I grin and dive in for another deep kiss. Tonight is going to be fun.