Chapter Nine

Jenna

Sweating, I gulp down air thick with the smell of sex. I tremble on my hands and knees, arching my back to offer my ass, my face pressed against the mattress. Emmett’s hot, muscular weight covers me. One hand grips my hip tight, pulling me back to meet him with every forceful thrust, and the other works between my thighs, rubbing my clit.

His pleasure is merciless. The angle lets him pound deep inside me and he knows exactly where to aim, his cock striking directly into my G-spot hard and fast, delivering jolt after jolt of white heat through my entire body. It’s almost too intense. I’ve already come twice tonight, but I can feel yet another orgasm building, the tension gradually winding tighter, stealing my breath and filling my veins with fire.

“Just one more time, Jenna.” His voice, gone dark and rough with passion, drips sin into my ear. “You can do it. Come for me. Let me feel you.”

My body has seized control and it’s unashamedly greedy for more, taking everything I’ve been denied for years. I struggle to speak.

“Don’t . . . stop . . .”

“Never, sweetheart,” he pants out.

My toes curl and my hands scrabble at the sheets. I don’t care about the inappropriate endearment. I barely process what he’s saying at all. The approach of ecstasy dominates my awareness completely.

“Fuck.” Emmett curses behind me, his voice deep and rough. “Gonna come now.”

The muscles in his thighs stiffen and his cock jerks with his release—powerful, hot stream after stream of semen.

I cry out as my third orgasm of the night crashes over me like a tsunami. All my muscles lock so hard, I quake. The incredible sensation keeps coming in wave after overwhelming wave. He keeps fucking me through it, letting me squeeze out every drop of this bliss, until I whimper with overstimulation. Only then does he gently withdraw his cock and remove his fingers. I melt into a puddle on the mattress, still gasping for breath.

Sex has never been like this. Even in my wildest fantasies.

Lying down on his side, Emmett props himself up on his elbow to look at me. With a smirk, he asks, “So, would you say I delivered?”

I nod slowly, still dazed. Holy shit, did he ever.

That might literally have been the best sex of my life. I’m so glad I decided to give him a chance to work his magic. Hell, a tiny part of me is hoping his sperm doesn’t take right away, just so we can keep trying.

He pulls me onto him as he gently rolls onto his back, my cheek resting on his pectoral. My instinct is to pull back . . . but he’s so warm, and surprisingly comfortable. I almost want to close my eyes and just listen to his heartbeat, breathe in his masculine smell of sweat and sex and crisp cologne. Maybe even fall asleep on him.

But we can’t cuddle, and we definitely can’t spend the whole night together. It would confuse our relationship way too much, no matter how tempting the afterglow makes the idea. So, I force myself to roll off him.

“Hmm?” The mattress dips behind me as he sits up.

I grab my fleece bathrobe from the hook on the back of the door. “You were right. That was pretty fun,” I say as breezily as I can, keeping my back turned to him until I’m safely covered. “Thanks for the fertilization.”

He grumbles again, this time sounding dissatisfied. I cinch my robe’s belt tight and wince at the tiny sting of soreness at my injection site.

“What is it?” Emmett asks, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress.

I shrug and gather my blouse, jeans, and underthings from where I dropped them on the floor in the dark. “It’s nothing. Just a little sore from the shot I gave myself.”

“Damn. I didn’t know you had to do that.” The tenderness in his voice is so uncharacteristically sweet that it makes my heart squeeze. “Can I see?”

Stepping closer to where he’s seated on the bed, I untie the robe and stand before him.

Emmett places his large hands on my hips and leans in to press a soft kiss right over the little red mark.

“All better,” I murmur, my voice soft.

After that, Emmett gets up and retrieves his clothes too, though with clear reluctance.

It’s obvious he’s accepted that he has to leave. I’m relieved—I was a little worried he might make this difficult—while also strangely disappointed that he’s so blasé about me pushing him out of here.

But I can’t have any of that nonsense. It’s good he knows the game plan, I tell myself. It doesn’t take a psychologist to figure out that my fear of starting a real relationship is deeply rooted in the trauma of my father leaving when I was a child. It’s also not something I want to deal with now. I have my life, and my goals, and I’m perfectly content with that.

After a minute of silent dressing, he asks, “When will you know?”

Now that I’m halfway decent again, I turn to face him. “I’ll take a pregnancy test in two weeks. But, uh . . . it’ll increase the odds if we do it again. Are you free tomorrow, by any chance?”

That puts a smile back on his handsome face right away. “I’ll make time. Okay if we meet at my place? I can get there from the office faster.”

I hesitate, then nod slowly. “I don’t see why not.”

Once he’s hidden away his distracting nudity, I escort him back to the front door and hand him his coat. “See you after work,” I say, then an uneasy thought occurs to me. “Will you be okay getting home? Should I call you a cab?” I don’t want him to sleep over, but it is awfully late, after all, and I’d feel horrible if something happened.

“Isn’t it typically the man who offers that?” Smirking, he sees my look of surprise. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” He pauses, his hand on the knob. His smile is off somehow. Not like the strained smile of an awkward situation, but . . . reluctant?

Whatever it is, something about it makes me lean forward. I peck him gently, chastely, on the cheek. “Okay, then. Good night.”

The crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepen. “Good night to you too.”

He shuts the door behind him. I lock it . . . then, for a moment, I linger there in my bathrobe before going to brush my teeth.

I still don’t know why I gave him that one last kiss, but it felt right. Like it was the least I could do.

I mean, what was I supposed to do, shake his hand? Thank him for his above-and-beyond performance and promise to leave him a good review on Yelp? Come on. After he’s put up with all my weird requirements so gracefully—not to mention blowing my mind for hours—a kiss is only appropriate.

Never mind. I’m overthinking things again. Time to get back in bed, and this time, use it for its intended purpose.

• • •

My sleep is deep and dreamless. The next morning, I drift awake half an hour before my alarm. I shut it off, then sit up and stretch luxuriously, smiling almost without realizing it. I can’t remember the last time I slept so soundly or woke up feeling so peppy.

I swing my legs out of bed and hop right into the shower. My hip and thigh muscles twinge and my core is still sore, but I don’t mind too much—those little aches and pains are souvenirs of the incredible workout Emmett gave me. I hum a cheerful tune as I shampoo and blow-dry my hair.

While getting dressed, I glance at the clock and am pleasantly surprised. Waking up early and bouncing around with such energy has put me ahead of schedule. Normally, I just have a bowl of cereal or grab something from the coffee shop on the corner, but today I think I have time to cook breakfast. My stomach growls its enthusiasm at the idea. Guess I worked up an appetite last night.

I brew a cup of coffee, scramble a couple of eggs, and eat them on toast. After the dirty dishes are in the dishwasher, I start to put on makeup, then pause. For some reason, I feel like primping a little more today. I swap my usual nude palette for dark green eyeshadow, shades of pink on my cheeks, and a swipe of my favorite lipstick over my mouth.

The results make me smile. Maybe I should do this more often.

Unbidden, the thought of whether Emmett would like it jumps into my mind. I shake my head—who cares what he thinks of my face?—and leave for work.

The store is still dark when I pull into the parking lot. I unlock the doors, flick on the lights, turn the sign around, and open the shop. I check the cash register, even though I know there’s enough change in the drawer since we only had one customer yesterday, and I counted the money at closing. It’s been a while since we accumulated enough cash to squirrel away in the office safe.

The door jingles, and without bothering to look up from my meager handful of bills, I call out, “Good morning, Britt.”

“Hello, Jenna,” she calls back.

Yep, I knew it was her. The odds of a customer coming in are practically zero at any time, let alone first thing in the morning. But that fact doesn’t depress me quite as much as usual. My spot of morning sunshine hasn’t worn off yet, I guess.

Britt joins me behind the counter. “You seem like you’re in a good mood today,” she comments way too innocently. “Anything nice happen?”

I raise an eyebrow at her slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” she says in a tone that suggests she means everything.

I replace the money in the register drawer and shove it back in with a ching. “Is it really so unusual for me to be in a good mood?”

She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “Well . . . uh, no offense, but it actually kind of is.” When I blink at her, she rushes to explain. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, I just—”

I chuckle. “It’s okay, I’m not offended. I was just surprised.”

She huffs a sheepish little titter. “What I meant was, it seems like you’re always so stressed out, worrying about the shop and everything. So it’s nice to see you happy for once.”

“That’s sweet. Thanks.” I beam at her. “If you must know, last night . . .” I drop my gaze for a moment, still smiling in a slightly silly way. “I went on a date. Sort of.” By which, I mean a living sex god flew down from heaven and fucked me seven ways to Sunday.

Britt’s face breaks out in a huge grin. “I knew it! Whoo, get it, girl!” Then her brow furrows. “Wait, what do you mean, sort of?”

I shrug helplessly. “It’s complicated.” The understatement of the century.

“Why? Is he married or something?”

“Oh, come on,” I say with a snort.

“I know you wouldn’t do that. I’m just curious.”

I fiddle with my pen. “I guess it’s the opposite, actually—it can’t get complicated.”

Britt squints at me. “Huh?”

“I don’t have room in my life for a relationship right now. My goals are to get pregnant and dig this shop out of the grave, nothing else.”

Comprehension dawns over her face. “Oh. Ohhh. Oh.”

Oops . . . I said the P-word. That may have been slightly more information than I wanted to let slip. Oh well, too late now. Britt already knew I’ve been wanting to have a baby anyway. So, I just shrug and leave it at, “Yeah.”

“So, you’re . . . okay, I get it now. It’s a no-strings-attached kinda thing.” She looks aside for a moment. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

I wave my hand. “No, it’s fine. Pry away.”

Five months ago, Britt told me she’d finally managed to kick out her evil roommate, and my response was to take her out for tequila shots. Outside of signing her paychecks, our relationship is more like friends than the standard boss-employee dynamic.

“Really? In that case . . .” The grin flashes back. “Do you like him? Is he cute? Is he nice?”

I should be a little embarrassed to be squealing over boys like we’re at a high-school slumber party. Instead, I laugh. “Yes to all, so far.”

She follows me to my office in the rear of the store. “Then why not hang on to him?”

“Britt . . .” I sigh as I sit down at my desk.

She holds up her hands, still not understanding but accepting. “Well, whatever’s going on, I’m glad you met someone. And I hope he keeps acting like a good guy, because I like seeing you this way.”

“Thanks, but he’s only sticking around until I’m pregnant. It’s nothing more than a barter arrangement, a trading-goods-for-services kind of thing.”

Britt chuckles. “If you say so.”

I boot up our store computer, open its email—and my positive attitude goes down in flames. Squatting right at the top of my in-box like an ugly toad is another offer letter from Baxter Books.

“Jesus,” I mutter.

Britt leans forward to read over my shoulder and growls in dismay at the number visible in the email’s preview line. “These assholes can’t even come up with a decent price,” she huffs. “They’re offering pennies on the dollar! How rude . . . they have some serious balls even proposing a figure that low. If they think we’re so worthless, why have they been crawling up our ass constantly for months?”

I delete the email, and if I’d clicked any harder, I would have broken the poor mouse. “Even if they were offering ten times my startup costs, I still wouldn’t sell. Those Baxter pricks don’t have a clue what we’re doing here. They don’t understand the value of antique books. We’re trying to preserve and celebrate real art, the living history of literature, but all they care about is profits.” I shake my head in frustration. “Ugh, they’re just heartless. Corporate robots. They would gut this place. Turn it into yet another cookie-cutter, mega-chain, big-box mausoleum—” I punctuate every word by jabbing my finger at the computer screen. “And ruin everything it stands for.”

Britt is nodding along emphatically. “Damn right. Maybe you should write that speech down and send it to them.”

“No, I don’t want to dignify this crap with a response.” I push out my chair and stand up. “Even if it would be really satisfying. Come on, let’s finish opening this place.”

Before I can follow Britt out to the sales floor, my phone pings and I grab it from my purse to find a text from Emmett.

Can’t wait to have you in my bed tonight.

Suddenly, my mood is a little brighter.

• • •

As the day goes on, my good mood revives. Partly because we get an unprecedented three whole customers . . . but mostly, I realize, because of the prospect of seeing Emmett again tonight. By four thirty, I catch myself drumming my fingers on my desk. At five sharp, I reapply my lipstick and flip the sign around and lock the door, and then I’m off like a bat out of hell.

My heart beats faster as I drive to the address he gave me earlier. Why am I so hyped up? Am I nervous? I can’t be nervous. He’s already seen every inch of my naked, writhing body—now is an odd time to suddenly get shy. Or am I just that excited to fuck him again? I never thought of myself as such a horndog, but even after three earth-shattering orgasms not even twenty-four hours ago, I’m still eager for more.

I find a spot in the parking garage under the building and ride the elevator to the penthouse suite. Emmett opens the door at my first knock. He flashes me one of his trademark grins and my stomach gives a little flip.

“Hi, I’m here,” I say, unable to think of anything wittier.

“I’m glad.” His gaze lingers on my mouth, and I see the hint of a smile on his lips. “Come on in.”

Emmett leads me through the entry hall to the main living area. I try not to gawk too much, but damn, this place is unbelievable. Intricately patterned parquet floors, bay windows with a breathtaking view of the city skyline, furnished in a classy modern style. The rooms are so cavernous, the ceilings so high, the click of my heels on the hardwood actually echoes.

I suddenly feel a tiny bit intimidated.

He pauses in front of an elegant black-and-white leather couch that looks like it cost more than my first car. “You want to go get some dinner first?” He glances across the living room into the kitchen. “I don’t think I have anything here to eat, but there’s some amazing restaurants nearby. Just about every kind of cuisine under the sun.”

I shake my head. Even if my stomach wasn’t jumping around like crazy, I don’t want to get too familiar with him. We’ve already had two dates, and that’s two more than necessary. “No thanks, I’m not hungry right now. I can grab a bite on my way home.”

A line appears between his eyebrows. He looks like he wants to argue, but instead he just says, “If you insist. Then, please, make yourself at home.”

Everything looks so expensive, I’m almost scared to touch it. But I obey and sit on the couch, running my fingers over the buttery-soft leather in appreciation.

He sits down beside me, barely a breath away, and rests his hand on mine. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

I can feel his body heat. My mouth has gone dry, and a drink isn’t what I want. “No thanks,” I repeat. I want him.

There’s a slight frown on his face. But his displeasure evaporates when I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his. I let the kiss linger, openmouthed, tantalizing. An invitation, a promise.

“I see,” he murmurs. “You want to get straight to the main event.”

“Is that okay?” I reply, my lips brushing against his.

“I can get on board with that.” He kisses me back, hard and hungry. Then he takes my hand and leads me down the hall to the master bedroom.