LUCAS
What the fuck?
No, really. What the actual fuck had just happened back there?
Just when I thought my family had cornered the market on dysfunction, I’d scored first-row tickets to a shit show even more messed up than our own. I’m pretty sure we’d just caught Electric Earl trying to bone another woman during his own birthday bash.
And Em hadn’t seemed at all surprised.
Pissed was more like it. Which only meant she must’ve already known about her dad and Bitsy-something-or-other. I knew the other chick was Earl’s manager—she was in pictures all over his den, including one smack in the middle of his desk.
Nice.
No wonder Em had stiff-armed her mom when she’d asked if Em had gotten in touch with Bitsy yet. I thought Em just didn’t want her mom interfering in her future, that she thought her mom was meddling.
The truth was, Em didn’t want to talk about this Bitsy woman.
Christ. No wonder she’d run off.
Earl’s birthday party had nearly doubled in size in the hour or so since Em and I had done our little disappearing act, but the mood had definitely changed. Most of the senior McLean’s friends had either called it a night or wandered out to the patio where the air was cooler. Inside, the crowd was younger, the overhead lights dimmer, and the music, which had been an upbeat blend of oldies before, was now pulsing dance music that rattled all the way to my bones. The furniture had been pulled aside, so scantily dressed bodies could sway and rock and press together on the open expanse of tiled flooring.
“Hey,” I yelled out to Drew when I bumped into him. “You seen your sister?”
Drew didn’t immediately look up. His arm was slung around a sexy redhead’s waist. When he finally dragged his eyes up to me, they were unfocused. “Nah,” he hollered back above the music. “But you see these?” He reached out and palmed one of the redhead’s heavy breasts. She giggled like he was performing a trick. “They’re super real!”
He didn’t bother to look back up at me again, instead he was drooling over the super-real tits as he mashed and squeezed them in his hands.
Dude was useless.
I shoved through the crowd, stopping whenever I spotted another one of Em’s brothers.
Tony was near the entrance, using his pregnant wife as a support beam. They were on their way out, Maddie explained, as her husband leaned heavily on her. Sitter issue, she claimed.
Bullshit, I thought. More like Tony issues. Maddie looked like she was ready to string her husband up by his balls. He’d be passed out the second she poured him into the car.
When I found Brock, he was grinning like he’d just won the lottery. He’d won something all right, scored himself a sweet little blonde number who appeared dangerously close to being jailbait. I hoped for his sake she at least had a decent fake ID.
Seth, to his credit, preferred his ladies on the right side of legal. Also, to his credit he managed to have one on each arm—sisters from the looks of them, who he was currently wearing like a Seth suit. Considering this was his parents’ place, the corner I found the three of them in definitely was not dark enough for the things they were doing to each other. While he was groping one sister, his hands sliding up the inside of her dress, the other girl was grinding restlessly against him, her hands running down the inside of his crotch, while she waited not so patiently for her turn for his attention.
Part of me wanted to high-five the dude for being so ballsy. Except, I needed to find Emerson, and not one of her brothers had a clue where she’d gone. Since I’d seen the look on her face when she’d taken off, I doubted I’d find her out here dancing or sipping champagne.
I gave up on the party altogether and made my way up the staircase to the second floor.
Outside her bedroom door, I hesitated. Earl might not have come right out and said so, but I was pretty sure he already knew Em had been in my room that afternoon. His one demand when I’d showed up here this weekend was that I stay out of Emerson’s bedroom. But frankly, after what I’d witnessed down in his den, Electric Earl could go fuck himself.
I pounded on the door and waited. When there was no response, I pounded again, harder. Louder.
By the third time, I was starting to get worried. Maybe Emerson hadn’t come back to her room at all. Maybe she didn’t want to be found.
Shit. I should’ve gone after her sooner, instead of standing there awkwardly with Earl and Bitsy, trying to sort out just what the fuck . . .
I leaned my forehead against the door, sighing because this was Em’s turf, and if she’d decided to go AWOL, I had no idea where she might disappear to.
But apparently that was the password . . . my frustration, my sigh . . . the head thunk, because just as I was about to give up and call it a night, her door clicked open.
“Get in here.” Emerson’s murmur came from inside her dark bedroom.
I didn’t question it. I was just glad I’d found her.
She didn’t turn the lights on when I slipped inside, and I closed the door behind me. Her curtains were open and lights from the patio seeped through, breaking up the blackness.
“What?” she asked, the annoyance evident in her voice. “What are you doing here?” She obviously wasn’t happy to be found.
“I—I came to check on you.”
“What for?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer her. Why had I come? The easy answers were because I didn’t know what else to do and because she was the only person I knew at this party.
Selfishly though, I badly wanted to finish that kiss. To see where it might lead.
I shrugged because none of those were good answers, but she’d already turned her back on me. Her arms were crossed, her back so stiff she reminded me of Aster.
But she wasn’t Aster. This was Em. Maybe not the Em I was used to, the one who got knocked down and came back up swinging. But she was still in there, I knew she was.
“Em, I’m sorry. About . . . what happened back there. Does your mom—”
“She knows.”
That surprised me. I’d only just met Georgia, but she didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who’d be okay with her husband screwing another woman under her nose like that.
Besides, I’d spent the day with Emerson’s dad. I’d heard him gush about his wife, about how lucky he was to have her. He hadn’t mentioned Bitsy once. “Are you sure—”
I was going to ask if we could’ve misinterpreted the scene we’d witnessed between her dad and his manager, but Emerson didn’t let me finish. She blew out a harsh breath, her grip on her upper arms tightening as she hugged herself harder. “Jesus, I don’t want to talk about it! Please, just leave me alone.” Her voice was too tight though, and even if she didn’t want me to, I’d already heard them . . . the tears behind her words.
Fuck.
Fuckfuckfuck.
Yelling was one thing. Even throwing things I could handle.
But crying . . .
This was always the part where I bailed. I sucked at tears. I should definitely go. I’d only make things worse. Say the wrong thing. Do the wrong thing.
“Em . . . ,” I said, stalling, hoping all she needed was a few seconds to rally.
Instead, she lifted her hand weakly and waved me off, never even turning to face me. But, shit, I saw that for what it was too. Em didn’t need time. Whatever this was about went way, way too deep.
When her shoulders collapsed and started to shake, my brain turned to mush. I was across the room and was gathering Em in my arms before I could blink, not sure what I was supposed to do next. I’d never comforted a woman before, not like this.
“It’s okay,” I cooed, using my hospital voice, the one I’d learned while Adam was sick. “I’m here.”
But Emerson wasn’t a patient, and she whipped around and smacked my hands away. “What part of ‘go away’ do you not understand?” The tears were there, forming rivers in the makeup down her cheeks. But there was a spark in her eyes too. She was still there, my Emerson.
Goddamn if that didn’t turn me on just a little bit. “You never said that . . . ,” I prodded. “Not exactly.”
She shot me a glare so fiery it would melt polar ice caps, and I wondered if she even remembered I wasn’t the one she was mad at. “Well, I’m saying it now. Go. Away.”
It was official, I was the biggest dick in the world, because this was hot. She was hot, glaring at me all pissed off like this. Her blue eyes glittering and her full lips pressed tightly together.
I wanted to taste those lips.
I straightened and took a step toward her, deliberately invading her space. “No.”
Confusion flashed across her face. She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again, confusion replaced by determination.
Emerson stared back at me. She drew herself up taller, as if letting me know she wasn’t backing down. She probably wasn’t even aware that her breasts—her nipples—brushed against my chest. “I don’t want you here,” she insisted without a trace of the agony I’d heard before. “Not now. We’re not that kind of friends.”
Oh, I heard her, all right. Loud and clear.
I understood every word she was saying, but all I could think about was the way her nipples were scorching right through me.
I realized in that moment that this whole situation—this fucked-up mess we’d gotten ourselves into in the first place—was bullshit. We belonged together, Em and me. I’d never met anyone like Emerson in my entire life. We fit, she and I. No one had ever matched me the way she did.
So why had we gotten ourselves locked in this sick competition to see who would blink first?
My jaw tightened until I could hardly get my next words out. “We’re not friends.” This time it sounded like I was the one angry with her.
She jerked as if I’d just slapped her across the face. Then, slowly, as my words sank in, her blue eyes tapered to suspicious slits. “You were the one who said that’s all we could be.” She inched closer, and now it was more than just her nipples, I could feel the swell of her breasts as she stabbed my shoulder with her finger. “If not that, then what?”
The muscle in my right eye spasmed. Emerson McLean would be the death of me. “What do you want me to say?”
We were so close I could feel her breath as it fanned my neck, sending shivers down the length of my body. I wanted to take her in my arms and breathe her in. Taste her. Her voice was husky, a throaty demand my entire body itched to obey. “I want you to stop being an ass and just say what you want. What you really feel.”
My eyes dropped . . . watching her lips . . . taking in the curve of her neck . . . devouring the valley between her breasts, where her chest rose and fell with each ragged breath she took.
She already knew the answer to her question. Somehow she’d managed to turn the tables on me.
“I want . . .”
Her fingers reached up to brush my chin, tracing a path along my collar and a jolt ripped through me. When I took another step forward so her hips were pressed against mine, my cock stiffened instantaneously.
“Say it,” she demanded without a trace of sadness or anger. She was back in control now. Complete and utter control.
I was a satellite being pulled into the gravity of her orbit. I was helpless. At her mercy.
“You.” The word finally tore free from me on a pant, and the moment it did, Emerson’s finger hooked around the top button of my shirt and she yanked it free. The button landed somewhere on the plush carpet at our feet.
But once wasn’t enough for Emerson. She was ruthless. “Say it again.”
“I want you.” This time it was a declaration. And with that confession, she tugged again and her finger tore down the row of buttons, and several more popped free.
“Again.”
My voice felt like it was being ripped from my throat. “I . . . want . . . you,” I pleaded as the last button flew off and my shirt flapped open. As a reward, her hands finally splayed across my chest. They were hot and insistent. Her touch excruciating.
Then, ruthlessly, she dropped to her knees and peered up at me. “One more time,” she insisted, and I groaned, because I swear to God, if she kept this up, I would be the one crying. My dick was already standing at attention beneath my pants as her fingers scraped along my zipper.
I looked down at her . . . at her hungry blue eyes, and I shoved my hands into her thick blonde waves. “Fuck, Em. I want you. I want you so fucking bad. I want only you.”
Savagely, she yanked my pants down, and then my boxers. My dick was ready, and when her fingers closed around it, a spark jolted all the way up my spine. She leaned forward then, her tongue circling my tip, and I nearly shot my wad right then and there.
Jesusjesusjesus!
“Em! No.” I threw my head back at the same time I bent forward to haul her up. I reached beneath her arms and dragged her to me. “Not tonight. Tonight’s about you. Let me show you how much I’ve missed you.” I silenced any protest she might have by covering her mouth with mine as I carried her to her bed. I wasn’t gentle. I couldn’t have been even if I’d wanted to.
Her tongue melted into mine.
This. I fucking needed this.
I threw her down on top of the covers. There was nothing sweet about what we were doing, and when Emerson’s gaze met mine it was impossible to tell which of us was more desperate. Hungry was a better word for what we were. Starved.
She was sprawled on top of her blankets, leaning back on her elbows as she let her knees fall open, giving me a full view between her creamy thighs. She was still wearing panties under her dress, and that was a problem. I remedied that as I reached beneath the hem of her skirt and yanked the delicate lace panties away, ripping them off of her with a soft snick.
Emerson gasped, but not in surprise. Her thighs snapped shut again, but it wasn’t meant to keep me out. I recognized the action. She was turned on. Filled with need. Desperate for relief. She rubbed her legs together like matchsticks trying to ease the pressure that was building.
“Open them,” I demanded. I knew what she needed. “Let me see.”
She frowned as she chewed her lower lip, her eyes feverish as they remained glued to mine. She was so lost in her own yearning that I wasn’t even sure she’d heard me. But then she did as I said, a small whimper erupting from her throat.
This was a complete role reversal for us. I wasn’t the one who gave the orders, that was Em’s job. For weeks, I’d played the part of Emerson’s little sex puppet, and been more than compliant.
But not tonight.
Tonight, she’d be the one squirming.
Tonight, I’d be the one in command.
If only it were that easy. Emerson wasn’t used to being submissive . . . or patient. And now, with need clawing at her, she reached between her legs and touched herself.
I tracked the movement. Of course, I tracked it. Her middle finger disappeared between the tight folds of her perfect pink pussy. When it did her body jerked and her lips formed a silent O of pleasure.
I almost lost it again. And even though I’d already been inside her countless times before, the anticipation of what her pussy felt like sheathed around my dick made my balls tighten. I knew she was hot and tight and wet.
Not fucking her right now was agony. But that’s exactly what I intended.
“Don’t,” I ordered. “That’s for me.” And with those words, I eased my pants down the rest of the way and kicked off my shoes as I eased one knee onto the edge of the bed. I inhaled that sweet, fragrant scent that was hers and hers alone.
Agony.
She drew her finger out and widened her legs to accommodate me, thinking I meant to slide inside of her, but I had other plans. I nipped the inside of one smooth thigh. She squealed and bucked, trying to draw herself closer.
Sheer agony.
I captured her wrist before she could pull it away. I kissed her palm and then drew her finger, the one that had just been inside her, into my mouth. I suckled it, savoring it like nectar until she was moaning and bucking and writhing.
Sweet fucking agony.
I needed more and so did she.
Releasing her hand, I bent lower, so my breath feathered the sensitive skin at her core. I used my thumbs to part her fully and blew gently.
“Lucas,” Emerson breathed. “Please. Just . . . please.” She sounded tortured, and I couldn’t blame her.
“I know,” I soothed, but I was no longer using my hospital voice. She didn’t need comfort. She needed release. I cupped her ass and dragged her to me. I nuzzled her, letting my tongue slide inside of her, to the place where her finger had just been.
“Lucas.” She was panting now. “Lucas,” she repeated as if she couldn’t stop herself, but I didn’t answer now. I had other things on my mind. I was lost . . . in this. In her.
It was too easy to give in to her. Too easy to let her take charge. I was hard. Fuck, I was so goddamned hard. But Emerson dug her nails into my shoulders and raked her fingers through my hair. She told me, without words, that she needed this.
But she wasn’t directing me. She let me lead her. She let me carry her . . . take her right to the brink.
And as my tongue and my fingers worked in unison, thrusting and teasing in coordinated efforts, Emerson’s whimpers became long, hollow moans. She gripped fistfuls of my hair as she bucked into me . . . guiding me . . . riding me.
And then her entire body contracted, as she trusted me enough to carry her right over the threshold of her climax.
I held onto her for a long time afterward, clinging to her almost as desperately as she did to me. I waited for her breathing to settle, and in the meantime I talked myself through my own list of distractions to get myself under control—things that took my mind off of the gorgeous sexpot whose legs I was buried between.
When I thought I was strong enough, I planted one last kiss on her soft mound and then dragged myself higher on the bed until I was cradling her, with her back pressed to my chest. I nuzzled her neck, inhaling deeply.
“Your turn,” she said in a voice that was still raw. She started to turn over in my arms, and even that simple action made my dick start to ache with need again.
“No.” I secured my hold on her, locking her in place. Later, I’d take myself in hand. Jerk off in the shower or something. But tonight was all about Em.
This was my apology for the past weeks. My penance.
After a few minutes, she gave up and her breathing slowed. She was exhausted. No big surprise. She’d had a shitty night, and on top of that, a shitty couple of weeks. She’d gone out of her way to make me admit that this was where I belonged.
She’d been right, of course. And starting now, I’d do everything in my power to make it up to her.
Starting now, I’d stop making excuses and stop being an asshole. I planned to make everything right between us so we could start from scratch.
As a whole lot more than just friends.
It was past three in the morning by the time I finally peeled myself away from Emerson. I’d refused to stay all night. I wasn’t as convinced as she was that her dad was all bluster. That he wouldn’t really beat my ass if he found me in her room.
So I’d waited until Em was sound asleep, watching her a while, because, fuck, she was beautiful even when she slept. Her hair fell in wild waves around her face and she breathed deeply, her mouth open as she leaned heavily against the crook of my arm. It had been hard to go. To leave her, even knowing I’d see her again in the morning.
I’d kissed her on the forehead, careful not to disturb her. Her eyelids fluttered and she’d grumbled under her breath as I drew my arm out from underneath her. But it was nothing coherent. As I eased off the mattress, I tucked the blanket around her and she was out again.
Tomorrow night, we’d be going home and things would be different. There’d be no more sneaking around. No more nights apart. No more pretending. I didn’t know what that meant in the long run, when the gala was over and the summer came to an end. Emerson had always said she was leaving, and as far as I knew that hadn’t changed. For now, I’d settle for the time we had left and we’d deal with the details of everything else later.
I was careful as I crept from her room, but there was no one around. The party had ended and the place was like a ghost town.
It wasn’t until I was halfway across the terrace outside, easing around the pool’s edge on my way back to the pool house, that a sound stopped me.
Not a sound . . . a sensation.
I dug my phone from my pocket and looked at the screen.
The text was clear.
I wouldn’t be going home tomorrow with Emerson after all.