EMMA
"Is this what drunk feels like," I ask, one hundred years later, entwined in Thatcher Stag so tightly I can't quite figure out where each of my limbs is located.
"No, Chezz," he says, laughing at me. "This is what stoned feels like."
"Hmmmm," I sigh. "I like this." I think I drift off to sleep, but eventually I open my eyes to see Thatcher kneeling beside me with the hand towel from my bathroom. I hear it dripping on the floor. "Did you just soak my towel?"
He starts to giggle. "I couldn't find a wash cloth, but I wanted to clean you up," he says. And the gesture is so sweet, that I try to let go of my frustration. I spread my legs a little and let him wipe me, slowly and gently. The warm cloth feels good along my thighs, along my center. "Mmmmm, that's nice," I say.
"Do you know how hot you are, Emma Cheswick?" he asks, and I shake my head. "You're the most amazing woman I've ever seen." He drops to his knees between my legs and plans a kiss on my clit. Suddenly, I'm wide awake as he shows me just how much he likes what he sees in me.
My skin feels like it's been electrified. Every inch of me is tuned in to what Thatcher is doing in a totally unique way. I feel laser-focused on his tongue and the way it slowly laps at my folds, the way his thick fingers slide inside my body. This is what it feels like to be worshipped, and I am loving it. I come quickly, taking me by surprise, and I groan his name, pulling him up by the shoulders until his head is close to mine.
I reach out a hand to touch his beard. He's glistening with moisture. Me, I realize, touching the hair beneath his lower lip. "Mmm," he moans as I slide my thumb along his lip. "That's right, Emma. You're dripping wet for me." He kisses my neck and slides a finger inside me. "So." Another kiss. "Wet." Another. "Just for me," and he slides inside me, fully sheathed. Our hips touch and I open my mouth wide.
"I'm so full, Thatcher. So full of your cock." And then I can't think, can't form words as he thrusts, hard. I have no idea what I'm doing with my limbs, but I see myself wrap my legs around his waist, dig my fingers into his shoulder. I cling to him, not wanting any separation from our bodies, as he grunts and, just as I shatter into another orgasm, he fills me with his own sticky release.
By the time Thatcher brings the sandwiches into my bedroom and we tuck in, breaking all my rules about food on my sheets, it's dark outside. He hands me a huge glass of water and tells me it will help with my dry mouth.
"How did you know it was so dry???"
He laughs. "This isn't my first time getting high, Chezz." I tell him I'm glad he's here, since I have no idea what to expect, and he says, "I'm like your weed doula."
"What the hell is a doula?"
He talks with his mouth full, wiping his wrist over his lips, explaining, "Alice and Amy hire these ladies who help them out when they're in labor. So it's like…someone who helps you do hard things. Anyway, it was a joke."
Weed doula. "I like it, Thatcher. There's not a lot of people I trust to help me do hard things." And damn if Thatcher Stag doesn't blush a little bit when I tell him that.
He finishes his sandwich and rolls on his side, looking at me. "We need to talk about the thing with my father," he says, his expression stern. I nod. "I'm going to tell my family. All of it. But I'm not going to tell them before Ty's wedding," he says. "I don't want to give Ty the burden of having to decide if he wants him there or not."
I furrow my brow. "Wouldn't he want his father at his wedding? I mean, doesn't he want that now, regardless of whether you found him?"
Thatcher shakes his head. "He wants a dad at his wedding, someone who raised him and cared about him and wants to see him happy. That's Tim. Ted Stag walked out on us when we needed him most."
"And…so you're just going to give him an organ? Undergo an invasive, risky surgery? Because why?"
He flops back on the bed. "Jesus, Emma, I wish I hadn't told you. I didn't say I was going to do it, ok? I said I asked about it. I got some testing. I still don't even know if I'd be eligible, but--" he drifts off.
"But what, Thatcher?"
"But it has to be me if it's going to be one of us. Tim has kids and Ty is a professional athlete. It matters more if something happens to them."
"Thatcher!" I sit bolt upright. "Do you mean to say you don't think it matters if something happens to you during surgery?"
He exhales long and slowly. "Look," he says. "I just got a huge fucking contract. I can live off that money for a few years, at least! The way I see it, I can complete the work for Clemont, have the surgery, and take my sweet ass time recovering. I'll even be able to float Cody's salary while I'm laid up."
I stare at him with my mouth hanging open. "You were going to just go through with that entire plan and not involve your family? How would you feel if they did the same thing," I ask.
He closes his eyes. "I'm going to tell them. After the wedding. I promise." And he rolls over, snoring in my bed before I can even decide if I want him to spend the night.