Chapter 13
Emmett isn’t in bed when I wake up the next morning, and I don’t know why I feel disappointed by it. Stretching, I get up and pad to the kitchen to see if he’s out there.
Nothing. But I do find a case of water and a bottle of Advil on my counter. I open one of the waters and swallow down a couple pills before heading to the shower. Thankfully, I don’t feel too terribly hungover this morning. The small headache I did have is gone by the time I step out of the shower.
I vaguely remember Emmett carrying me to bed last night and holding me as I fell asleep. From what I recall, he didn’t even try to make a move on me. Which honestly surprises me. He practically forced himself on me yesterday after closing, then decides to be a perfect gentleman later that evening? The man is so hot and cold, he’s giving me whiplash. How can someone be so cruel one minute, and then, well… I guess, less of an asshole, the next? It’s beyond infuriating, and I hate that I never know what to expect from him.
Not to mention I can’t figure out what he even wants from me. If he wanted a simple one-night stand, I’m sure he could have easily found someone else. Someone with less baggage. Someone who’d willingly spread their legs for him and not care if he never talks to them again.
Not that I do. At least I don’t think so.
The thing is, Emmett doesn’t strike me as a relationship kind of guy, either. So what’s his endgame here? Why does he keep toying with me? I’m too difficult for a one-night stand, but he’s also never going to get tied down into a relationship.
Not that I want that either.
I soon forget about Emmett and all of his annoying personality traits, though. I’m too busy working on packing the remaining few items in my apartment and taking care of odds and ends to sit and dwell on the emotional blender he puts me through. Plus, Jeremy will be here in a few hours, and I’d like to have everything ready to go when he gets here so we can head directly to my new place.
Munching on my moving snacks, goldfish crackers and fruit cups this time, I gather the leftover miscellaneous items that didn’t get boxed up yesterday. I fold up my bedding, pack it away in a box, and carry it out to the living room to stack beside the patio door. Then I tip my mattress onto its side and awkwardly drag it down the hallway to the living room as well. I make sure to grab all my toiletries from the bathroom and throw them in my suitcase, then go around the apartment to double check that all the closets and cabinets are empty. Lastly, I organize my cleaning supplies and leave them in a neat little pile by the kitchen island so that I have everything I’ll need to come back and deep clean before turning my keys in.
Jeremy shows up right on time, and we carry the last few boxes and my mattress out to the trailer. Thirty minutes later, we’re on the way to my new house, him towing his trailer with all my belongings and me following in Emmett’s Audi.
I had called the shop earlier about my car, and they informed me it needed a new engine and it would be at least a few weeks before it was ready. As much as it pains me to admit it, I’m grateful Emmett lent me his car. I honestly don’t know what I would have done otherwise. Money’s tight right now, all my savings having gone toward the purchase of my house. I’m already banking on the security deposit from my apartment to help cover the new engine.
Yeah, I would have been screwed without Emmett. I have no clue how I’ll pay him back, and I’m a little afraid of what he’ll ask for. Maybe he’s got a secret foot fetish. I could send him foot pics all day. At least that way, I’d only have to compromise a small part of my dignity.
When we pull up to my new house, we immediately start unloading the trailer. Between Jeremy and me, we manage to get all the furniture and boxes into the house within just a few hours. He was, thankfully, his usual self the entire time. I was worried things would be weird between us after last night, but it was like nothing had changed.
Someone from the cable company comes out later in the afternoon to get my internet up and running, and Jeremy is gracious enough to get on the roof and replace the burnt out floodlights on the back of the cabin. We also find a couple of old tires the previous owner never removed from the shed, and Jeremy throws them in his trailer to take to the dump.
After finishing off the leftover pizza from last night, he finally leaves me later in the evening to head home.
I plop down on my couch with a huff. It’s my first chance to sit all day, and my body is exhausted. Boxes still litter my living space, and I debate briefly whether I want to start unboxing now, or just wait until tomorrow.
The ache in my back answers that for me. Tomorrow it is.
Grabbing the remote, I’m working on connecting the TV to the new Wi-Fi when my phone vibrates on the couch beside me.
Emmett:I’m 10 minutes away. Take off your panties.
I stare at my phone, my brain refusing to believe what I see. I close out of the text, then re-open it, as if that will change what it says. Maybe he meant to text someone else? Jealousy curls in my gut at the idea he’s telling another woman to take off their panties.
Me:Why are you 10 minutes away? I didn’t invite you over.
He doesn’t respond. And I don’t take off my panties.
I go through the process of connecting my TV to the Wi-Fi and have just pulled up Netflix when Emmett’s headlights illuminate the inside of my house.
I don’t bother getting up from my spot on the couch. Butterflies make their way to my stomach, and I don’t know if I”m eager or wary. Either way, he can ring the doorbell. He wasn’t even invited.
His car door closes, and he climbs the front porch steps, the weight of him making the wood creak. But the doorbell never rings.
I see him try the handle, the slight wiggle of the knob on my side of the door, but it’s locked. A satisfied grin crosses my face.
I consider not letting him in at all. Besides, what if I wouldn”t have been home? He’s the one being presumptuous here, thinking he can just invite himself over and not give me any notice.
I never get the option of refusing to open the door. Instead, the smile drops from my face and adrenaline spikes through my body when I hear a key slide into the lock and see the doorknob turn.
It is Emmett at the door, right?
My heart skitters to life in my chest, and suddenly I’m on the verge of panicking, my mind going a mile a minute yet somehow unable to form any useful survival thoughts.
Shit, shit, shit.
Who else would have a key? These were supposed to be new locks installed on closing day.
Emmett pushes through the front door just as I jump up from the couch, TV remote gripped tight in my hand as a weapon. It’s not lost on me how ridiculous this is, as if throwing a remote at an intruder would buy me any time to get away. I’d be better off hiding. But relief sweeps through me when I see that it’s him, and I drop my poor excuse for a weapon back onto the couch.
Letting out a shaky breath, I close my eyes and do a quick ten count, fingers tapping away.
You, Riley, are doomed in the event of an actual intruder.
Maybe I should take a self-defense class. I can’t exactly scream for help when I’m out here by myself with no neighbors close by. And Emmett is… no. I push the thought out of my mind immediately. Why would I call him if I needed help? I don’t even like him.
And why the hell does he have a key to my house?
My eyes shoot open and I glower at him in suspicion. He’s in a full suit, his black jacket covering a crisp white shirt and light blue tie. I can make out his muscular thighs under his slacks, and I suddenly wish I had been sober enough to appreciate him last night when he’d slept over.
God, he looks so good. His short hair is styled to perfection, and I get the urge to run my fingers through it, to mess it up a little bit. The dark stubble on his face has my thighs clenching, and I imagine that head between my legs again, his stubble rubbing against my most sensitive flesh, that wicked mouth doing even more wicked things to my body…
I tamp down the thoughts, but I’m having a hard time remembering why I need to resist him. Or why I’m mad that he has a key. Of course, his words snap me back to reality and squash the warmth that had started building in me.
“We really need to work on your obedience,” he says, locking up the front door again and tossing his keys–my key–wallet, and phone onto my kitchen counter. He shrugs out of his jacket, hanging it over the back of a stool.
I stare at him in disbelief, my hands fisting at my sides. “Obedience? I’m not a dog,” I say, my words clipped with annoyance.
He regards me thoughtfully, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. I’m wearing a t-shirt and sleep shorts, but I may as well be naked from the way his eyes sear my flesh. “No,” he finally says, his voice low, “but you’d look good on a leash.”
My eyes widen at his words, my blood pulsing through my body in waves. I grab the remote from the couch and throw it at him. “You can leave, you asshole. I didn’t ask you to come over.” My body hums, and I’m pretty sure it’s because he pisses me off. Not because of the idea of being on a leash for him.
He catches the remote before it can hit him and sets it on the counter next to his things. Then he closes the distance between us, taking these long, lazy strides that do something funny to me.
“I don’t need an invitation to be here, Riley,” he says. “I’ll gladly let myself in every time. And tonight, you and I have a score to settle.” He stops in front of me, his hand reaching up to touch my face.
I step back out of his reach. “What score?”
“That little stunt you pulled last night.” He tsks. “Trying to make me jealous.” He steps closer again, and this time I don’t move when his fingers grab my chin. “It didn’t work, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be punished for it.” He reaches his other hand to my backside, slipping it under my shorts and giving my ass a squeeze. “Not to mention you”re still wearing panties.”
My heart flutters and anticipation thrums through me. “What are you going to do?” I manage to ask, my voice raspy.
What are you going to do? Jesus Riley, tell him to leave. Now.
He smirks. “I was on my knees for you yesterday. I think it’s only fair you return the favor.”
I jerk out of his grip and step back yet again. When he advances, my nerves kick in and I make a dash for the other side of the couch, whirling around to see he hasn’t moved. Instead, he stands there, methodically loosening his tie.
I gulp. The dark look on his face as he pulls his tie free and starts undoing the top buttons of his shirt lights a spark in me. The man is still fully dressed, but the intentionality in each of his movements has me quivering.
He shoves his tie into his pocket and starts rolling up his sleeves as he advances on me yet again. I move in tandem, circling to the other side of the couch as he rounds to where I just was, essentially swapping positions with him.
“We can do this one of two ways,” he starts, but I cut him off.
“I like my way, which involves you leaving.”
We continue our dance around the couch. “Option one,” he says, ignoring me completely. “Get on your knees willingly, like a good girl.”
I scoff. “Not happening.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I know it’s going to happen. The ache in my core builds with the need for him to touch me. It’s only a matter of time at this point until I do, in fact, get on my knees for him.
“Option two it is,” he says.
I wait for him to explain option two, but instead, he hoists his body over the back of the couch, landing in front of me and grabbing me by the shoulders. He spins me around before I even have time to react and pushes me into the back wall of my living room.
His hips press into me as he pins me against the wall and grabs my hands, pulling them behind my back. My chest presses into the wall and I buck against him. It’s useless, though, his body twice the size of mine, easily holding me where he wants me.
“Get off me!” I hiss, my body trying and failing again to get out of his grasp.
I feel as he wraps what I assume is his tie around my wrists, securing them at my lower back. Once he’s done, he spins me back around to face him, a look of victory on his face.
“You’re insane,” I tell him, wiggling my wrists to try to break free.
“Only for you, baby,” he replies, gently cupping my face. “On your knees.”
I glare at him, still fighting against the restraints. “No.”
His hand moves to my hair, pulling the claw clip out that was holding my hair back, and tossing it to the ground. “It wasn’t a suggestion.”
“You’re out of your mind,” I snap at him and move to walk away, but he just grabs my upper arms, holding me in front of him. “You can’t just show up uninvited, making demands, and expect me to do them.”
He rubs his hands up and down my arms, so gently and in stark contrast to what he’s telling me to do. “I can and I will. You invited me over last night to prove a point, and now I’m here to prove mine.”
“What?” I huff. “That you’re an asshole? Point taken.”
His hands come back up to cradle my face. “That you’re mine,” he says gently.
I pause, taken aback by his words, but in the next second, his hand is on the back of my head, gripping my hair harshly as he pushes me down. I cry out as my knees crash into the floor, sending a jolt through my legs. I try to stand back up, but he yanks my head back, forcing me to look up at him.
Emmett stares down at me, his eyes dark and hungry. My thighs clench, recognizing the look on his face–the desire.
I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want to be tossed around by a man, forced onto my knees, made to obey him. Yet I can’t help the way my body burns for him. To see him so worked up, so desperate for me. It has me wanting to please him. To take him in my mouth. To make him come.
When I see his other hand come up, I try to watch as it moves to his waist, undoing first his belt and then popping the button on his slacks and sliding the zipper down. My eyes wander, staring down my nose, and he finally loosens his grip on my hair.
“Want to look, baby?” he purrs, as he pulls himself from the restraints of his underwear. His cock springs free, and my eyes bulge.
There’s no way he’s fitting in my mouth. I barely managed when he made me suck on his fingers. I wet my lips, all my previous bravado melting away like a snowball in July.
He grips the base of his thick cock and strokes himself slowly, bringing the tip to within touching distance of my lips before pulling back again. When a bead of pre-cum forms at the tip, he gathers it on his finger, running it over my bottom lip before grabbing the base of his dick again.
“Are you going to suck me like a good girl?” he asks, his voice low, dangerous, as he looks at me.
“Emmett, please…” I don’t even know what I’m saying please for at this point. Please let me suck your cock? Please let me go? Please relieve the throb building between my legs right now?
I open my mouth, eyes on him as I lean forward and run my tongue over the tip of him. The groan he lets out has me clenching my thighs, and I close my mouth over his tip, my tongue circling it, exploring the ridges and learning the taste of him.
My eyes drift down his body, taking in the muscled V leading to his groin that I can just glimpse under his shirt. I wish my hands were free so I could feel it. So I could run them up his abs and scratch at his skin with my nails.
As the saliva pools in my mouth, I take him deeper, sucking and licking, loving the way his breathing gets heavy.
I look back up to find him staring at me, his eyes fixed on my lips wrapped around his cock. I continue working him, bobbing my head and taking him a little deeper with each retreat and forward movement.
His breathing gets quicker, and he starts slowly pumping his hips forward, meeting my mouth with each forward movement I make on his cock. His thighs clench, and I hear the groan trying to leave his chest. It sends a flutter through me, and I take him deeper, sucking on him until suddenly his hand is tangled in my hair again.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his grip tightening in my hair and sending prickles down my spine. He pulls almost all the way out as he says, “I’m going to fuck your mouth hard now. Remember to breathe.”
I look up at him, equal parts alarm and lust coursing through my body, and give him a small nod. He wastes no time, holding my head steady as he fists my hair with both hands and starts pumping into my mouth.
His thrusts are punishing, hitting the back of my throat, and I gag around him. Tears start to run from my eyes, and my breaths are harsh and short coming out of my nose. I can’t swallow, can’t move my tongue with the way he’s driving into me. Saliva runs from the corners of my mouth, dripping down my chin.
“Jesus, fuck,” he grunts, throwing his head back as his hips continue the ruthless pace.
I make unintelligible noises, not even sure what I”m trying to convey. All I know is I can’t keep this up. My throat is on fire, and I feel like I’m going to hyperventilate from trying to breathe so rapidly through my nose.
He must notice my struggle, as he slows his pace, one hand coming to cup my cheek. “You”re doing such a good job. I’m so proud of you, taking my cock down your throat like a good fucking girl.”
I moan at his words, causing him to shudder. His praise warms my entire body, the tension in my core building, begging for more. Begging for release.
“Swallow me down,” he grunts, his pace picking back up again.
I have no choice but to take it as he starts relentlessly thrusting into my mouth again. My jaw hurts, and it feels like he’s ripping the hair from my scalp with the brutal grip he has on me. My knees are bruised and sore, digging into the wood floors. But my clit throbs, my underwear soaked as he uses me, taking his pleasure from my mouth.
I feel him stutter briefly, his breath catching before he lets out a moan and thrusts once more deep into my mouth. His body goes rigid and his thrusts shorten as he spills his cum down the back of my throat. And I swallow it down greedily, wanting all of him.
He lets go of my hair, pulling out of my mouth completely, and I collapse, my butt hitting my heels. He tucks himself back into his pants before reaching down to help me stand. Spinning me around, he unties my hands, and I shake them, rubbing my wrists as I turn to face him again.
“Emmett…” I start, my body coiled so tight. I step into him, my hands coming to rest on his chest. “Please.” I need him. Need him to touch me. To kiss me. To fuck me.
He grabs my hands in his, bringing them to his mouth to kiss my knuckles before stepping away. “I’ve got to get back to the city.”
His words slice like a blade. “You’re just going to leave? What about me?” I gesture toward myself–my pussy.
“This was a punishment for your actions last night. Your pleasure has nothing to do with it.” He says this like it should have been obvious.
I stare at him, openmouthed, as he goes to grab his things from the counter. He puts his suit jacket back on before coming back to me and pulling me into him, kissing me on the forehead. “Lock the door behind me,” he says, his lips still against my forehead.
I don’t respond. I don’t say a thing as he walks away, closing the front door behind him like he didn’t just use and discard me for the second day in a row.
I stand rooted to my spot in the living room, watching as his taillights disappear down the driveway. If I thought I felt worthless after he ate me out on the conference room table yesterday in exchange for my house keys, then I had another thing coming. At least I got off yesterday.
I can feel the tears wanting to make their way to my eyes, and I fight them back. Emmett doesn’t deserve my tears. I’m better than that. Stronger than that.
Harnessing the anger running through me, I send him a quick text.
Me:Either get rid of my house key you have or I’m changing the locks.
I don’t wait for a response, silencing my phone and tossing it off to the side.
Flopping back down on the couch, I turn on the TV in an attempt to distract myself, but it doesn’t work. I’m angry, my knees hurt, my panties are soaked, and I’m horny as hell.
And that’s what makes me the angriest. That even when he’s using me, forcing me to my knees for his own sick pleasure, my body still craves him.
Traitorous pussy indeed.
Fuck that.
He doesn’t get to leave me hanging like this.
Jumping up from the couch, I start rummaging through boxes, looking for what I need to make me feel better. I search for the boxes labeled ‘bedroom’ and start opening them one at a time, digging through the contents. When I’m on the second to last bedroom box, I finally find what I need.
Grabbing my vibrator, I pull it out and run up the stairs to my bedroom, eager to relieve the tension in my body. If Emmett doesn’t want to make me come, I’ll do it myself. Besides, my vibrator’s better in bed than him, anyway. Because, unlike Emmett, it never leaves me hanging.