Remnants of Riley

Chapter 22

Emmett looks at me like he wants to devour me, and I don’t know if I’m excited or scared. There’s a glint in his eyes that has my heart racing, and even though I’m still in my dress, I feel bare and exposed beneath his gaze.

I shouldn’t have let Ashleigh get me so upset earlier at the club. But I was so blinded by anger and jealousy that I let it take over. So jaded by my past that I couldn’t give Emmett the benefit of the doubt and just trust him.

I’m still mad at him. About the way he’s inserted himself into my life and has tried to take over, and especially about him trying to make me leave my job. But I no longer doubt that I’m the only person he’s been with.

The look on his face, when he promised he wouldn’t hurt me, told me more than his words ever could. He’d never cheat on me, on whatever this is between us.

Which makes me feel like the biggest pile of crap on the planet for how I acted tonight. Guilt simmers hot in my chest as I swallow down the lump in my throat.

God, I’m a terrible person. I did to him exactly what I”m asking him to never do to me.

I try to blink away the tears making their way to my eyes. He thumbs away a stray one that escapes, just as I tell him, “I’m sorry.”

There’s a sinister smile on his face as he stares down at me, his eyes like two dark voids. “Don’t worry, baby.” He leans down to nibble at that spot just below my ear. “You’ll be making it up to me all night for the way you were grinding your ass against that guy”s dick.” Sliding his hand up the back of my thigh, he murmurs into my ear, “I own this pussy, and you’re going to thank me for the way I treat her tonight.”

My body shivers at his words, and my pussy aches, needing to be filled by him.

Sliding his hand up between my legs, his thumb brushes gently over my clit at the same time his mouth finds mine again. I moan into his mouth as he softly circles my most sensitive spot, his tongue tangling with mine as his kiss becomes deeper and more intense.

My hips start to roll into his hand, a silent plea for more. He increases the pressure on my clit, the circles becoming faster, as he nips at my lips, my jaw, my neck, my ear. His mouth is everywhere, trailing down to my collarbone and shoulders, before coming back to my own.

Just when I think he’s going to dip his fingers under my panties, he pulls back and pushes my dress up around my waist. Abruptly, he leans back onto his knees, tugging me up off the bed with him to pull my dress up over my head. When it’s off, he pushes me back down and yanks on my thong, pulling it down my legs.

“This better be wet for me, and not from the guy in the club,” he says in an ominous tone as he runs his thumb over the damp material of my thong before tossing it to the side.

“You,” I say, my voice raspy with desire. Because even in my anger toward him, I crave him. Crave the intense pleasure only he can bring me. “Only you.”

He groans, then reaches down to unbutton his jeans and finish undressing. I watch, captivated, as he removes the rest of his clothes. His muscles flex with every movement, and I have the urge to touch him, taste him, explore every last inch of skin on his perfectly chiseled body.

He climbs back on top of me, his hand palming one of my breasts as his mouth comes down on the other. Taking my nipple into his mouth, he sucks on it, flicking his tongue over it until it hardens. His mouth moves to the other one, sucking and flicking until that one, too, is a hard peak. My back arches as his tongue and lips trail down to the side of my breast.

He bites down, hard.

“Ouch!” I squeal, but his mouth is back on me, tongue running over where he bit, soothing the tender skin. When his mouth moves back to my other breast, he bites down again, the pain searing into me.

“Emmett…” I say with a breathy moan. But my hips grind up into him.

“I think you like a little pain with your pleasure,” he says, then brings his mouth over my nipple again, tugging on it with his teeth, just enough to send little pricks of pain into my skin.

I can’t help but whimper, relishing in a sensation unlike anything I’ve experienced before. He pulls back, both hands coming to palm my breasts again as he kneels between my thighs. The gentleness with which he kneads my breasts is a stark contrast to the harshness of his bites moments ago, and it has me needing more. More friction, more pain, more something.

“Open your mouth.” His voice is demanding, leaving no room for question.

I obey without hesitation, and he leans over me, his hand coming up to my face. That’s when I see my thong in his fingers. “What are you doing with that?”

He bundles the material into a ball. “You didn”t think you were going to get away with what you did tonight without any punishment, did you?” The dark look in his eyes has me clamping my mouth shut. “Open.”

I shake my head, but let out a cry when his hand comes down across the side of my breast. The slap shocks me, sending a jolt through my body, and he takes advantage, grabbing my face and pinching my cheeks, forcing me to keep my mouth open.

With the other hand, he shoves my thong into my mouth, and I can taste myself on the wet material. He places his hand over my mouth, forcing me to keep it in as I breathe hard through my nose. My face heats with shame at what he’s doing, but my clit pulses with need.

“Don’t take that out until I say.” His voice is sharp with an unspoken threat. Moving his hands to the backs of my thighs, he pushes them up and spreads me wide. “Grab behind your knees,” he directs.

I do as he says, reaching down and sliding my hands behind my knees, holding my legs in place. He nudges my thighs apart farther, and I adjust my hold.

“Good girl,” he purrs. “Hold yourself open wide for me. I want to see this pussy as I punish it.”

My core clenches at his words. Whether it’s the praise or threat of punishment, I don’t know.

He has me gagged before him, spread open wide to use however he wants. I should be humiliated right now, but I’m not. If anything, it makes me want him more. For him to use me, to get me off, to take me to that place of absolute bliss, where nothing else exists except for the two of us.

His hand comes down against my pussy, slapping me, and I scream into my gag, the sting like lightning over my sensitive flesh. He waits a moment, then does it again, a little harder this time, and my body shudders.

When his fingers come to my center, running up and down my slit, I lift my hips into his touch the best I can. But then his hand is gone, and he slaps me again, harder still, the sting hurting and at the same time making me feel so, so good.

Tears run from the corners of my eyes as my body starts to shake. I breathe hard through my nose as my pussy throbs and my hips roll, seeking him out. Seeking contact. Seeking friction. His hand comes down again.

“Look at you.” Swat. “Your pussy all red and swollen.” Swat. “Soaking yourself from the pain.” Swat. “I wonder if I can make you come just from this.”

I cry freely now, sobbing into the gag. The pain and pleasure combination has my body reeling, so desperate for release I can hardly handle it, the throb of my clit unbearable.

Emmett leans forward, spitting on my pussy, and I moan as his spit makes contact and drips down the length of me. My skin is so sensitive, the lightest touch feels intense.

“Come for me, baby.”

His hand comes down one more time, and I explode, my body jerking and clenching from the intensity of it. I release my legs and squeeze my eyes shut, every muscle in my body tight as I ride out the waves of pleasure coursing through me.

When I’ve finally come back down to earth, I open my eyes to find Emmett still kneeling between my legs, an evil grin on his face.

“Open,” he commands, and God, his voice is deep and sexy as sin. I open my mouth, and he leans forward, pulling the thong out. “Say thank you.”

“W-what?” I stammer. My mouth feels like it doesn’t want to quite form words after having just been stuffed with my thong.

“Thank me. For punishing that sweet cunt of yours and letting you get off on it.”

“Thank you.” I reach forward, grabbing him to pull him down with me. “For punishing me and letting me get off.”

I don’t even care that I’m thanking him for slapping me. That he just did the most depraved thing I’ve ever experienced to my body, and that all I want is to beg him for more.

I pull his face to mine and kiss him, my tongue finding its way into his mouth. My hands run down his chest, his abs, and he groans as I wrap a hand around his hard length.

Even though I just came, I need him. I need to feel him inside me. Need to feel him as desperate for me as I am for him.

He doesn’t make me wait.

Emmett grabs me and rolls so that he’s on his back and I’m on top of him. I sit up, straddling him, and he grabs my ass, giving it a hard squeeze.

“I know that pussy is sore, but I need you to ride me. Show me how much you need me, how much you need my dick.” His hands come to my hips, lifting me just enough for me to grasp his length. I stroke him–once, twice, three times–then line him up at my entrance and sink down slowly.

“Oh,” I groan, his size stretching me wide and filling me as I settle myself on his length.

He grabs the back of my neck, pulling me down for a kiss, and I begin to move. I roll my hips, my clit rubbing against him as our tongues explore each other. When that isn’t enough, I sit up straight, brace my hands on his chest, and ride him hard.

That tightness starts coiling low in my belly again, my pussy clenching around him with every stroke. He grabs my hips, urging me up and down his length faster, and then his hands slide up, grabbing my breasts, pulling on my nipples as I continue to bounce on him.

We’re both panting and sweating, hands sliding over each other’s bodies as I continue to ride him. He sits up, and I adjust on his lap, never breaking my stride as I work him, as I drag him to the edge with me.

When he kisses me, it’s hot and messy and desperate, mouths and tongues and teeth clashing like we can’t get enough, like we each need more and will take it at any cost.

“Tell me you”re mine,” he grunts out, his hands on my hips, slamming me down onto his cock. “Tell me who you belong to.”

He slams me down again, then wraps my hair around one of his fists and tugs, pulling my head back as his lips descend on my neck, kissing, sucking, biting.

“You,” I pant. “I’m yours, Emmett.”

He groans, his mouth in that spot between my neck and shoulder, and bites down.

“Emmett!” I gasp at the pain, his teeth digging in harder than before. And it makes my pussy tighten around him. “I’m going to come.”

His hand tugs hard on my hair as the other finds my clit, his fingers stroking, circling, playing it like he’s mastered the art of making me orgasm. And I come again, his name on my lips as I grip his cock, muscles squeezing tight.

I feel as his hands wrap around me, but I’m so lost in my own pleasure, I barely register as he holds me tight and rolls us so he’s on top, thrusting hard and quick as my pussy convulses around him. And when my body goes limp, he continues thrusting deep at a frantic pace.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he pants, his voice rough from exertion. “This cunt was made for me.”

He plows into me, again and again, until finally, he comes with a groan. His hips stutter as he pumps into me with a few more short strokes, his cock pulsing inside me as he fills me with his cum.

His forehead meets mine. My body is exhausted, sore, and thoroughly sated. I breathe through my nose, willing my heart to stop beating so hard.

He’s still inside me as he says, “Never again, Riley.” The seriousness of his tone draws my tired mind to focus. “I never want to see you with another man like that again. Because next time, I’ll fucking kill them.”

My eyes lock on his. “Okay,” I say, and mean it. I don’t want any other man. I don’t want anyone else’s attention. I just want his. “Never again. I promise.”

He kisses me, then rolls off to the side, finally slipping out of me. I feel the warmth of his cum on my thighs, but I don’t even care. Too tired to think about cleaning myself up. His arm immediately comes around me, holding me close, and I throw a leg over him, nuzzling into his side.

Emmett sleeps next to me, his heavy arm draped across my stomach. I’ve been laying here for what feels like hours now, and still, sleep evades me.

As soon as the high from sex wore off, my mind started racing. My body is exhausted but my mind just won’t stop, trying to figure out how I got here, how I let someone with so many red flags into my life again. You’d think I would have learned from Trevor to heed the warning signs and get out as soon as possible.

But Emmett is different. He lights a fire in my blood that burns through my entire being, hotter than anything I”ve experienced before. And it was inevitable that that fire would build to a volcano, bound to erupt. And when it did, I wanted to capture that moment and hold on to it tight, afraid that I’ll never feel it again.

But now… Now I don’t know how I feel.

The best indicator of future behavior is past behavior, Riley.

I can’t stop thinking about those words. Words he said when we first met, as if in warning of this very moment.

Because right now, I’m terrified of losing him.

I always suspected that Emmett doesn’t do relationships, and Ashleigh confirmed that for me tonight. And while I no longer doubt that he’d be faithful to me, I still worry about the longevity of this.

Because I am attached. To him. To his hands. To his wicked tongue. To his dirty words. To his devilish lips. To his everything.

I’m starting to feel something for him. Something that I never thought I’d feel again, and it scares me, so, so much.

And maybe it’s that fear that’s driving me back to this endless loop of doubt. Of constantly coming up with all the reasons why this won’t work and why I shouldn’t trust him.

Self-sabotage at its finest.

But he promised me tonight that he’d never hurt me, and I should believe him. I have to believe him if I want any chance of this being something real.

I turn on my side and study his face. It’s so relaxed in his sleep, like he carries some invisible burden around all day long, and it’s only in his sleep that he gets any reprieve.

Reaching out a hand, I gently run my fingers along his jaw. I noticed earlier that he finally shaved at some point, but the stubble growth he has again makes him look so gorgeous. Dark and mysterious, like my own personal bad boy. I love it.

His eyes fly open then, and I startle, pulling my hand back from his face.

“You’re still up?” he asks, his voice all gruff with sleep.

“I couldn’t fall asleep,” I admit. “My mind wouldn’t turn off.”

He lazily runs his hand up and down my side. “Mmmm.” He tugs me toward him. “What were you thinking about?”

“You,” I admit, though I don’t want to tell him exactly the kind of tangle he has my mind in. My fingers trace over his tattoos, and there’s a small rumble in his chest at the contact. “Do you still have family in New York?” I ask, trying to piece together this man who drives me mad.

He stays silent beside me, the steady rise and fall of his chest under my hand lulling me into a more peaceful place.

I’m starting to think he’s drifted back to sleep when finally he says, “Yes. My mother is still in New York.”

“Do you see her often?”

“No,” he says, letting out a long breath. “She lives in a nursing facility. She had a massive stroke when I was twenty and another when I was twenty-three. She’s been in a nursing home ever since.”

My throat gets tight and I sense there’s more to the story, but I don’t push, afraid he’ll close up. He’s never been this open with me before, and I don’t want to break this new, delicate balance between the two of us.

“What about your dad?” I ask instead.

“I never met him.” His arm tightens around me. “Jax was my family, Riley. My mom was there, but…” he trails off.

“I know what that feels like,” I whisper around the lump in my throat. “I guess Tracy was similar to what Jax was to you. Your family when your real one wasn’t enough.”

“Yeah, baby,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “I guess so.” He tugs me tighter to him, then asks, “Where are your parents now?”

“They’re both dead. My dad killed himself after he lost his job when I was twenty. My mom overdosed a year later.”

He sucks in a breath. “And you don’t have any siblings?”

“No. It was just me.” I find my fingers tapping on his chest in the steady rhythm they do when I’m trying to center myself. “After my mom died, I left West Virginia for a few years. I just needed to get away from there and all the memories.”

“What made you come back then?” His thumb rubs soft strokes over my back.

“Tracy.” I let out a small laugh. “She moved here shortly after I left and was tenacious in convincing me to settle down here. I swear, she’s the most stubborn person on the entire planet when she wants something.”

Well, except for Emmett, of course. He’s an entirely different level of stubborn and demanding.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Apparently, you two have that in common.”

I push at his chest. “Hey, I am not stubborn.”

If anything, I’m the pushover here. And I hate it–the way I turn to mush around him.

He moves on top of me then, and my legs spread for him. See? Mush.

Leaning down, he kisses my neck before saying, “Says the woman who refuses to give me that ‘yes’.”

I bite my lower lip. “Maybe you need to work harder for it?” I tease.

A dark look crosses his face and then he’s biting my lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, and making my head dizzy.

His hand reaches between us and he strokes me, his fingers running the length of me before circling my clit. It doesn’t take long before I’m wet again and he’s sliding into me, burying himself deep in one long thrust.

Emmett fucks me, slow and sensual this time. He takes his sweet time, his mouth and hands exploring my body as his hips rock into me at a steady, measured pace. And I explore him back, my hands trailing over his body, discovering, caressing, savoring every part of him. My lips find his shoulders, his neck, his arms, his chest. Anything that I can reach while he drives inside of me at this deliciously slow pace.

And together, we forget about the past, and we lose ourselves again in the now.

Emmett’s gone when I wake up. Except this time I know he didn’t leave me, because I can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen. I pull my arms out from under the covers, push my wild, now loose hair out of my face, and stretch, then immediately snuggle back under, pulling the blanket up to my chin. It’s freezing in his penthouse.

I hear cabinets opening and closing in the kitchen, and I take the opportunity to look around his room, having not had a chance to last night.

Turns out Emmett driving me to orgasm over and over again is pretty distracting.

His bedroom is large and spacious, with a lack of clutter that tells me his need for control extends to the tidiness of his home as well. Straight ahead is the door that leads toward the living room and kitchen, and to my left is a wall of curtain covered windows, the morning light filtering in along the top and bottom. There’s two more doors to my right, both of which are cracked open. I know one is the bathroom, having stumbled into it at one point last night. The other was closed at the time, but it looks like a closet from the bit of clothing I can see through the crack. There’s also a nightstand on either side of the bed, and in the corner of the room by the windows sit two chairs angled toward each other.

I seriously consider not getting out of bed because of how warm and cozy it is. Not to mention, I wouldn’t be upset if Emmett came back and picked up where we left off in the early hours of the morning. He fucked me two more times before we both finally passed out last night. The second I stand up, his cum will probably pour out of my pussy like it’s Niagara Falls or something.

The smell of coffee coming from the kitchen is too irresistible to ignore, though. Tossing back the covers, I leap out of bed, only to look down and see my chest covered in bite marks.

“Jesus,” I mutter to myself, prodding at one on the side of my boob and wincing. They’re already starting to bruise. I was so turned on by Emmett biting me, I didn’t realize how hard he was actually doing it.

Holding my hands over my chest like I can protect them after the fact, I make my way to his closet in search of something to wear. The man has to own at least one pair of sweatpants, right? He obviously works out, so there has to be something comfortable in there.

Stepping inside, I flip on the light switch and am greeted with the most organized closet I’ve ever seen in my life. I always thought I kept mine fairly tidy, but I feel like a slob in comparison to this.

Rows of suits line the walls, all of them evenly spaced on fancy hangers that he definitely did not purchase by the dozen. There’s not a single piece of clothing out of place–nothing laying on the floor, no laundry baskets or piles of clothes waiting to be put away. And the closet is almost as big as my bedroom at the apartment was. My entire wardrobe would barely fill a quarter of this space.

Peeking behind the door, I find that wall lined with drawers along the bottom half, and figure this is my best bet to find his casual clothes. Opening them, I rummage around until I find a pair of joggers and then grab a t-shirt, all the while being careful to keep everything in the drawers as neat as he had it.

I throw the clothes on, the large size swallowing me whole. Even when I roll the waistband of the joggers over a few times, they’re still huge on me.

There’s something strangely intimate about wearing his clothes. Like I’ve just crossed some kind of invisible boundary, inching us closer to new territory. Grabbing the front of his t-shirt, I pull it to my nose and take a big sniff. It smells like laundry detergent and him, and I can’t help how that makes me smile.

As I turn to leave–the smell of coffee in the kitchen still beckoning me–I notice there’s another door halfway down the wall of suits.

That’s weird, to have a room off your closet. Maybe it’s just a little utility space or something?

Curiosity getting the best of me, I reach for the handle to find it unlocked, and push the door open as quietly as I can. I know I’m snooping at this point, but I can’t help myself.

The room is dark, and I feel along the side of the door for the light switch. Flipping it on, I freeze.

Holy shit.

Slowly, I step inside, my eyes scanning the walls as a little shiver runs down my spine. The room is similar in size to the closet, with bright lights overhead, but that’s where the similarities end. Where the closet had white walls and built-ins, the walls in here are a dark gray color with black cabinets running around the lower half of the room.

And covering every surface of the walls and countertops are enough guns and ammo to support a small army.

I walk toward a section with dozens of pistols. There’s a row with several Glocks, and I trace my fingers over one, hating the memories that spring to my mind. But that’s when I notice none of these have serial numbers on them. I spent enough time up close and personal with Trevor’s to know where it should be.

I move on to a section of rifles. None of these have serial numbers either. And I’m pretty sure more than a few are illegal to own.

“See anything interesting?”

I jump, whipping around at the sound of Emmett’s voice. He’s leaning against the doorframe in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, arms folded across his chest. His face is carefully blank of any emotion as he takes me in.

“Why do you have all of these?” I ask. “Are you like a gangster or something?”

I don’t mean for it to be a serious question. More like trying to make light of the fact that damn near every gun I’ve looked at in here is illegal in some way, shape or form. But his silence has my stomach dropping.

“Oh, my god. You are, aren’t you? That’s why none of these have serial numbers.” I push my hands into my hair. What the hell is going on?

Emmett pushes off the door frame to come to me. “I’m not a gangster, Riley.”

“Then why do you have these?” I gesture wildly at the room again, as if he doesn’t know what I’m referring to. “How did you get them?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“You told me I could trust you last night, Emmett.” Anger builds in my chest. “It’s your turn to start talking.”

“Fuck,” he says, running a hand down his face. He considers me for a minute, his eyes taking me in with a look I can’t quite read. “One of my clients in New York, he… sold weapons.”

“These are all illegal! Don’t lie to me.” Emotion clogs my throat. “Someone doesn’t just sell these kinds of guns.”

He just looks at me, his face hard, saying nothing.

And it clicks. “Your client, he’s… he’s like mafia or something, isn’t he?” Emmett nods. “So what, you’re in the mob?” I ask, incredulously.

“I already said I’m not, Riley. I’m not a fucking gangster. I’m not a mobster. I’m not any of those things.”

“But you worked for one. And you have all of this.” I gesture to the room again.

He sighs, walking over to me and pulling me into him. I let him, throwing my arms around his waist.

“I wasn’t part of his gun business. I just bought and sold real estate for him.” He runs his hands up and down my back. “Even criminals have realtors. Just like they have accountants and plumbers and landscapers. It doesn’t mean we’re involved in what they do.”

I lean back to look up at him. “But clearly you knew what he did. You knew how he made his money.”

“I did.” He leans down and kisses me softly. “I know more than I probably should. And obviously I took advantage of having an arms dealer close by. But I don’t work for him. Not like that.”

“Okay,” I say, letting out a deep breath. “I believe you.” And it’s the truth. After everything last night, I don’t think Emmett would lie to me. Not to my face like that.

“Good.” He grins down at me now, a mischievous look on his face. “Because I’m ready for my breakfast.”

I giggle as Emmett reaches down and picks me up, my legs wrapping around his waist. He carries me back to bed, pulls off my sweatpants, and buries his face between my thighs, feasting on me like I’m his favorite meal.