Remnants of Riley

Chapter 47

“Remind him to send over the PL statements before our meeting next week,” Emmett’s voice rumbles from his office down the hall.

I hang up my jacket in the coat closet, then grab the shopping bags littering the entryway floor of the penthouse. There’s at least a dozen, but I made it up here in one trip, so I pile the bags back onto my arms, determined to get to the closet in one trip too.

Tracy called me this morning and had insisted I needed therapy–retail therapy. So, we met for lunch and then she dragged me out shopping afterwards.

As much as I hate to admit it, I think she was right. I haven’t laughed so hard in a long time.

Emmett had given me his credit card before I left, saying, ‘spend your little heart out’. At my protest, he gently reminded me of my pathetically small wardrobe right now.

I haven’t really bought anything, other than a few necessities, since losing everything in the fire. The only reason I had any clothes at all was because I had kept a small amount at Emmett’s place for the nights I stayed over.

But I didn”t want to spend my money–even though he and Jax pay me way more than they should–because I’m determined to pay Tracy back for my now houseless property as soon as possible. And I didn’t want to spend Emmett’s money, because, well… I just felt bad spending it.

Tracy must have said something to Emmett after I left the first store empty-handed, because I got a text from him shortly after saying, ‘If you don’t buy something today, I’ll take that as your agreement to not wearing clothes when we’re at home’.

I can’t say the idea didn’t excite me a little, but ultimately, I gave in and bought some clothes. A lot of clothes.

And a little something for Emmett.

Hands full of bags, I scurry across the living area and into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind me. My heart beats so hard at the thought of what I’m going to do, excitement and anxiety coursing through me in equal parts.

My therapist and I talked a lot about intimacy and sex in our last session. She told me to be open and honest with Emmett about what I did and didn’t want. To take things slow and communicate with each other the entire time. That there’s no right or wrong time for this and I don’t need to rush if I’m not ready.

So, of course, I’ve decided to do the exact opposite and treat this more like ripping off a band-aid. I can’t stand all the self-doubt and worry anymore, so I’m putting it all out there and we’ll see what happens.

Either Emmett still wants me, or he doesn’t.

Either I freak out, or I don’t.

I’m at the point that I just want to know. I can’t keep waiting around until I feel confident that I’m ready, or for Emmett to make the first move. Because I don’t know how long that will take, or if it will ever actually come. And I’ve reached the point where all the anxiety, from anticipating what might happen, is probably worse than what will actually happen.

Shuffling into the master closet, I drop all the bags on the floor, then grab the black one with the white tissue paper poking out. I pull out the small black box from inside, then hide it in the back of the drawer with all of Emmett’s ties.

I put away all the clothes I bought, until the only thing left is a hot pink bag, this one with gold tissue paper in it. Taking a deep breath, I will myself to keep my bravado, and pull out the black bra and thong.

If you can even call them that. The bra is one of those strappy, cupless ones meant solely for fun in the bedroom, and the thong is equally strappy, numerous thin pieces of material running over my hips. It takes me a few tries before I stick my feet through the right holes and pull it up my legs.

But it’s sexy. Really sexy.

It makes me feel more confident than I have since I came back. And I’m secretly hoping it distracts from my scars.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, my fingers graze over the soft pink lines covering both of my thighs. They look a lot better than they did even a week ago. The redness has been fading, and I hope that means they’ll heal into smooth, white lines that can be easily camouflaged.

When I twist my body to try to get a look at my back, though, I can’t help but wince. The scars across the top of my back are less red now, but the word they spell out is still obvious. And the scars below that… they’re red, the skin full of divots and ridges.

I whirl, grabbing one of Emmett’s button-downs from a nearby hanger and throwing it on to hide my back.

Maybe I’m not ready for this. If I can’t even handle looking at my almost naked body, how can I expect Emmett to?

I stalk to the other side of the closet, yanking open a drawer and pulling out some real underwear.

This was a stupid idea. Like I could seduce a man when my ex’s name is carved into my skin.

Ignoring the sting behind my eyes, I pull open another drawer to grab a t-shirt and sweatpants.

My hands freeze as I dig through the shirts when Emmett says, “I’ll never get tired of seeing you in my clothes.”

He’s leaning against the closet door frame, hands casually in his pockets. His white button up is open on top, revealing some of the tattoos on his chest, and he’s got his sleeves rolled up because of course he does. It causes so much turmoil in me, seeing Emmett looking like this and wanting nothing more than to run to him, to kiss him and hold him and love him, but not being able to get my feet to move.

And it’s no different right now.

My stomach sinks when his eyes rake over me, and I grab the material of the shirt I threw on, holding it closed tight in front of me. I hate that the bottoms of my thighs are visible right now, and I turn from him, reaching for the sweatpants I was going to put on.

He walks over to me, tugging the sweatpants from my hands as his chest presses into my back. His breath coasts over my hair, sending shivers down my spine.

“You don’t have to hide these, Riley,” he says, running his hands down both of my arms then pausing at my hips, his fingers splayed over the tops of my thighs. He presses in, and the feel of those fingers on my thighs, even through the shirt, has me quivering with both anxiety and anticipation.

I want this. I want this. I want this.

But what if I can’t handle it? What if I’m not ready? What if it takes me back to that room with Trevor? What if…

“Do you know what I see when I look at these scars?” he asks, leaning into me as he reaches down and runs his hands down my thighs, then back up to my hips, mindful of keeping his hands over my shirt. “I see a woman whose strength is unmatched. A woman who went through hell and came out stronger on the other side.” His mouth ghosts over my ear. “I see a woman who is brave. So goddamn brave. Who wakes up every day and fights.” He presses a kiss just below my ear. “I see a woman who is beautiful.” His voice is husky, his breath kissing my cheek. “So fucking beautiful it makes my chest ache whenever I look at her.”

His arms wrap around my middle, pulling me in tight against him. “And I see a woman who is stubborn. A woman who would rather suffer in silence than burden those around her.” He nuzzles into my neck, whispering, “Tell me how to take your pain away. Tell me how to take your insecurity and self-doubt away. Tell me how to take the anxiety away.” He pulls back, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Because I see it, Riley. I see you. I see your struggle. And this isn’t your grief to bear alone.”

“Emmett…” I breathe, my chest cracking open at his words.

He moves in front of me and gets on his knees. His hands run up the backs of my thighs, this time slipping under the fabric of my shirt.

“The only thing these scars represent is my failure. You’re mine. Mine to take care of. Mine to cherish. Mine to protect. And I fucking failed you.” He lifts the hem of my shirt and kisses the scars on my left thigh, his beard making shivers dance across my skin. “I should have made you come home with me that night.” He moves to my other leg, kissing a scar on my upper thigh. “I should have told you about the cameras.” He pulls apart the bottom of my shirt. “I should have told you how much I love you, how I’d do absolutely anything for you.” He presses a kiss to my stomach, gently prying the fabric from my hands and pulling my shirt open further. “I’d give anything to take back that night and do it differently.”

My hands let go of my shirt, leaving it open just enough for him to trail a path up my stomach and between my breasts. His hand is like fire against my skin, my breath faltering when he pauses on my chest, then pushes the shirt off my shoulders.

His face hardens when he sees the strappy cupless bra underneath, my breasts exposed to him, nipples hardened to peaks. A groan gets caught in his throat, and he reaches behind me, grabbing my ass as he rests his forehead against my stomach.

“I don’t know how you could ever forgive me,” he says, his words laced with a pain I’ve never heard from him before. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to earn it.”

Blood rushes in my ears, my entire body vibrating as all the things I want to say clash in my mind.

I should tell him it’s not his fault. I should tell him there’s nothing to forgive. I should tell him I love him. But instead, I blurt out, “Why won’t you have sex with me?”

He peers up at me, eyes dark as his hands find the backs of my thighs again. “Do you want to have sex?”

I hesitate, not knowing how to explain that I do but that I’m so afraid to try.

“That,” he says, pressing a kiss to my hip. “That is why I haven’t.” He loosens a breath. “Fuck, I want nothing more than to be inside you. To see your body writhing beneath me. To feel you tremble as I work you closer and closer to the edge. To hear you moan in pleasure and call out my name as you come undone around me.” He squeezes the backs of my legs. “I’ve never stopped wanting you. But until you can confidently tell me you’re ready to have sex, I won’t push you.”

I feel like I’m standing at a precipice. My very soul flayed open for him to see, with one foot out over the dark abyss below, ready to take that step into the unknown. And either Emmett will catch me on the way down, or he won’t.

“I was afraid,” I confess, running my fingers through his hair. “That you’d reject me. That you wouldn’t want me because of what Trevor did to me.” My throat gets tight. “How could you want to be with someone whose ex carved his name into their skin? A permanent reminder of what he did. Of all the pain he caused. Of how he used me and defiled me and—”

“Baby,” he interrupts, his voice rough. “I don’t give a fuck about that.” He presses his face into my stomach again, his hands running up and down the bottom half of my back. “There’s nothing that would make me want you less. Nothing he could have done that would ever make me reject you.”

“But what if I can’t handle it? What if I… What if my mind can’t separate what’s happening now with what he did?”

“Then we stop and we talk about it, and I’ll give you whatever you need to get through it. Because you don’t have to go through this by yourself, Riley. I’m here. Every step of the way, I’ll be here.”

Waves of emotion wash over me, a whirlpool of things I can’t even begin to identify except for one: I love this man. I love him more than anything else in this entire world. And I don’t want to waste another second letting doubt and fear control me.

I tug on his hair, forcing his head back to look at me. “Then show me.” The words come out strained. “Remind me who I belong to.”

His eyes ignite, and he rises, grabbing my ass along the way and picking me up. I wrap my legs around his waist just as his lips find mine, claiming my mouth with such sweet intensity that my entire being responds. My heart, my soul, everything I could never find the words to say flowing through me as my lips crash with his, our mouths a battlefield of emotion and desire and a deep need.

His tongue invades my mouth, taking, claiming, devouring every piece of me. He walks toward the far end of the closet, swiping a stack of clothes out of the way and setting me down on one of the built-in dressers, his mouth never leaving mine as my back hits the wall.

My body trembles as his hands skim down my sides, the hard length of him pressing into my center as he leans into me. His lips, his mouth, his hands are everywhere; tasting, licking, touching, like he’s a man starved and he can’t consume me fast enough.

His fingers hook around some of the straps on my thong, and a growl escapes his throat. “What the fuck kind of underwear are these?” He tugs at the straps, just for them to get tangled with some of the others on my hips.

I can’t help my shy smile. “I was going to try to seduce you with them,” I admit.

“Cute, but they’re too fucking complicated.” He tugs. Hard. The straps tear and a small squeak escapes my throat. He tosses the remnants of my panties aside. “When I want this pussy, I don’t want to have to fight my way to it.”

I swear part of my soul leaves my body as he stares at me, a feral look in his eyes. I’m entirely exposed to him, save for the small scraps of fabric highlighting my breasts. His gaze is suffocating, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he absorbs every inch of me.

When his eyes linger on my thighs, I move to cover them with my hands, but he brushes them away, placing his own there instead.

“So damn beautiful,” he says reverently, running his hands up and down my thighs, then up over my stomach before cupping my breasts. My breath catches when he grazes his thumbs over my nipples.

“This,” he murmurs, thumbs leaving my nipples to hook in the straps of my bra. “This, I can appreciate.” I lean forward so he can undo the clasp, but he gently pushes me back. “We’ll leave this on.”

I whimper when he leans forward, his breath dancing over my skin as his mouth hovers over my neck, my collarbone, my chest. The tease of his lips, so close yet so far, sets my skin ablaze, my back arching, reaching for the contact.

But he doesn’t allow it. Not until he reaches the underside of my breast, his tongue sweeping out and running a hot path across my skin. I moan as his mouth finally moves to my hardened peak, pulling it between his lips and sucking. His beard tickles my skin, heightening the sensation of his mouth on me. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, closer, closer…

He bites down, just enough for it to sting, before abruptly standing up and grabbing behind my knees, yanking me to the edge of the dresser in one quick pull. I’d fall off, were it not for his body pressed between my thighs, the thick length of him lined up against my pussy, making me wild with need.

I grind into him, rotating my hips in a desperate attempt for friction. I’m already wet, so soaked a damp spot becomes visible on his pants as I continue rolling my hips against him, seeking that pleasure I’ve been longing for.

His hands move behind me, fingers digging into my ass as he helps me grind against him, his own hips rolling to meet mine. It’s raw, it’s dirty, it’s frenzied. Like we both need this so badly, but can’t take the time to stop and do it properly–to remove the barrier of his pants between us.

“Emmett,” I moan, that tension starting to coil tight in my belly.

There’s a low rumble in his chest, then he’s dropping to his knees again, throwing my legs over each of his shoulders. He kisses the inside of my thigh, dragging his lips at a tortuous pace toward my center. When he gets close, so close, he nips at my skin, his teeth pinching and making me hiss, before his tongue soothes the sting away.

“I’ve been aching for this,” he purrs, his mouth hovering over my pussy, his breath ghosting against the already wet skin and driving me to madness with longing. “This need to touch you.” He brings his mouth down on me, his tongue running up my length. “This need to taste you.” He closes his lips over my clit, sucking gently and making my back arch. “This need to ravage you. To make you come over and over again, until the only thing you’re capable of thinking, is that you can’t possibly come again.” His tongue swirls around my clit. “And then I’ll prove you wrong.” He pulls back and runs his fingers up the length of me, gathering my wetness on them. He slowly plunges two fingers into me. “And I’ll keep proving you wrong. Over and over again, I’ll make a liar out of you, until you can do nothing but lie there as I make up for lost time.”

He works his fingers in and out at a deliciously slow pace, getting me so wet that I’m dripping, my juices trailing down my ass and slicking the dresser underneath me. When his mouth comes back down on me, he eats me with vigor, like his sole purpose in life is this. His tongue lashes against my clit as his fingers pick up pace, driving me toward that sweet oblivion.

My body is slick, sweat coating my skin as my breaths come faster and faster. I cross my ankles behind him, holding him captive against me, his beard rubbing roughly against my inner thighs, the sensation of everything so intense I don’t think I can handle it. And then…

I shatter.

My entire body tenses, the pleasure he pulls from me overwhelming as he continues his assault. My body starts to tremble around him, thighs squeezing his head as I grind into his face, chasing the pleasure only he can give me.

He’s relentless, his tongue working me into a frenzy as I fall and I fall and I fall. I close my eyes, stars erupting behind my eyelids as his fingers thrust through the clenching of my pussy, helping me ride this wave of ecstasy, until finally, I come back down to earth.

When I pry my eyes open, his mouth is still on me, licking slow, languid strokes through my folds. I’m panting, chest heaving from the exertion. Tugging on his hair, I pull his face from my pussy, the sensation too much, too intense.

He smirks up at me, a wicked glint in his eyes. “That’s one,” he says, his voice low.

And before I even have time to recover, he’s grabbing me under my ass and pulling me from the dresser so that I’m standing before him. His hands find my hips, turning me around, and then he’s pressing on my back, forcing me to bend over.

I rest on my elbows on the dresser, trying to take some of the weight off my still shaky legs. When I breathe in, my nipples just barely skim the wooden surface, and the sudden, cold contact makes me gasp.

Emmett steps close behind me, his dick pressing into my ass. Fabric rustles, and I look over my shoulder to see him unbuttoning his shirt. A small moan gets caught in my throat when he reaches the last button and pulls it open, the hard lines of his chest and abs flexing beneath all that dark ink as he works the shirt down his arms, then tosses it to the floor.

He leans over me then, one hand braced on the edge of the dresser. But when he rubs his other hand across the top of my back, I flinch, that instant reminder of what Trevor did to me rushing to the forefront.

My heart starts hammering in my chest, and my hands get clammy. Anxiety pools in my gut, and I clench my fists, trying to stop the intrusive thoughts coming to mind.

“Emmett,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Can I turn around?”

I hate that he’s touching my scars. I hate that he’s so lovingly running his hand across my back. Across another man’s name. Across the reminder of all the depraved, disgusting things Trevor did.

“Why?” he asks, his palm moving slowly down my spine, then back up again. My breath stutters, and he says, “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in your head right now.”

I close my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts, to sort through my feelings, to keep the storm brewing in me from breaking free. He doesn’t rush me, doesn’t pressure me to speak. But he also doesn’t leave, his hand still making gentle strokes up and down my spine, back and forth across my shoulders.

“I hate that you’re touching them,” I finally say. “I hate that your touch is so gentle, while those scars represent something so violent. I hate that—” I sniffle, emotion making my eyes blur with tears and my throat thick. “I hate that there’s something so disgusting intruding on this moment. I hate that I can’t get him out of my mind. I hate that you have to see the reminder of him when you look at me.”

His lips come to my shoulder, and I’m about to shrug him off, to tell him to stop, when he bites down hard. I yelp instead.

“What did I say these scars represent?” he asks, his lips hovering over the bite mark.

“Emmett, please…”

He takes a step back, breaking all contact. I’m about to stand up, thinking he’s letting me turn around, when his hand comes down hard on my ass.

“If you want me to stop, tell me and I will. Otherwise, answer the question.” His palm comes to the cheek that he just smacked, rubbing soothing circles over the stinging skin.

My head is a mess, part turned on from him spanking me, part confused because I like the pain he’s inflicting, and part disgusted that I like the pain he’s inflicting. After all the pain Trevor put me through, I shouldn’t like this. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t be getting turned on by this. And yet, suddenly, I’m not thinking about Trevor anymore. I’m only thinking about Emmett, and his hand running soothing circles over my flesh.

His hand comes down again, this time on the other cheek. “Answer me,” he commands, as he starts soothing the sting again.

“They represent…” My mind is fuzzy. What is he doing to me? “They represent strength,” I finally manage to mutter.

“Good girl,” he praises, his hand dipping between my legs and making slow circles around my still swollen clit. “What else?”

My body hums under his touch. Under his praise. And all I want is more of it. “They represent bravery.”

He pinches my clit and I whimper. “What else?”

“Uh, they…” His fingers move to my entrance, teasing me, barely dipping in before he pulls them back out.

Smack.

My hips jolt forward at the shock of that one, harder than the others. It causes my nipples to rub against the top of the dresser, and I groan.

“What else?” he asks, removing his hand from between my legs entirely as the other rubs my ass cheek. I whimper at the loss of his fingers on me.

“Please,” I beg. I need his fingers in my pussy. I need his palm on my ass. I need his pain.

Smack.

I cry out, the intensity of the slap too much and not enough. “More,” I whisper, and my hips back up into him of their own accord.

“Does my needy little slut like the pain?” he asks, grabbing my hips and grinding into my ass, the fabric of his pants harsh against my burning skin. I nod my head. “Then tell me, what else do they represent?”

My breath comes harshly through my nose as I force my mind to focus. “They represent beauty.”

“That’s right,” he murmurs, his hand snaking around to stroke my clit again as he continues grinding his hips into me, his dick like an iron rod pressed against my ass. “Because when I look at you, when I look at your scars, all I see is the most beautiful fucking woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

His arms come around my chest, pulling me up so my back is pressed against him. His hand grips my jaw, turning my face to look back at him.

“You want pain, Riley?” he asks, his face serious. When I just nod, he squeezes my jaw. “Yes or no? Use your words.”

“Yes,” I whisper.

He releases me then, pushing me back down onto the dresser. Only this time he presses until I’m flat against it, my breasts squished underneath me. I turn my face to the side, the cool wood a relief against my overheated skin.

I watch as he moves to the drawer beside me, opening it and taking out a tie. He uses it to tie my hands behind my back. He undoes his belt next, the sound of it sliding free from his pants making me squirm.

His hand comes back to me, running down the length of my spine. “Baby,” he says, his voice so gentle it hurts. “I mean it. If you want me to stop, for whatever reason, just say so. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he says, his hand running down my spine and trailing down the curve of my ass. “You’re such a good fucking girl for me.”

His hand dips between my legs again, his fingers stroking me. When he reappears at my side, he says, “Open.”

I obey, mouth opening wide as he sticks his fingers, wet with my cum, inside my mouth. “Taste how fucking delicious you are.” I wrap my lips around his fingers, sucking and running my tongue along them. “I’ll never get tired of the taste of you. You’re the only thing I want to eat for the rest of my goddamn life.”

I moan around his fingers, his dirty words going straight to my pussy and making me clench. He pulls his fingers from my mouth and then takes them into his own before disappearing behind me again.

I can’t see him from this angle, and when I try to lift up, he presses a hand to my back. “Don’t move.”

His belt comes down across my ass a second later, the snap of the leather loud in my ears as I groan.

It hurts. And it feels so fucking good.

His hand rubs my ass. “How does that feel?” His voice is lower, like he’s having to contain himself.

“Good,” I say, shifting against his hand. “Again, please.”

Smack.

The belt comes down harder this time, and my ass burns. He doesn’t give me anytime to recover before he does it again.

And again.

“Look at you,” he says, bringing the belt down on the back of my thighs this time. I moan at the stinging bite. “So fucking pretty like this, with your cunt dripping all over.” The belt comes down on my ass again, my skin on fire now. “That’s it,” he says, the belt coming down again, even harder this time. “You’re doing such a good job.”

He brings the belt down again, harder still, and this time I cry out, tears pouring from my eyes. And then his hand is between my legs, fingers plunging deep into me, as his other finds my clit and his fingers rub circles around the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves.

Unintelligible words fall from my mouth as he finger fucks me at a brutal pace. My ass pushes against him, the pain from my burning flesh making everything feel more vivid, more consuming.

Emmett adds another finger, stretching me so wide I can hardly handle it, and when he curls his fingers, at just the right spot, I come again.

My body convulses, my hands fighting against the tie around my wrists. I push my hips back into him, onto his fingers, needing more as waves of pleasure wash over me.

Once I’ve finished, my body going lax against the dresser, Emmett removes his fingers from me. I hear him suck them clean, then feel them at my wrists, untying the restraints.

He picks me up, his arms beneath my legs and shoulders, and carries me to bed. When he lays me down on it, I catch sight of his pants.

“You didn’t get to come,” I say, suddenly feeling guilty about how spent I am when he didn’t get anything in return.

“Did you think I was done with you? That was two,” he says, unzipping his pants and taking them off. His dick juts straight out, hard and throbbing.

I swallow. “I can’t… Emmett, I can’t come again.” He just gave me the two most intense orgasms of my life. I can barely even move right now, my body tired and sore and burning in all the best ways possible.

He crawls over me, his knees nudging my thighs open. “This is the part where I make a liar out of you.”