Chapter 11 #3
He was gesturing everywhere as he talked—to the peppers, the greens, the bush beans and onion tops.
Luca squinted at him through the cold, slanting rain, trying to focus on his words.
Mostly focusing on the way the rain had soaked Emerson’s t-shirt, sticking to all the lean panes of him.
The way his arm muscles flexed as he flung his hands around.
“It’s like everything you do, all fucking year, is for these, what, two, three months?
If you’re lucky? And then it gets here and it all just feels so tenuous.
There are a hundred factors that can go wrong with each crop.
You kill yourself trying to get the irrigation right.
Making sure the pond isn’t getting too low.
And then—” A laugh almost swallowed up by the wind.
Luca hustled to get even closer, not wanting to miss another sound.
“It rains!” Emerson finished, throwing up his hands like he was giving praise to God.
They had reached the end of Bed A. Emerson stepped back out onto the grass track that led between the beds, grass that had been dry and brown since Luca got here, quickly turning muddy now.
Emerson increased his speed again, hands now loose in his pockets, head constantly rotating to take in everything he could as they passed Beds B and C, D and E, F and G, until they reached the base of the hill that led up to the orchard and the berry patch.
Without pause, Emerson started climbing.
“You don’t have to stay out here with me getting soaked,” he said over his shoulder, as Luca had, once again, fallen a step or two behind. “There’s no real reason for it. It’s just, when the first good rain hits at the end of summer—”
Another smile, directed right at Luca, that once again almost knocked him right on his ass.
“I just gotta get out here and feel it, you know?”
Emerson faced forward again, almost full-on running up the hill now.
Luca paused for just a moment, watching him go.
The way that ass looked, hustling up the incline, the jut of those shoulder blades.
That smile, that jaw, imprinted now in Luca’s brain.
Luca was still cold, still shivering, more soaked by the second, but something loose and hot was banging around his ribcage, crawling up his throat.
He wasn’t sure where this man had come from, this smiling, taking-strolls-in-the-rain-just-for-fun man who seemed years lighter than all the versions of Emerson Luca had met before. Lightyears away from the man Emerson had been last night.
Luca should go back inside. Take a long shower to warm up, to help this feeling burn out of him. Emerson had practically told him to go. You don’t have to stay out here with me.
Luca put his head down and jogged up the hill.
Emerson was almost to the top by the time Luca reached him.
“Hey,” Luca said again, even though he wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to say next. I’m still here. Got nothing better to do anyway. Or, Aren’t you cold? Can I wrap you in a warm blanket? Or, Why in the world have you hidden that smile from me for so long?
As it turned out, he didn’t have to say anything at all.
Because the moment Emerson turned his head to acknowledge him, the old shitty sneakers Luca had thrown on before chasing Emerson out of the house slipped on an uneven patch of ground, and Luca went down.
Emerson shot out a hand to stop him. Luca, on instinct, grabbed back.
Except this was, obviously, a stupid move. Luca’s momentum was already too swift, too heavy. Luca barely comprehended Emerson’s body pivoting, another hand reaching for his opposite shoulder, a surprised stream of sounds from both their mouths, and then—
Luca’s ankle twisted, flipping him around.
And they both went down together.
Luca’s back hit the wet ground, Emerson on top of him. Chest to chest, one of Luca’s hands still gripping Emerson’s elbow.
“Ah, shit,” Emerson said, winded, the essence of his rain-inspired laughter still infused in each breath. He moved to slide away.
But Luca’s instincts had a different idea.
Before he could even think, his fingers had fisted in Emerson’s shirt, on either side of his torso.
“Wait.” His voice also came out breathless, probably because Luca couldn’t breathe. The whole sequence of the fall had probably lasted two seconds at most, but Luca’s adrenaline was all over the place. The shock of the fall, and then—
The weight. The heat. Emerson’s body on top of his was an anchor, and it felt so good, so solid and grounding that his hands clenched at Emerson’s t-shirt even tighter, pressing into his sides even harder, in an attempt to hold on to the feeling. To not let it escape.
Luca swallowed. Tried to get his wits back. When he said the word again, his voice was steadier. Lower. “Just wait.”
The rain fell on Luca’s forehead, dripped from Emerson’s chin to his own. Mud began to seep through Luca’s clothes, finally breaking through the adrenaline, cold and unsettling.
His fingers unclenched.
Fuck. Fuck. What was he doing? Holding his boss down on top of him while they both got drenched? Even if he was touch starved and lonely, this was beyond inappropriate. This veered decidedly into embarrassing territory, and Luca was tired of feeling embarrassed in front of men he was attracted to.
“Shit,” he breathed. “Sorry, I—”
All he’d been able to focus on for the past however many seconds was the feeling of being held down, the solidness of it everywhere they touched—thighs, hips, chests—while the rest of his senses blurred.
But finally, he blinked into Emerson’s eyes, which were staring straight at him, so directly that the breath stuttered out of him again.
Luca couldn’t quite read what Emerson was thinking, but his eyes were surprisingly lucid, unlike Luca’s head.
Bright, like a bit of that rain-induced euphoria was still crackling inside him like lightning.
Even with the fall, even with the rain sliding into the creases of his eyes, dripping off his lashes.
“I’m sorry,” Luca forced out again, heart thudding in his chest so forcefully he was sure Emerson could feel it. He spread his arms to the side in a show of goodwill, hopefully communicating, sorry I clutched your t-shirt like I was drowning; you can continue sliding off me now. “We can—”
Emerson grabbed Luca’s wrists, pinned them above his head, and kissed him.
It took Luca’s still-scrambled brain a second to understand what was happening.
If he had been a better person, his previous train of thought would have continued. His boss. Beyond inappropriate.
Instead, the only thought that flickered inside his suddenly-very-quiet head was that his first impression of Emerson at the bar that day had been correct.
He did have very kissable lips. Soft but sure. Quiet but expressive.
Luca hadn’t pictured a kiss with Emerson occurring exactly like this; hadn’t been bold enough to believe it could be like this, hands pinned above his head, Emerson’s strong body pressed against his.
But Emerson’s lips—they kissed like Emerson.
The exact way Luca would have expected. Restrained but beautiful, not cocky but so fucking competent.
Luca felt wild with it, turned on and full of affection, never wanting Emerson to stop, wanting to make Emerson let go and turn wild, too.
Like that smile he’d thrown over his shoulder, like laughter in the rain.
Luca strained upward to properly meet his mouth, to push those steady lips open until their tongues could finally meet.
A groan rumbled from Luca’s chest when they did, the sound lost in the torrent around them but the vibration of it echoing across his body. Luca had had some good kisses in his day, but this—this was possibly the most erotic moment of Luca’s whole life.
And of course, no sooner had Luca thought this than Emerson pulled away.
Only a few inches. His fingers were still wrapped around Luca’s wrists, so Luca couldn’t bring himself to stop, straining up even farther to drag his mouth across Emerson’s jaw, down his throat, so that when Emerson swallowed he felt it against his cheek.
“Luca.” Luca could barely hear Emerson’s voice, low and shaky, his breath warm against Luca’s ear. “You serious?”
The question made Luca want to laugh. He didn’t even know what it meant. Serious about kissing Emerson in the mud? Being that Luca still couldn’t seem to detach his lips from Emerson’s skin, he would’ve thought the answer was clear.
But then Emerson murmured his name again, and Luca pulled back until he could see Emerson’s eyes.
So dark and focused and heavy on his that Luca could barely make out the color in them.
A drop of water hung on the bow of his upper lip.
It was still freezing out, the cold still seeping through their clothes, but suddenly, Luca didn’t want to ask any further questions.
Before any more doubt could filter through Emerson’s head, before anything else could enter Luca’s, he answered, calm and sure: “Yes.”
When Emerson lowered his lips to Luca’s again, Luca couldn’t help the keening sound that escaped him.
Emerson’s mouth moved slower this time, even more deliberate and careful, and not being able to touch him, to run his hands under his clothes, to cup his jaw in his palm like Emerson was now doing to him with his free hand—it was killing him.
He could feel the mud on Emerson’s fingertips, smearing across his cheek.
The rain was finally starting to slow, but it still dripped onto Luca’s brow, tickled his arms, absorbed into his back.
Each ping against his skin, each centimeter he sank into the mud felt simultaneously inconsequential against the heat of their joined bodies and like something holy.
For once, Luca and water were at fucking peace.
He’d been trying to hold himself still, hold onto whatever control he had left, but when Emerson’s tongue entered Luca’s mouth with more force, his free hand shifting so his thumb gripped the spot just underneath Luca’s jaw, both acts possessive and hot, Luca couldn’t help himself.
He lifted his hips, needing friction, needing movement.
Almost at once, Emerson shifted away. Hand dropping from Luca’s face. Eyes popping open.
They stared at each other, chests heaving, until Emerson moved back even farther, finally releasing Luca’s wrists.
Luca kept his arms where they were.
“You’re the first person I’ve kissed since my ex,” Emerson said suddenly. “And you—”
Just as abruptly, he cut himself off. His eyes flashed with an intensity Luca couldn’t entirely interpret before Luca saw him retreat. A single blink that somehow wiped his entire face clean.
But even as his words and the forced blankness in his eyes signaled the need for distance, his hips still pinned Luca’s underneath his own. The mud still dampened Luca’s back, seeped into his hair. Luca’s heart still thudded in his chest, his dick still strained against his jeans.
Luca needed to chill, to let Emerson pull all the way back, but—
“And you what?”
“What?”
“You said and you. And then you cut yourself off. And me what?”
Emerson stared at him.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “You are stunningly beautiful, Luca.”
Well, fuck. Before he could stop himself, Luca rolled his hips again. Emerson’s eyelids drooped closed with a small gust of breath that was so sexy Luca almost grabbed his shoulders, rolled him over, and took his mouth again.
But before he could, Emerson was scrambling off him, clambering messily to a stand. Luca blinked up at him, assaulted by the sudden absence of his body, the shelter of it no longer keeping him warm.
“I’m sorry,” Emerson said. “This shouldn’t have happened. I—I need some time.”
And before Luca could say anything in return, Emerson left him there, wide eagle on the wet ground, while Emerson disappeared into the trees.