Chapter 14 #2
He wrapped his arms around Emerson’s torso. Propped his chin on Emerson’s shoulder. He had to lean down a little, but he liked that, too.
“Anything else?”
“Yeah. Well, not a rule, but I thought—” Emerson exhaled.
“I thought maybe I should tell you. I’ve only ever been with Jay before, and Jay is trans, so I’ve never, uh.
Had sex with a body like yours. Which I probably should have mentioned last night, but I was kind of…
overwhelmed and didn’t know what to say. ”
Luca’s fingers played with the hem of Emerson’s t-shirt.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said. It was good to know; he would be extra careful in making sure Emerson felt safe and comfortable going forward. But it certainly didn’t change anything else about Luca’s plans. “We can work with that, Emerson.” He added, “Sorry for overwhelming you.”
Emerson huffed an exhale again, but this one was tinged with embarrassed laughter.
“Please don’t be sorry for that,” he said, and even though it was said casually, Luca had never felt as much of a green light in his life.
“Okay then. First and final real rule of the pact. You’re in charge of when you want me and when you don’t. Good?”
He held out an open palm in front of Emerson’s stomach. Emerson looked down at it, laughed a little. Finally lifted his own hand from the counter, and shook it.
“Good,” he answered.
“Okay,” Luca said. “Now tell me where you’d be most comfortable for your massage.”
Luca should have expected the pictures.
When Emerson led him from the kitchen down the hallway, Luca had only been focused on getting to see Emerson’s bed.
But when they walked in, the first thing Luca saw were the framed photographs that took up almost the entirety of the right wall.
Lots of Daisy, of course. An older smiling couple.
A younger version of Emerson inside a sweaty group of strangers in a sunny field, arms around each other’s shoulders, a corner of a chicken coop behind them.
And a lot of a smiling, dark-haired man with eyes just like Daisy’s.
Daisy still feels so connected to my life with Jay. Our family.
The only man Emerson had ever been with before.
Luca’s eyes felt glued to the photos.
And then Emerson took off his shirt.
Jerking his head in his direction, Luca stared. Who cared about a wall. Luca certainly didn’t.
“Well,” Luca said. “It’s like that, huh?”
Emerson looked down at himself. “Is that…good?”
Luca shook his head, a flush in his cheeks. He hadn’t actually meant to say that out loud, but it was okay that he did. Flirty, slutty Luca was awake again. And he was damn happy to be here.
“Very good,” he said. “You have a very nice body, Emerson King.”
Emerson’s face had mostly been hidden in a patch of shadow. But when he shook his head toward the light streaming in from the window above his bed, Luca could see his mottled blush.
Luca had already seen a peek of what Emerson looked like last night, when he’d pushed up the hem of his t-shirt to lay a kiss on his stomach, when Luca’s hands had run over the clear definition of abs.
He’d pictured what Emerson’s lean body would look like ever since he’d seen him on that bar stool in the brewery.
Still, he took his time looking now, a bit in awe.
Luca didn’t have a single type. Emerson was an entirely different body shape—wiry, sharp, in addition to being a good foot shorter—than Dell McCleary. And everything about Dell, the softness and the strength of his bulk and his curves, had driven Luca wild, too.
But Luca had always liked ‘em hairy. And the light brown hair covering Emerson’s pecs, the fuzz down the center of his torso—Luca almost stepped forward to touch it. To run his mouth over it.
But he held himself back. That wasn’t what he had promised.
Emerson glanced at the bed.
“Are you actually—when you said you wanted to give me a massage, was that like, innuendo for something else?”
Luca laughed. “No. Lie on your stomach. Please.”
Emerson nodded. “Okay.” And he did as he was told.
Luca had to wipe a hand over his face at the sight.
Emerson, arms folded underneath his cheek, back muscles stretched out before him, golden in the light from the window and bedside lamp.
Ass up in those jeans. It was so pretty Luca wanted to take a picture.
Luca hadn’t even touched him yet, but his dick didn’t really care.
“Is this okay?” Emerson asked after a minute, and Luca shook himself into action.
“Yeah.” He climbed onto the bed, straddling Emerson’s hips. “This is perfect. Except I think it’ll be better if you—”
He reached for Emerson’s shoulders. Emerson let out a sharp hiss.
“Jesus.” Luca reluctantly snatched his hands away. “Your skin is burning hot.”
“Sorry.” Emerson turned his head, buried his face in his arms.
“No, no. I’m sorry.” Emerson’s skin felt fucking incredible. “I should’ve warmed my hands up first. You’re perfect.”
Luca stuck his hands under his armpits before he re-thought it. He unzipped his jeans, better for his own comfort anyway. Stuck his hands against his inner thighs. Directed Emerson verbally while he gave them time.
“I think if you lay your arms along your sides,” he said, “I’ll be able to get to your shoulders better.”
“Right.” Emerson unfolded his arms, which forced him to show his face again, turned against the pillow as he adjusted his body.
Luca wanted to lean down, kiss the crow’s feet by his eyes, the edge of his jaw.
Again: too familiar, too cute. Luca had to get better at defining his own rules as they got into this thing.
“Okay.” Luca took his hands out of his pants. Readjusted his stance. “Let me know if this is okay.”
And then he dug his thumbs into the muscle just above Emerson’s shoulder blades, and Emerson let out a moan so guttural Luca’s dick twitched.
“Fuck.” Emerson turned his head again, burying his face in his pillow to smother a long, loud breath.
Luca kneaded his shoulders a few moments more before tracing down Emerson’s flanks, thumbs leading the way, until he finally dug into the hollows at the base of Emerson’s spine, just above his ass. “Oh god, that feels good.”
Luca bit his lip on a grin.
“Good.”
They settled into quiet then, or at least, a quiet full of Emerson’s rumbling groans and mmms and deep breaths, each one ratcheting up Luca’s arousal until he was pretty sure he was leaking inside his briefs.
Emerson might have played the stoic farmer most of the time, but god, he was reactive when Luca touched him, when he truly let himself go, the way Luca had wanted him to since that first kiss. Every sound felt like a gift.
Luca tried to keep his focus, alternating between hard pushes and soft touches, focusing on the areas where Emerson gave the deepest reactions.
Resisting the urge to lean down and bite all the places his hands were rubbing.
He spent the most time on Emerson’s lower back and shoulders, but gave attention to his arms, too, his biceps and triceps, the tight ropes of his forearms. Emerson went tense when Luca reached all the way to his wrists, so Luca didn’t linger.
But he still gave a good, deep circle with his thumb against the strong bones there before his hands returned to Emerson’s back, making a mental promise to himself to give attention to those wrists, eventually, with his mouth.
“I wasn’t fishing for you to do this, you know,” Emerson said eventually. His head was turned again so Luca could watch him as he talked, half of his mouth dragging against the pillow, voice almost slurred. “When I said my back hurt. I was just, like. Talking.”
Luca smiled. Dug his palms into either side of Emerson’s spine, moved them in slow circles. “I know.”
“But fuck,” Emerson said on yet another groan, followed by a breathy laugh. “I’m glad I did.”
Luca looked down at the curve of Emerson’s mouth, sloppy and blissful, his eyes closed. Luca counted it, another tally mark inside his chest. Laughed again.
“I should do the same for you,” Emerson went on after a minute, voice still drunk. “Your back probably hurts, too.”
Luca only hummed. “One day,” he said. He didn’t want Emerson to be thinking about Luca’s aches and pains. He wanted Emerson to keep sinking into how good he felt: him and himself alone.
That breathy laugh had done something to Luca, though.
Pushed him past some breaking point. After another minute, he couldn’t hold back anymore.
He wrapped his hands around Emerson’s sides—his skin was still so warm it was like hovering over a fire, heating Luca from his fingertips—and leaned down to put his mouth, open and hungry, on Emerson’s shoulder.
Emerson sucked in a short, choppy breath.
“Luca,” he murmured as Luca’s mouth made its way down Emerson’s back. As he darted out his tongue, licking the length of his spine. Running the tip of his teeth against Emerson’s side.
Emerson had been lying as instructed, stretched out and supple, but his elbows bent now, his fists slithering toward his head as his back began to arch.
His breathing, which had been slow and drowsy, turned deep and unsteady.
Luca marveled at how he could feel it under his tongue, how Emerson’s lungs worked against his ribcage.
When Luca’s mouth next reached the band of Emerson’s jeans, he reached his hands around Emerson’s hips.
Emerson tilted his ass up, granting permission for Luca to unbuckle, to unzip, to pull Emerson’s jeans and briefs down his legs.
When Luca stepped onto the floor to tug them off the final hurdles of Emerson’s feet, he took off his own jeans, too, discarding them all in a heap.
He wanted to be comfortable for what he intended to do next.
Emerson’s body had turned tense, uncertain. Luca ran a reassuring hand up the side of his leg, relishing the tickling brush of hair.
“Can you get on your knees?” he asked, voice quiet.