CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR Emily
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Emily
O kay, recap. We still haven’t talked about where we stand. I’m still moving out in three days. And I can’t sleep at all tonight. Oh, and I have feelings for him. Real feelings, ones that knock the air out of my system and the logic out of my brains.
So, instead of thinking about the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs for the millionth time, I step out of my room to get a glass of water. As I’m standing in the kitchen, I hear a door open, and Joshua emerges. He’s wearing nothing but gray sweatpants. Just... gray sweatpants. My goodness, is there a shortage of shirts in his closet? Maybe I should get him a set for the holidays. Target has those bundles, you know—the kind where you get five for the price of three.
“Hey,” he says casually as he strides near me. Without missing a beat, he grabs a glass from the counter and pours water from the pitcher I left out. “Thirsty, too?" he asks, his voice low, effortlessly calm.
“Yeah,” I say, as I drink from my glass. I suddenly become hyper aware of what I’m wearing. Or what I’m not wearing. Just an oversized shirt and underwear. That’s it.
I sip my water a little faster, my gaze darting around the kitchen as if I’m trying to avoid looking at him, but I can’t help it. He’s right there, standing too close, filling the space with nothing but his presence. I try to focus on my glass, but my peripheral vision betrays me. His throat moves with every gulp, that small bob of his Adam’s apple mesmerizing in a way that makes my pulse flutter.
I should stop. I should stop staring, stop being so aware of every little thing he’s doing. But it’s too late; I’ve already taken too many moments, let myself be too absorbed in him.
Just drink the water, Emily. Don’t make this weird.
We both drink slowly, too slowly, like we’re trying to outlast each other, trying not to give in to the electricity sparking between us. I finish my glass first, and with a quick glance at him, I set it down on the counter and reach for the pitcher, trying to act like this isn’t affecting me.
I open the fridge to put the pitcher back, and my eyes dart to something that wasn’t there when I first got here. Strawberries. I really want one. But our stupid rules say I can’t eat in front of him. It’s fine, I suppose. I can just get one and run to my room. I grab one and make a move to retreat. But as I close the fridge door, he’s right there.
His eyes dart to the strawberry in my hand, then to my eyes, then back to the strawberry.
His voice is almost a whisper, a rough edge in his words. “Are you trying to kill me?”
I blink up at him, confused. “Sorry?”
He lets out a shaky breath, his gaze trailing from my eyes to my lips and back again. He runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to regain control of himself, but it’s obvious he’s losing. “You are unbelievably beautiful, Emily,” he says, the words thick with something I can't quite place. “And like this, unguarded, raw, holding that ,” he stutters, looking frustrated, like he can’t find the right words. “I can’t…” He pauses and straightens, visibly trying to compose himself. “I’m sorry. I... I can control myself. Good night.”
He makes a move to walk past me, but the tension still hangs in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating. I stand there, completely still for a second, my heart hammering in my chest.
And before I can even talk myself out of it, I raise my hand instinctively to stop him, and my palm hits his chest with a soft thud. The shock of contact sends a rush of heat through me, and I look up at him, heart racing, breath catching in my throat.
He looks down at me, his eyebrows raised, surprise flashing across his features. “What are you—?”
“You’re the one killing me,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, but there’s no mistaking the intensity behind the words.
Joshua takes a slow breath, his eyes locking with mine, the space between us shrinking even more. He lifts a hand, almost as if to touch my face but stops mid-motion, his fingers hovering in the air. His gaze flickers down to my lips again, and I can feel my heart racing as the silence stretches.
He pauses, his breath uneven. He shakes his head, and instead of touching my face, he holds my hand that’s still pressed on his chest. “It’s you. You’re driving me crazy. The way you smile. The way you speak. The way you think. The way you look every damn day.” He steps closer, and I can feel the heat from his body, every inch of him pulling me in. “I try not to feel this way, but you…” His voice softens to a whisper, his breath warm against my skin. “You make it impossible.”
For a long moment, we just stand there, locked in this impossible space between us, both of us breathing a little too fast, both of us holding back something we’re not sure we’re ready for, but something we’ve both been wanting for so long. His gaze flickers to my lips again, and I can feel my pulse picking up.
And then, as if he’s made a decision, he turns to me and steps closer.
It’s so quiet in the kitchen now, the only sound is the soft thrum of my heartbeat, pounding in my ears.
“Can I kiss you, Emily?” he asks, in the softest voice.
Do I want him to kiss me? Hell yeah, I do. It’s been all I can think about. But... what does that mean for us? Does he want me the same way I want him? Or does he only want me tonight? This will complicate everything. We should probably talk before we do anything rash because it’s going to be messy, and we will both get hurt. That’s not even a question. I could say no. I should say no.
“That’s against the rules,” I manage to say, my voice trembling with the effort it takes to hold back.
“Screw the rules, they’re meant to be broken,” he asks, his brow arching, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“They’re meant to be followed,” I say, trying to sound sensible.
“Not in this apartment,” he says, taking a step closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “In here, there are no rules and everything is just… real.”
My breath catches. “So, you’re saying, in total, full honesty, that you want to kiss me… for real?”
He exhales slowly, like he’s holding back more than just words. “Since we’re being totally and fully honest,” he begins, his voice dropping an octave. “I feel obligated to tell you that I intend to do much more than just kiss you… if you’ll let me. But yes, for real.”
His hand moves to my face, his fingers brushing against my cheek in a way that sends a shiver down my spine. “So… can I? Please?”
I swallow hard, every rational thought screaming at me to say no, to protect my heart, to avoid the fallout. But the pull I feel toward him is undeniable, magnetic, and so much stronger than my fear.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice shaky but certain.
His smile turns into something softer, something almost reverent. He takes the strawberry from my hand and places it on the counter. “That’s for later,” he says. And before I can second-guess myself, his lips are on mine—gentle at first, like he’s asking again, but quickly deepening when I kiss him back with everything I’ve been holding in.
He’s right. Screw the rules. Screw the risks. Right now, I can’t keep pretending I don’t want this.
And then the most magical thing happens. He angles his body to face mine, and I’m trapped between him and the refrigerator. “Finally,” he whispers, as he leans down, cups my face with his hands, and closes the gap between us again.
His lips are soft, warm, exploring mine with a patience that drives me crazy. His hands slide from my face to my neck, his thumbs brushing across my skin in a way that sends shivers up my spine, igniting something deep inside me.
Before I can think any more, he deepens the kiss, and everything falls away. The world shrinks to just the two of us, and I feel the heat of his body pressing against mine, the urgency of his touch turning into something more desperate, more consuming. And then we’re moving as we kiss. We turn and my back hits the counter.
He picks me up and places me on the kitchen counter as his kisses travel from my mouth to my neck. My body reacts before my mind can even catch up. I wrap my legs around him to pull him closer. I hear his soft grunt of approval, his hands gripping my thighs, as though he’s afraid I might slip away. But I don’t want to go anywhere. I want him here, with me, right now.
We continue kissing, messy and sloppy, but beautiful in its rawness, as though we’re both trying to say everything we’ve been holding back through touch alone. His hands roam, his lips never leaving mine, and then, suddenly, he hoists me up. I’m still wrapped around him—my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life as he moves with purpose.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he says, his voice low, laced with the same desire that’s building between us. His words make my heart race even faster. I can feel his hands gripping my back, my butt, lifting me with ease as he walks us down the hall. We reach the door to his bedroom, and without missing a beat, he opens it with one hand, still holding me up with the other.
“This is your bedroom,” I say, breathless from the intensity of it all, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Very good observation, Em,” he chuckles, but there’s no humor in it—just raw, heated desire. His fingers tighten around me, and I know he’s just as caught up in this as I am.
“You don’t take girls to your bedroom,” I say, my voice unsteady, but there’s a challenge in it.
“Correction,” he says, his lips curling into that dangerous grin I’ve come to love. We’re standing at the foot of his bed now, and he drops me gently onto it, the softness of the sheets against my back making me feel all the more aware of how vulnerable I am. “I don’t take girls who aren’t you.”
And just like that, the walls I’ve been holding up for so long crumble. There’s no more pretending. There’s no more hesitation. It’s just me, him, and… whatever this is.
Joshua’s eyes darken as he watches me, the air between us charged with a tension that feels electric. I can feel my pulse quicken as he moves closer, his lips just inches from mine, his breath warm against my skin. Every inch of me is alive, humming with anticipation, but he stops.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks as he looks at me, his voice low, laced with something that’s almost like fear, but it’s wrapped in tenderness. “Don’t get me wrong, this is all I’ve ever wanted, but I don’t want to rush you. I want to be sure… that you’re not just here because of the moment.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat, my fingers trembling as I touch his chest, “I’m sure,” I say softly.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, a slow, knowing smile that sends a shiver down my spine. “Good,” he murmurs, before closing the gap between us.
He groans, a low, deep sound that sends a thrill straight through me. His hands slip under my shirt, fingers grazing the soft skin of my waist, sending sparks of heat through my body. I arch into him, my hands desperately tugging at his shirt, wanting to feel all of him, to lose myself in him.
“Emily…” he breathes, his voice thick with desire. He lifts his head to look at me, and in his eyes, I see something raw that only makes me want him more. “You’re so beautiful.”
I roll my eyes. “You say that all the time,” I say.
“And I mean it every single time,” he says, no hesitation, no doubt, just honesty. The intensity in his voice makes my pulse race. I smile, unable to hold back any longer, my fingers threading through his hair. I pull him back down to me, our mouths crashing together with all the need I’ve kept bottled up for so long.
The world outside dissolves. There’s no room for doubt, for hesitation—just us, lost in each other, drowning in the heat, the longing, the passion that’s been building, simmering, waiting to ignite.
His lips break away from mine, trailing down my jawline and my neck, sending sparks through my body. He moves lower, his lips brushing over my collarbone, featherlight but enough to leave me gasping. His hands are everywhere—steady, exploring, igniting fires wherever they touch.
When his mouth finds the curve of my shoulder, I shiver, arching into him. And then lower still, his lips marking a slow path down my stomach. The sensation of his warm breath against my skin is electric, and I can’t help but gasp, a soft sound that makes him pause, his eyes flicking up to meet mine.
“You okay?” he murmurs, his voice husky but concerned.
I nod, biting my lip, my fingers tangling in the sheets beneath me. “Mhm,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
He grins, a slow, wicked smile that sends a thrill through me. His hands skim down my sides, gentle yet commanding, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. My breath hitches as he presses a kiss just above the waistband of my underwear, his lips lingering, teasing.
“You ready?” he asks, his voice low and raspy, his breath warm against my skin.
“For what?” I manage to ask, propping myself up on one elbow to look down at him. The sight of him there, between me and the rest of the world, steals what little composure I have left.
He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he gives me that playful, Olympic wink, the one that makes my heart stutter and my body melt. And then, in mere seconds, all the pieces of clothing are on the floor, and I can’t think. I can barely breathe. All I know is the feel of his hands on my skin, his lips following, and the way he makes me feel like I’m unraveling and whole all at once.