Chapter 3 Let Me Just Triple Knot This… Emmett
Three and a half years ago: The day after the first day of my life
NORMALLY, I CONSIDER MYSELF A logical man.
But if I were logical, I might not have taken one look at the prettiest woman I’d ever seen in my life, declared her my future wife for absolutely no reason other than that it felt like I’d spent my entire life blind until she graced my vision, hid in a bathroom until everyone left, then surprised her in the kitchen and, well… done what people do in kitchens.
Eat.
And I certainly, absolutely wouldn’t be standing outside her apartment right now, mere hours after saying goodbye to her.
When I say, “saying goodbye to her,” what I really mean is I asked her for her address so I could pick her up for our date tonight, she smiled at me like I had no brain cells, patted my chest, and said, “Thanks for the fuck, big boy,” before climbing in her Uber and disappearing.
Which is roughly the same thing.
Among the sounds of downtown Vancouver, I hear the quick click of heels along pavement, and don’t ask me how, but I know it’s her. I’m so certain, that when she pauses beside me to key in the code to her building, “Morning, Mrs. Brodie” leaves my mouth before I’ve even looked at her.
She gasps, and the second our eyes meet, it’s over.
Life as I know it, the world, I don’t fucking know.
It’s the same way I felt when I saw her last night, all honey-blonde hair, red satin dress, and the most dangerous set of legs that have ever existed.
And then she looked at me. Determined blue eyes sliced right through me, and the only thing I saw in them was a life I had to have.
Everything stopped. Everything went silent, and slowly, so damn slowly, my heart started beating all over again, one quiet thud at a time.
I had to have her. I have to have her.
“Jesus motherfucking…” She places her hand over her chest, exhaling sharply as she clutches at the coffee cup in her other hand.
“Donkey dicks.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder, regarding me like she doesn’t remember me stuffing her full of my cock at midnight, but I see the intrigue dancing in her eyes. “Oh. It’s you. Again.”
“Again,” I agree with a nod.
“You’re… here,” she says slowly, uncertain, like she thought last night was a game, that she’d disappear from my life as quickly as she’d appeared, extraordinary and glowing, but fleeting and elusive, like a firefly gone in the blink of an eye.
I’ve always wanted to catch a firefly.
“You seem surprised,” I say, holding her gaze as she keys in the code to her building again, finishing it this time. “Which is weird, considering we’re getting married.”
She glances at her left hand. “Weird. I don’t see a three-carat emerald-cut diamond with a hidden halo and pear-shaped accent stones set on white gold on my finger.” She tilts her head, frowning as she pats my chest. “Try harder, Brodie.”
I let my gaze follow her a moment as she struts into the lobby before I stick my foot in the doorway, stopping it from closing. I pull my phone out and start a new note as she calls for an elevator. “Three-carat… emerald…”
“Emerald-cut, not an emerald. Don’t fuck that up.”
“Emerald-cut… hidden halo, just like my angel…” I grin when she snorts, and my eyes rise to her, watching. “Pear-shaped accent stones, white gold.”
She rolls her lips, trying to hide that smile as I join her at the elevator. She doesn’t ask me why I follow her inside, and her brow only quirks a touch when I press for the eighteenth floor without needing to be told.
We ride in silence, staring at each other from across the elevator.
“Custom-made,” she tosses out, sashaying into the hallway upstairs. “I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing the same generic ring as a thousand other people.”
“Oh, of course. One-of-a-kind ring for my one-of-a-kind queen.”
She leaves her door open as she steps out of her black heeled boots, sets her coffee down, and hangs her purse up.
With her gaze on mine, she unbuttons her wool coat, sliding it off, revealing the pink satin negligee she’s wearing below, which isn’t fucking clothes.
Her nipples harden as I look her over, and a greed so feral grips my throat at the small, faint bruises painting her neck, her collarbone, all the marks my mouth left on her last night.
And my mind screams the same thing it did then.
Mine.
The corner of her mouth hooks upward as I storm into the apartment, the door slamming shut behind me. She backs herself into the living room, a beautiful crimson flush decorating her skin as I flip the lock, tear off my coat, ditch my boots.
“You’re not allowed to wear that in public,” I growl out, prowling toward her.
“I wear whatever I want.” She hoists herself onto her kitchen island, long golden legs swinging, a devilish smile on her face as one strap slips off a freckled shoulder.
When I step between her thighs, she looks up at me with wide eyes, batting thick lashes.
“Am I in trouble?” she whispers, fisting my shirt, hauling me closer.
Pillow-soft lips ghost along my jaw, up to my ear.
“Because if so, then you’re really not gonna like this. ”
She pushes me back a step, trailing a long, glossy red fingertip up her creamy thigh, that pink satin creeping higher and higher.
Then, my favorite little thing hikes one leg up, propping her heel on the counter, and I nearly swallow my tongue as she dips her hand, running two fingers over her glistening pussy, pulling her wetness up to her clit.
“Oops. Guess I forgot to wear panties today.”
My fingers are around her throat a second later, my mouth on hers as she spreads her legs for me, tears my shirt over my head, nails scraping, biting.
“You’re a bad fucking girl,” I tell her, fisting her hair, pulling her head back so I can drag my mouth down her throat.
I find her nipple, nipping it through the satin, and she whimpers.
Hovering above her, I cup her warm, wet pussy. “Whose bad girl are you?”
“Mine.”
I slap her clit.
“Yours!”
“There you go, baby. My bad girl, but such a good girl too, huh?” I stroke her clit, watching her as her hips roll, silently begging for more.
When I slide two fingers inside her, she sighs, head rolling over her shoulders.
“Nuh-uh, firefly.” With her hair in my fist, I drag her gaze back to mine before forcing her to look at the way she’s taking my fingers, searching for them every time they pull back, the way her pussy weeps every time I drive myself inside her again.
“Look at you, gorgeous. Such a pretty, greedy pussy, begging for my fingers. You want my cock too?” I capture her mouth with mine, swallowing her cries as I plunge a third finger inside her.
“All you have to do is tell me you’re mine. ”
“You’re unhinged,” she gasps out, but then buries her fingers in my hair, wraps her legs around my waist, and tells me, “My bedroom. Now.”
“That’s a yes, then,” I barely manage, groaning as she rubs her soaked pussy against my torso while I head down the hall in search of her room.
“That’s a no.”
I press her into the wall, slapping her hands on either side of her head, our chests heaving as we stare at each other. “Give me one good reason.”
“We don’t know each other.”
“Next.”
Her nostrils flare. “Emmett—”
“Your name is Cara Hunter. You’re twenty-four years old, and the sole owner of your event-planning business, Fête you don’t need anyone to take care of you, but you also like being taken care of.
Do you need me to recite your address, or is it a given that I know it? ”
Cara blinks up at me.
“Yes, I looked into you. Yes, I chased Debbie for your name and your address and anything else she was willing to share about you. It wasn’t all that hard, and there was even some excited clapping on her end.
All I had to do was tack on a pretty please and promise her a special mention during our wedding toast.” I drop my face to her neck, kissing the pulse point fluttering there.
“I know what you feel like from the inside out. The exact shade of red your skin flushes when I’m making you feel good.
The way your nails feel tearing at my shoulders, and the sounds you make when you’re coming.
” My lips meet hers for a hungry kiss that has her hips rolling against mine.
“I don’t need to know everything about you to want to date you.
Getting to learn you is gonna be half the fun. ”
Another look, skeptical and silent. And then Cara Hunter comes alive.
One moment she’s in my arms, pinned against the wall. The next, she’s on her feet, tearing at my belt buckle, ripping my zipper down. “God, you’re so fucking hot,” she growls as we pinball our way down the hall, tripping into her bedroom, mouths and hands everywhere.
“I like M I’m gonna be doing it for the rest of our lives. “Ollie, we accidentally got a little…”
I hold up our joined wrists. “Tied up.”
“Can you get us the key? I think it’s in my underwear drawer.”
I yank our joined wrists to my side and then haphazardly shove them under my butt. “You can’t undo us until Cara agrees to date me. Cara, agree to date me or Ollie’s not undoing us, right, Ollie?”
Cara glares at me. My grin is big and wide. Nearly identical to the one spreading across Olivia’s face right now.
“Oh, this is so good.” She crosses the room, rooting through a dresser drawer before turning back to us, key ring hanging from her pointer finger. “You’ve met your match, Care. Imagine the extremely beautiful, strong-willed babies you’ll make together.”
I throw my hand—and Cara’s—in the air. “Right? That’s what I keep saying! We’re gonna be best friends, Ollie.”