Chapter 4 The Vibrators? We Keep Those in the Kitchen Cara
YOU KNOW THE KIND OF people I hate?
The ones who act like it’s Jesus’s fucking second coming every damn time the sun shines.
Like, I get it, especially living in a place like Vancouver, where overcast skies and light drizzle are the standard.
The sun peeks out from behind the clouds, kisses your cheeks with warmth, and has a smile tugging up the corner of your mouth.
We could leave it at that. But some people?
Some people prefer to spend the entirety of their day making meaningless small talk about how glorious the sun is, how the act of it simply existing seems to inspire them to take on a whole new perspective in life. And then there’s me.
“Ah!” I stagger down the hallway, spinning into the wall as the light streaming through the windows burns my corneas.
“My eyes! My beautiful eyes!” I claw at them, stumbling aimlessly into the kitchen, where the smell of coffee calls to me.
Arms flailing, I find the corner of our island, then our stove.
The fridge next, and I take three steps to the right, cracking one eyelid before I fold myself over the counter in front of our espresso machine.
A sigh of relief as I wrap my hands around a latte and take a sip before laying my cheek on the cold counter, squinting at Emmett.
He’s watching me the same way he always does, eyes that roam every inch of me, a curious little smile that says I’m the most fascinating creature in his world.
“Beautiful day, huh?” He shovels a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. “Look at that sunshine.”
“Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t you dare.”
“Just gorgeous. Really puts things into perspective for me, you know?”
“Emmett…”
Another spoonful of oatmeal as he holds my gaze, his alight with laughter. “Changes my whole outlook on life.”
“Uggghhh.” I flop back down on the counter, smooshing my face into the marble. “The sun is only here to burn us and age us, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let a ball of fire take me out looking twenty years older than I am.”
“That would never happen. You’ve finally found your holy grail: daily sunscreen.”
I ignore the humor in his voice, whipping upright. “Yeah, and look how long that took me! Think of all the years wasted, all the wrinkles that could surface at any moment from decades of sun damage!”
“Decades,” he murmurs, brow quirked as he nods, wide-eyed, into his coffee.
“I hate everything and everyone,” I mutter, collapsing on the counter once more for dramatic effect.
“Nah.” I hear the water running, the clang of his bowl being loaded into the dishwasher.
I don’t see him, but I feel the way the air changes as he ambles over to me, the way it kisses my skin and warms me.
His cock presses against my ass, and he threads his fingers through my hair, gathering it in his fist, hauling me off the counter.
He forces my gaze to his, his hand closing around my throat, keeping me where he wants me. “You’re a lover.”
He spins me back to the counter, pinning me to it with his hips as he guides my gaze outside, to the lush forest, the mountains we’re blessed with having right here in our backyard, the way the sunlight dances over all of it, bringing it to life.
“You love this view,” he murmurs against my neck, working his mouth down the length of it as his fingers creep around my waist, splaying out over my exposed torso. “You love the sunshine.”
“Nuh-uh,” I argue weakly, watching as his fingertips dance along the hem of my skirt.
“Yuh-huh. Because sunshine means days spent outside with our friends, and you love our friends.”
I reach my hand back, cradling the side of his neck. “Sometimes.”
“All the time. Wholeheartedly. Even Carter, and even when he’s driving you up the wall.”
“The only place he ever drives me is up the wall.”
“It’s his favorite place to take you.” Emmett’s fingers slip below my skirt.
“You love me the most. Love the way I look at you, the way I hold you. The way I kiss you,” he murmurs, and I turn my head, letting him capture my mouth, sighing as he eases his tongue inside.
“Yeah.” He smiles against my lips. “You love the way I kiss you.”
I do. Jesus, I do. I forget everything with his mouth on mine, everything but the way he makes me feel. Who needs sunshine when you have Emmett Brodie?
“You know what I’d really love?” I roll my hips, smiling at the hiss he lets slip free as his cock hardens against my ass. “Really love it if you’d fuck me into a coma so I could sleep off this hangover.”
His forehead drops to my shoulder with his deep belly laugh. “How the fuck are you still hungover? It’s been three days.”
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure I drank three times my body weight in frozen margaritas and straight tequila. I need more recovery time.”
Vegas will do that to you, especially when two of your besties decide on an impromptu chapel wedding while you’re there.
Was I the birdie in Jaxon’s ear who planted the idea of proposing to Lennon, and then marrying her immediately? Yes, but—
Actually, there’s no but. It was some of my finest work yet.
Those two were destined for happily ever after, and I was just speeding the process along.
Jaxon would have fixated and panicked about a proposal for months before finally working up the courage to ask her.
Instead, we traded tequila shots until I convinced them to trade wedding rings, because nothing in this world makes more sense than marrying your best friend in Vegas in July, just weeks after winning your first Stanley Cup.
They should name their first baby after me.
“You can’t handle your alcohol the way you used to, baby. You’re getting—”
“Don’t you dare,” I whisper. “Don’t you dare finish that sen—”
“Old.”
I gasp, and the second I open my mouth, he covers it with his hand. I claw at it, try to jam my elbow back into his stomach, but my man is made of steel, and my efforts are fruitless.
“I hit a nerve, huh? Sorry, baby.” He traces the edge of my panties, and my stomach bottoms out when he slips below, running the tip of his finger up my slit, dragging all that moisture to my clit.
I go slack in his arms, thighs parting to let him plunge a finger inside, and he buries his chuckle against my neck. “That’s my girl. Give up the fight.”
Emmett and I do this so well, the back and forth, the give and take.
I’m extremely comfortable in who I am, and I have no problem using my voice.
It’s what Emmett loves most about me, the way I don’t tone myself down for anyone.
He lets me run the show, happy to sit back and let me handle it.
But here? Behind closed doors, when he’s all mine and I’m all his?
I love to give it up. The control, the attitude.
Love to let him fuck it right out of me, watch that feminism leave my body as I wave goodbye to it.
But sometimes I like to make the rules in here too.
Pushing inside my panties to join him, I grip his hand, urging a second finger inside, eyes rolling as he obliges, filling me.
“Greedy girl,” he murmurs. “Just like the day we met. Your pussy couldn’t get enough, kept weeping for more.”
Oh, God. He teases me with a third finger, and I slap at the drawer on my left, two down. A rainbow of silicone peeks up at me, but before I can reach anything, Emmett rips my hand away, yanks the other from my pants, and slaps them down on the counter.
“You want more?” His tongue dances up my neck as he cages me in. “Then I get to decide what you get, how much more you can handle, and you’ll take it and say thank you. Say, Yes, Emmett.”
“Yes, Emmett.”
“Turn around.”
I do, because I’m a real good girl when I want to be.
His eyes flash with appreciation. “Off. Now.”
He doesn’t give me any space, so I press myself against him as I bend, slowly peeling my thong off. It dangles from my finger for only a moment before he snatches it, shoving it in his pocket.
“Gonna use those to jerk off later?”
“Yes,” he says simply, eyes glued to my bare ass, my skirt bunched around my hips. “I changed my mind. The skirt can stay.” My ass is on the counter, feet flat and legs spread, and before I comprehend how I got here, his hand comes down sharply on my clit. “And watch the tone.”
“Natasha will be here in ten,” I say about our housekeeper as I watch him riffle through the drawer. “Good thing you never last very long.”
His hands still. Slowly, his gaze rises to mine. Even more slowly, he smiles. It’s the type of smile I love to see on him—devious and dark.
Holding my stare, his hand emerges from the drawer, dropping my favorite wearable double-ended vibrator on the counter as he opens his phone to the app that controls it.
Look, I know what you’re thinking. A drawer of sex toys in the kitchen? But you never know when the mood is going to strike. Sue me for being proactive. Plus, it’s not like we don’t clean up.
“Good call,” I manage, as a full-body shiver ripples through me. “In case your cock and fingers aren’t doing the job.”
The flash of his eyes. The drop of his head.
The sinister chuckle that slips out, shaking his shoulders.
He steps into me, taking my chin between his fingers, pulling my mouth to his for a slow, heated kiss.
He thrills me like this, the soft bits of him he gives me while he stokes the fire, leaves me wondering what he’ll do next.
He rubs the ribbed shaft of the vibrator along my slit before pushing it inside me, driving it in and out, in and out, all while he fucks my mouth with his tongue. I moan, scooting forward, wrapping one arm around his head as I try to crawl closer.