Chapter 5 I Devour Tacos Like I Devour Cock Cara
Three and a half years ago: Lessons in swallowing
“ARE YOU EVER GONNA UNTIE ME?”
I glance over my shoulder, a grin spreading across my face when I spot him.
It’s wild what it does to me, just looking at him.
A single glance at the six-foot-three man hand-carved by the gods, one fluffy pink handcuff shackled to each wrist, his thick cock standing tall, and my pussy runs like a faucet.
My heart does this little happy dance, the same way it used to when Mémère would show up on our front porch every Sunday morning, load me in her car, and take me for high tea and shopping.
My body buzzes with the kind of excitement that makes it impossible to sit still, that urges you to seize exactly what you want without waiting for permission to take it.
I think back on all those mornings with my grandmother, the way I’d stare out the window at the community church, all the people gathered outside it.
“Some people like to spend their Sundays worshipping God,” Mémère would murmur.
“I like to spend mine worshipping one of his finest creations: shopping.”
My eyes rake over Emmett, and I’ve never been surer than I am in this moment that Mémère was right. I’d happily spend my days worshipping one of the finest creations this world has ever seen: Emmett Brodie.
I turn back to the mirror, sweeping a layer of lipstick on. “No,” I finally answer, tossing the lipstick in my drawer before I turn back to Emmett. His eyes roam over me, and I swear that gorgeous cock of his grows another inch. “I quite like you cuffed to my bed. You’re easier to manage.”
“Lipstick,” he sputters, yanking on the cuffs, lifting his hips.
“You like?” I trace my lower lip as I move toward him. “Charlotte Tilbury, Red Carpet Red. A gorgeous shade, isn’t it?”
“Buy. I buy. More.” He yanks on the cuffs again, gaze bouncing frantically between my mouth and the bedside table where his wallet lies.
“Oh my,” I murmur, stopping at his side.
“You really like it, huh?” I trail the tip of my finger up the length of his cock, right up to the head.
It really is a beautiful cock. Thick and veiny, with an angry-looking purple head that almost always looks ready to explode.
“Would you like to see it on your cock, Mr. Brodie?”
He nods frantically, blue eyes nearly bulging from his head. “Yes. Yes. Please, Cara.”
He’s so desperate for me, it’s adorable. “I’ll make you a deal,” I tell him, nabbing a pen off my bedside table before I climb on Emmett’s lap. Low on his abdomen, where that perfect v of muscles starts at his right hip, I scrawl the word mine with black ink, dotting the i with a heart.
“Jesus fuck,” he rasps out when I climb off him, showing off my art.
“You keep that on you while you’re away, and I’ll paint your cock with this lipstick when you get home.”
“But I—it’s—” His head whips back and forth between my mouth, his cock, and my handiwork. “I’m gone for ten days. I have to shower. Plus, the sweat from hockey—”
“Guess you better cover it up, then.”
I have never in my life had a shred of jealousy over something as trivial as a man, but I’m not ashamed to admit that in the six days I’ve known this man, I’ve developed a severe possessiveness toward every inch of him, and the two games I’ve watched with Olivia have been spent largely ignoring every word out of her mouth while I instead glared at the TV with my arms crossed, while grinding my teeth.
If I have to tattoo mine on his hip, or his fucking forehead, so that every damn puck bunny trying to get his attention behind the window thingies knows he’s mine, I’m not above it.
Something soft flickers through his eyes, quickly replaced with a fierce arrogance that has him grinning ear to ear, rolling his hips as a chuckle slips free. “Ohhh, firefly,” he murmurs. “You’re fucking obsessed with me. I knew it.”
“As if,” I say firmly, or at least I mean to. It comes out a bit more like a hmph, and I’m not sure how that happened. I free his left wrist and toss the keys at his chest, leaving him to free his other wrist so I can strut to my closet, tossing my hair over my shoulder along the way.
Obsessed with him? As fucking if. I only spend every second of my free time with him to appease him.
He sleeps in my bed every night because he’s big and warm and it’s winter and cold and I’m a princess.
I only schedule a lunchtime debrief call with Olivia every day so I can tell her how many stars I saw the night before when one out-of-this-world orgasm after another launched me straight into outer space. Not because I’m obsessed with him.
The bed shifts behind me, followed by thudding footsteps, and I sink against a broad chest as thick arms wrap around me. Emmett’s lips find my ear, and I can feel the curve of his smile as he whispers, “You’re so cute when you’re in denial.”
“You did this to me!” I shout, spinning and shoving a finger in his face.
He grins, his stupidly thick cock dancing like it’s grinning too, so I aim my finger there next.
“And you! This is all your fault! I would have been perfectly happy with solo and toy-assisted play, frequent free dinners, extravagant presents, and the occasional mediocre dicking before coming home and happily sleeping by myself for the rest of my life, and then you and your stupid smile and your stupid cock and your stupid”—I flail a hand around like I’ve lost my mind and I have a chance in hell at grasping it—“hockey stick came around and demanded my time and attention and now suddenly I have a boyfriend, and you know what I can’t do anymore?
Starfish! I can’t starfish in my own bed anymore, Emmett, because you’re there and you’re here and you’re fucking everywhere! ”
“Oh, baby,” Emmett whispers. His grin does not match the way he inches toward me, like he’s very aware that at a single misstep, I may chop off that glorious body part that’s bobbing up and down between us.
“Get back. Back!” My finger moves between his face and his cock. “Back!”
Suddenly, I’m smooshed against his chest, his cock pressing against my lower belly as he crushes me in a hug, the two of us tangling in my clothes before falling to a heap on the floor.
I struggle against him, but Emmett rolls us over, pinning me beneath him, my wrists clasped tightly in his hands.
The arrogance is there still, shining brightly in all his amusement, but it’s the look in his eyes that quiets the heavy pounding in my ears, the thud of my heart.
The softness. The patience. The understanding.
“If I haven’t already made it abundantly clear, I’m fucking crazy about you, firefly.”
“It’s been six days,” I croak.
“I know. And I know that scares you. Scares me too, because I know this feeling is only gonna grow. Keeps me up at night, just staring at you, because suddenly it feels like my world is centered around a single person, and I am terrified that without you… everything collapses.”
Truthfully, I’ve been fed a lot of lines before, ones that sound just like this. But with Emmett… there isn’t a single part of me that doesn’t believe him. Even if it’s scary.
“I don’t want you to go away,” I admit, burying the fear in his neck when he loosens his grip on my wrists, letting me cling to him. “I like having you here, and I can’t fight off the girls when you’re somewhere else.”
“Baby, you don’t need to fight off anyone.”
“But I can. I can take them, all of them. At the same time. I’ll do it, I swear.”
A quiet chuckle, and Emmett touches a kiss to my lips. “There is zero doubt in my mind.”
“It feels like you’re calling me crazy.”
“It feels like you’re calling me yours.”
My eyes move between his before I finally admit, “I am.”
“Then I’m yours, and you’re mine, and there’s nobody else, not one single person, who could change that.”
I sink my fingers in his hair, hauling his face to mine. “Nobody will ever see you again if you ever touch another woman,” I whisper against his lips. “I’ll go full ‘Goodbye Earl’ on you. They’ll be searching for their beloved missing hockey player for decades.”
“You’re unhinged.”
“You made me this way.”
He captures my mouth with his, and my legs accidentally fall open, making space for his cock to nestle between them. Instead, he jumps to his feet, grabs my hand, and hauls me up, clapping a hand to my ass. “C’mon, Mrs. Brodie. Time to get dressed. We have a first date to cross off our list.”
“I don’t know what to wear. Where are we going?”
“I made two reservations, one fancy and French, one Mexican dive bar. My wife gets to choose which one she’s in the mood for tonight.”
THERE WAS ONLY ONE RIGHT answer, and that answer was Mexican dive bar.
In fact, Mémère has always said that most of life’s problems can be solved with tequila, and since tequila is Mexican, I think it’s safe to apply that logic to all Mexican cuisine.
“Oh, look who decided to grace us with her presence. Where you getting your Mexican from these days? You cheating on us?” The middle-aged woman with her thick black hair spilling out of her bun swats me on the shoulder with her dish towel as I slide into my seat at the tiny two-person table.
“Tell me where, princesa.” She lays her palms on the table, brows rising slowly.
A weaker person might cower. Emmett definitely does.
“You insult me, Luisa. Nobody does Mexican like you.”
Emmett waggles his finger between us. “You two know each other?”
“I’ve been here once or twice.”
Luisa rolls her eyes. “Once or twice, my ass.”
“Okay, so maybe Olivia and I practically lived here once upon a time, but we can hardly be held accountable.”
“Mhmm,” she hums, taking away the menus on the table before we can look at them.
“You lured me in here with a sign for two-dollar happy-hour tacos in your window!” I shout after her as she walks away. “What did you expect?”
Emmett grins. “How many did you eat?”
“That’s neither here nor there.”
“How many did you eat, firefly?”