Chapter 13 A Lifetime Pack of Fun,Breakdowns, Who Knows Cara
It’s Emmett, freshly showered, golden waves damp and tousled, radiating happiness as he leaves the locker room, tie loose around his neck as he beelines for me.
It’s me, jumping on him, wrapping my limbs around his body in front of all the cameras, claiming my man right there on TV.
It’s the sexual tension the entire drive home, so thick it’s hard to breathe as we ride in the dark, his fingers climbing higher on my thigh.
When we arrive home, we stumble through the front door, a tangled mess of limbs as I trip over him, his tongue down my throat.
He laughs, a strong arm catching me around the waist, pinning me against the wall, his cock hard and thick as he presses himself between my thighs.
He catches my jaw, gripping it as he forces my mouth open, his tongue inside.
His fingers work the button of my jeans, and he growls out his frustration, dropping to his knees to yank the tight denim over my hips, letting them pool at my feet.
He helps me step out of them, taking the panties too, but keeping my heels on. Then he spins me around, pressing my chest to the wall, gripping two handfuls of my ass. He hums his appreciation, a filthy, guttural sound, before he spreads me wide and licks me from behind.
“Oh, fuck,” I cry, fingernails digging into the wall as I rock my hips. “Emmett, I want your c—” My words die, right along with my dreams, as I remember what day it is. I toss my head back, squeezing my eyes shut as I cry out with frustration. “Nooo. We can’t have s—”
“Don’t care,” he growls, reaching up to fist my hair, pinning me against the wall.
His tongue glides through my slit, back to my ass, where he bites the flesh softly between his teeth and pushes two fingers inside me.
“The rules say I can’t come, not you. So you’re gonna come, right here on this wall, riding my fingers and my tongue, and then I’m gonna take you upstairs, spread you out on our bed, and enjoy spoiling you within an inch of your life, until you beg me to stop. ”
“But—”
“No buts. The goddamn cum police put me on timeout again, so I’m gonna make you come for the both of us, sweetheart. That okay with you?”
His eyes sparkle with mischief as I look down at him, my cheek pressed to the cool wall as he pumps his fingers in and out, fucking me slowly. My gaze drops to his cock, tenting his pants, and I whimper.
“I know,” he murmurs. “Torture, isn’t it? You’ve got such a greedy little cunt, desperate to be filled by my cock, don’t you?”
“God, yes.” I ride his fingers, gasping when his thumb presses against my ass. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Emmett chuckles, a dark, thrilling sound that sends a shiver down my spine. He pulls his fingers from my pussy, wraps his wet hand around my hip, and buries his face between my legs.
“This pussy is fucking magnificent. Gonna spend the rest of my goddamn life devouring it, knowing there’s never been a luckier man.”
I come right here, right now, the moment those words leave his mouth.
The orgasm doesn’t end, spiraling out of control when he strums my clit, hooks his thumb in my ass, tongue lapping viciously.
When he finally pulls away, his face soaked with my orgasm, hunger roars through me, and our mouths collide in a frenzy.
He hoists me up to him, legs around his waist, groaning as I drag my mouth up his throat while he carries me upstairs.
“I want your cock,” I murmur, flicking my tongue over the shell of his ear. “I want you to force me to my knees. Want your hands in my hair, gripping it tight while you fuck my throat. I want you to tie my hands to the bed and spread my legs so you can take what you want.”
“You wanna be my little slut?” he rumbles, pulling my head back. “Is that what you want?”
“There’s nothing I want more in this world than to be your good little slut.
” I drag my thumb along his lower lip, gathering up the moisture there, the traces of me.
I suck it into my mouth before sliding off his body, turning away from him, fluttering my lashes when I glance back at him over my shoulder. “Too bad you can’t come.”
His eyes darken as he watches me head for the bedroom, and I laugh, because getting him riled up is half the fun. In five days, his pent-up frustration and all my teasing will ensure the hate-fuck immobilizes me for at least twenty-four hours, as any good hate-fuck should.
Turning away, I reach for the hem of my shirt, but pause. My feet skid to a stop in the doorway of our bedroom, at the package on my bedside table.
“Care? You okay?” Emmett stops at my back, hand splayed over my stomach. “Oh, wow. What is that, a lifetime pack?” He laughs, the sound a little uncomfortable. “Kinda psyching me out. I thought you only buy one at a time?”
My pulse races. Blood drums in my ears.
Because there, waiting for me, is the pregnancy test I asked Natasha to pick up for me at the store.
Except instead of one, there are twenty-four.
I DON’T USE ONE.
I use four.
I use the first one nine days after our third IUI, and when it’s negative, I laugh it off, tossing it in the trash while reminding myself I knew it’d be negative, because it’s too early to test. There isn’t enough hCG in your blood nine days post ovulation to trigger a positive on a urine test.
I use the second one the next morning, even though Emmett tells me not to. He tries to sway me with his hands on my body, but I tell him to wait, just five minutes, and then I’ll blow his mind, and his cock.
But then five minutes pass, and the test is missing the second pink line that should be there, the one I convinced myself would be there, because I don’t have a single period cramp, my boobs feel like they weigh a ton, and I cried over a fucking Tim Horton’s commercial about a little boy growing up on hot chocolate before his early morning games before eventually making it to the NHL.
I don’t cry over the single pink line. No, instead, I hyperventilate and assure Emmett I’m totally fine because it’s still too early and I don’t know why I’m even testing, all while laughing, like a mature, emotionally healthy adult.
Then I try to blow Emmett’s mind anyway, even though he convinces me I don’t need to, suggests a walk instead—it’s a beautiful, warm fall day, after all.
Except my hands won’t stop trembling as I tug at his clothes, and when I press my lips to his so he won’t notice the tremor in my chin, he takes my face in his hands, pulling it back.
Warm blue eyes move over me, and I’m not sure if it’s his heartache or mine reflected in them. “You’re crying, firefly,” he whispers.
I shake my head, choking on a sob as his thumbs swipe at the tears free-falling down my cheeks. “No, I’m not. I’m not, I swear.”
A combination, I decide. His heartache and mine, in those eyes I love, the ones that see all.
Because one moment I’m standing before him, half naked and trying to distract us both with sex, and the next I’m swept up in his arms, clinging to him as he buries his hand in my hair and I bury my face in his neck, the shake of his shoulders unmistakable as he cries right along with me.
I promise him I’ll take a break from the tests. That I’ll wait for the blood results in two days, because he’s leaving today for two nights on the road, and he can’t bear the thought of me going through this by myself.
I make it through the first day with ease, partially because I’m buried in a sudden onslaught of work that Shazia insists she needs my help on, despite being fully capable and happily independent every other day, and partially because when I look for the tests in the bathroom cabinet, they’re not there.
On day two, I wake early for my bloodwork, and I’m so anxious and jittery, the nurse misses my vein the first time. Emmett smiles gently from my phone screen, where he’s watching on FaceTime so I don’t have to get my needle all on my own.
“We’ll email you the results in a few hours,” the nurse tells me with a smile that lacks any ounce of hope, as if she already knows the answer.
I agree to wait until Emmett gets home later that night to read the email, and when I walk through the front door, Natasha is unloading groceries in the kitchen.
She smiles at me as she tells me about the overnight oat jars she’s going to prep for Emmett’s breakfast, giving me detailed instructions on how much milk to add the night before, how to make sure I mix it vigorously before putting it in the fridge, to top it with fresh banana slices in the morning, because that’s how Emmett likes it, and I’ve never had such a strong urge to punch someone in the face.
Except maybe that one time I punched Lennon’s ex in the face.
I’d love to punch Adam’s ex too.
And Rosie’s.
Jennie’s too.
Okay, I could be easily persuaded to get a little violent with a few people.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Natasha roots through a grocery bag, humming to herself. “I know it’s nearly your time of the month. You’ve been a little hormonal this week.” She produces a blue box from the bag, presenting it to me like it’s an award I’ve won.
A box of tampons.
“It’s a three-month supply,” she says as she gently tucks the box into my lifeless arms. “Now you won’t need another for a little while. I know how buying them upsets you.”
That’s how I know I’m losing myself.
Because the Cara Brodie I know, the version of me I’ve fought for, she would have looped her arm through Natasha’s, spoke to her real softly as she led her outside.
She’d open Natasha’s car door for her, and when asked what she was doing, she’d simply smile and tell Natasha she was taking the trash out.