15. Emerson
FIFTEEN
EMERSON
The same could be said for the energy between Bryce and me. We’ve crossed into a new neighborhood. One where my tongue enters his mouth.
Usually, I’m good at keeping my feelings in check.
As a Midwesterner, my childhood comprised being told to always keep a smile on my face and that boys never cry, which molded me into a tank when it came to emotions.
But seeing Bryce break down at the opera, his entire body a shaking pillar of vulnerability …
it drew me toward him. The parts of him that are most dissimilar to me are the qualities I cherish most.
Bryce may just be the Xs to my Os.
Unless he felt forced to kiss me back or risk being thrown out on the street. Crap, I should’ve asked first. The power of Puccini compelled me. Did I cross a line? He and Bobo have nowhere to go. I’d never want to put him in a precarious position.
I turn to him, an awkward smile stamped on my lips, no idea what to say.
I’m sorry.
But I’m really not.
I want to kiss you again.
Everywhere on his body.
I strum my fingers harder against my leg, out of view from Bryce. I came to New York to rehabilitate my career, and I can’t lose focus.
I turn to him again, unsure what to say to his sweet face. I’m seconds away from saying “How ’bout them Yankees?” when the cab mercifully pulls up to our building.
We walk up the stoop. Each step jolts my pulse a little higher.
I try not to stare at Bryce’s juicy butt, but like Mona Lisa’s smile, it follows me wherever I look.
Bryce checks the mailbox. The vestibule is a tight fit for two grown men. I keep some space between us—afraid of what I’ll do if we start touching.
“Great show,” I say, officially out of things to talk about that don’t include kissing and rubbing up against each other.
“Yeah, it was.” Bryce hands me an envelope, some bill or piece of junk mail I quickly cram into my jacket pocket.
“Listen,” Bryce says, his adorable forehead crinkling. “I’m sorry about that weird outburst at the opera.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“I usually don’t let music get to me unless it’s performed by one Miss Carly Rae. I guess this weaseled its way in somehow. So just ignore it. I didn’t mean to make anything weird.”
“It wasn’t. You didn’t.” I’m very adamant about this. The more Bryce tries to back away, the more I’m compelled to cross the imaginary line between us. “You didn’t make it weird.” I think about rubbing his arm but decide against it. “I made it weird by kissing you. That was highly inappropriate.”
Our bodies are suddenly very close in the tight vestibule, as if pulled together by a gravitational force. We’re practically touching, vibrating.
Bryce studies my face, a knowing smile on his lips. What the hell is he looking for? What the hell does he know?
“You know what else is totally inappropriate?” Bryce says.
“What?”
“That I want to keep doing it.”
He licks his lips, and that is all the green light I need. I push him up against the mailboxes and plant a ferocious kiss on him. All the sweetness and emotion from the opera house replaced with lust and wanting. I had an appetizer, and now I want the main course. I’m ready to feast.
Bryce moans against my lips as his tongue presses into mine. Our tongues wrestle in the space between our mouths. His hot breath sets my body ablaze.
He gasps into my ear as my hands traverse his body. Neither one of us is small, but with a good five inches on him, he’s like a little teddy bear in my grip. A teddy bear I want to devour.
“We should do this upstairs,” I say, pulling away, barely catching my breath, not knowing how much I truly wanted him until now.
“You’re right. Our neighbors don’t need a free show.”
I pull open the door to the stairwell. “After you.”
Bryce goes first as my heart rages in my ears. We are six stories away from continuing this, six stories from me getting my hands all over him, from tasting him again.
My desire compounds as Bryce walks up the stairs, his plump ass right in my face, but I hold myself back. I’m throbbing in my pants .
I’m a nice boy, and we’re waiting until we get to our apartment. Yes, we are. I’m keeping everything in check.
When we get to the landing of the first floor, we make eye contact like two predators in the wild.
That’s all we need. Bryce pushes me against the wall next to Mrs. Van Houten’s door, and we go at it again, tongues wrestling like our mouths are trying out for WWE.
I run my hands through his hair—his beautiful, silky hair—letting them graze down the light, very light, stubble of his cheek.
“Bryce.” Someone says behind me. “Fuck you, Bryce!”
“Who was that?” I pull back.
“Bryce,” someone squawks again from behind the opposite door.
“Is that a parrot?”
Bryce sighs. “That’s just Camilla. Horton’s bird.” He points to the door behind us. “She can sense when I’m around.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me up. “We should keep moving before her owner comes to the door.”
We move to the next landing, pausing for another kiss. Bryce smells like pineapple from the lip balm he plastered on in the cab. I never knew making out with a pina colada could be so tasty.
“I could do this all day.” Bryce runs his fingers through my beard, scratching under my chin like I’m Bobo. And it feels … nice. My tail is definitely wagging for him. He nuzzles into my facial hair as his fingers dance on my neck.
“Yes. You feel so good,” I whisper.
I let my greedy hands filter over his chest and his stomach. He’s thick, but you can’t be a dancer and not have muscle. Under his curves, the firmness, the ripples of his biceps and pecs, tantalize my fingertips.
Bryce lifts his leg up to my arm in an impressive show of flexibility .
“Baby, you’re gonna be so happy you had sex with a dancer.” He arches an eyebrow.
I hold up his leg, letting my hand graze down his thigh, getting so close to an area I really want to venture to. Once we make it up to the sixth floor.
Bryce pulls back.
“We … we have four more floors.”
“That’s right,” I say.
“We shouldn’t be doing this here.”
“Obviously,” I say. “Very inappropriate to our neighbors. I haven’t met most of them, but this is not the first impression I want to be making.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, let’s keep walking. Actually, I’m walking first,” I tell him. I can’t be distracted by his ass again. God knows what I’ll do.
This time, I go first up the next flight of stairs. My dick pokes against my suit pants, making it hard to balance. I can barely walk. All my blood is rushing to one core area. Just as I feel myself cooling down, two gutsy hands grab my ass cheeks when I approach the third-floor landing.
“What the …?”
“My hand slipped,” Bryce says behind me.
“Both of them?”
“Whoops.” He squeezes my ass again. Hard.
I let out a low moan and lose my balance. I don’t make it to the third floor. I fall onto the steps. When I spin around, a stair digs into my back, and Bryce is on top of me.
He laughs as he kisses me, his hot breath tingling on my tongue. I laugh back, my heart feeling especially full. I love the way his sturdy frame feels on top of me, and I pull him closer.
We make out like crazy, starting up just where we were. Hands all over each other, hands traveling and exploring each other, tongues zipping in and out .
I unbutton his shirt and reach inside, eagerly feeling his curves and muscles. I rub my beard across the skin peeking out from his dress shirt, and he moans into my ear.
Bryce’s fingers fumble down to my belt. My pulse quickens, matching the rhythm of my throbbing cock.
“Wait,” I say with a desperate gasp.
“Right,” Bryce replies, his hair askew and skin flush. “We can’t do this in the stairwell. It’s not appropriate. We don’t want to destroy our camaraderie with our neighbors.”
“No, we … we only have a few more flights to go.”
Damn. Why did I sublet a six-story walk-up? Of course, I did not foresee this issue happening.
“Just so you know, we are totally going to fuck like jackrabbits the second we’re inside the apartment.” Bryce gives my bottom lip a nibble.
I sit up and kiss his lips, now red from all the attention … or maybe my beard. He kisses me back, and god, I could keep doing this all night long. But not here.
I manage to stand up, even though I feel like a goddamn tripod right now.
“Do not grab my ass,” I tell him with the utmost seriousness.
He holds up one hand and puts the other one over an imaginary bible.
“I won’t. I promise.”
“So help you, god?”
“So help me, Carly Rae.”
I climb the stairs faster. I’m not good with this kind of cardio, but Bryce doesn’t huff and puff. I need to reserve my strength for the apartment.
I spin around. Bryce has both his hands up.
“I’m not touching you!” he says.
Damn, how I wish he was.
I make it up to the fourth floor. But god, just the thought of having Bryce in this stairwell gets me so wild, I can barely focus on moving my feet.
Right before the fifth floor, I stop. Bryce bumps into me.
“Why’d you stop?”
I turn around, pull him into a kiss. We fall backward onto the staircase again, another stair hitting me in that exact same part of my back. But it’s all worth it. The pain is worth the pleasure.
His shirt still unbuttoned, I smooth my hand inside, over his chest again. I grab at his pec. Mine.
“Emerson,” he whispers my name, hungry and desperate.
I pull his bare belly against me, needing to feel his weight.
“Don’t make too much noise,” I say.
Bryce nods, then whispers, “We’re near Marsh and Data’s apartment.
I don’t think they’d mind.” He continues his fancy work on my belt, undoing it, reaching inside my pants, and grabbing at my aching cock.
I arch my back in exuberant relief, wanting more, knowing that this isn’t the place to do it. But I can’t stop, won’t stop.
Bryce stares directly at me as he strokes my cock. I could blow like a volcano right now, but I hold myself back using the small reserves of willpower I have left.