Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve - Emma
Emma woke slowly, awareness spreading through her body like warm honey. The first thing she registered was Olivia—her scent, her softness, the way her body curved into Emma’s as though she’d been shaped precisely to fit against her.
Sunlight filtered gently through the sheer curtains, dust motes drifting lazily through the air, but Emma barely noticed. Her world had narrowed down entirely to Olivia.
She shifted slightly, careful not to disturb the woman sleeping so peacefully against her chest. Olivia’s breathing was deep and even, a gentle rise and fall that stirred something fiercely protective within Emma.
She allowed her gaze to roam openly, over Olivia’s sleep-flushed face.
Her dark lashes fanned delicately over her cheeks, lips parted slightly, bruised and tender from Emma’s mouth, the faint red mark at the base of her throat a sensual reminder of their passion.
My mark, Emma thought, heat and pride blooming low in her belly. She liked that more than she probably should. She liked that Olivia wore evidence of their intimacy so openly, liked that she didn’t hide it.
Emma let her fingertips drift gently along Olivia’s bare shoulder, tracing the curve, mapping the constellation of faint freckles there, memorizing the delicate slopes and hollows of her collarbone. Olivia stirred beneath her touch but didn’t wake, her body instinctively seeking Emma’s warmth.
She’d had lovers before, plenty. But nothing had felt like this. This felt like ownership in the sweetest, most terrifying way imaginable. Olivia wasn’t just another body pressed against her; she was an awakening, a deepening hunger Emma didn’t know she was capable of feeling.
God help me, I want to keep her.
It was dangerous territory, letting herself want something so badly, but Emma couldn’t deny it. Watching Olivia sleep, vulnerable and utterly trusting in her arms, brought a fierce, primal protectiveness roaring to life inside her chest.
Emma leaned down slowly, careful, pressing the softest of kisses to Olivia’s forehead. She inhaled the warm scent of her hair, feeling a deep thrum of satisfaction move through her at the way Olivia murmured softly in her sleep and nestled closer.
“Emma…” Olivia sighed, still half-dreaming, her voice smoky and sweet.
Emma’s heart stuttered at the sound, a shiver of possessive desire tightening her muscles. She felt a rush of heat flood her veins, sharp and immediate.
Mine. The word pulsed through her with a certainty that was both exhilarating and frightening. Olivia had trusted her with so much—her body, her vulnerability, her secrets—and Emma felt the weight and privilege of it profoundly.
She brushed another gentle kiss against Olivia’s temple, then her cheekbone, lingering just long enough to memorize the feel of her skin beneath her lips.
Olivia’s eyelids fluttered open slowly, sleep-hazed and soft, and when their gazes met, something warm and knowing passed silently between them.
“Good morning,” Emma whispered, her voice rough with sleep and desire.
Olivia smiled, lazy and unguarded, stretching slowly like a contented cat beneath the sheets. “Morning.”
“Sleep well?” Emma asked softly, smoothing Olivia’s tousled hair back from her face.
Olivia’s smile widened slightly, the faintest blush creeping along her collarbones. “Better than I ever have.”
Emma’s heart did another slow, sweet flip in her chest. “Me too,” she confessed quietly, tracing a slow circle over Olivia’s hipbone beneath the sheets, her touch intimate.
Olivia sighed softly, eyes drifting closed again, utterly relaxed beneath Emma’s gentle touch.
Emma watched her for another long moment, her body and heart both aching with quiet anticipation, the delicious tension humming beneath her skin.
They had crossed too many lines to ever go back now. But Emma didn’t care. Not when holding Olivia felt this damn perfect.
She would guard this fiercely and protect it at any cost.
Because whatever Olivia had awakened in her, Emma knew one thing for certain: she would never be able to settle for less again.
By mid-morning, the sun blazed overhead, turning the desert air molten gold. Emma tugged Olivia’s hand gently, guiding her away from the familiar trails and toward the secluded heart of the canyon, her most carefully guarded secret.
“Where are we going?” Olivia asked, laughter dancing lightly in her voice, curiosity mingling with something richer, more daring.
Emma cast her a sidelong glance, eyes darkening as her gaze slid appreciatively down Olivia’s sun-kissed skin. “Somewhere special,” she murmured softly, letting the heat in her voice convey every promise, every intention.
They followed a faint path through whispering stands of mesquite and sagebrush, the heat of the day pressing close.
Olivia moved gracefully, her bare thighs brushed by wild grasses, hair lifting slightly in the breeze.
Emma felt the urge to claim swell within her again, the same intoxicating mix of tenderness and primal hunger.
When they finally reached the edge of the hidden pool, Olivia stopped abruptly, breath catching audibly.
“Oh,” she whispered, her voice reverent.
The secluded oasis was a paradise Emma had discovered long ago.
It was fed by an underground spring, hidden beneath overhanging trees whose lush leaves filtered the sunlight into shifting patterns of emerald and gold.
The waterfall cascaded gently over smooth sandstone, tumbling into a crystal-clear pool fringed by moss-covered rocks.
“It’s beautiful,” Olivia breathed, glancing back at Emma, eyes wide and luminous. “How did you even find this place?”
Emma stepped close behind her, gently brushing Olivia’s hair aside to press a lingering kiss to the nape of her neck. “I come here when I need to remember who I am,” she murmured, her lips feather-light against Olivia’s skin. “And when I need to forget.”
Olivia leaned back into her, shivering lightly, already attuned to Emma’s touch. “And which are you doing today?” she whispered, breath hitching as Emma’s hands traced slow, purposeful paths down her sides.
“Remembering,” Emma replied softly, “how good it feels to share it with someone.”
Emma stepped away, pulling her own shirt over her head in one fluid motion, jeans following swiftly.
Olivia watched her openly, cheeks flushed not just from the sun but from desire, raw and unmistakable.
Emma reached out, fingers curling gently around Olivia’s wrist, guiding her slowly into the pool.
The cool water enveloped them, drawing a startled gasp from Olivia’s lips.
Her skin was instantly slick, drops of water sliding sensually down her throat, pooling in the hollows of her collarbones.
Emma moved closer, gently brushing her fingertips along Olivia’s wet skin, savoring the way she trembled under her touch.
“You’re beautiful like this,” Emma murmured, eyes dark. “Wild, free.”
Olivia smiled softly, a flush rising along her throat. “Because you make me feel safe enough to be.”
Emma closed the distance between them, her mouth covering Olivia’s softly at first, then deeper, hungrier, tongues tangling, breaths mingling, heat surging despite the cool caress of the water.
Olivia’s hands slid boldly along Emma’s sides, fingers tracing the curves of her hips, the dip of her waist, as their bodies pressed close beneath the waterfall’s gentle cascade.
Emma groaned softly into the kiss, her own hands gliding along Olivia’s back, feeling muscles quiver and shift beneath her touch.
“Emma,” Olivia gasped softly, head tipping back as Emma’s lips traced a searing path down her throat. “Please.”
Emma felt the jolt hit low and hard at Olivia’s breathless plea, a clean, bright surge that sharpened everything—the roar of the water, the slick weight of their clothes, the heat where their bodies met.
“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” she murmured, teeth finding the tender juncture of neck and shoulder and closing just enough to make Olivia gasp.
“Everything,” Olivia breathed, voice unsteady, thick with need. “I want everything.”
“Good girl,” Emma said against her skin.
She lifted Olivia easily and pinned her to the flat of the stone, the waterfall breaking over their shoulders and backs in a cold sheet that made every inch of warmed skin feel new.
Olivia’s legs came around Emma’s hips without being asked.
Emma braced one palm beside her head, the other splayed low on her belly, then slid that hand down, cupping, mapping, and learning the topography by touch the way she’d been taught to read a landscape: no hurry, no guesswork.
“Okay?” she asked, voice husky from the spray and from holding herself still.
“Yes,” Olivia said, immediately. “Please.”
Emma kissed her—slow, thorough, stealing the last of her breath before dropping her mouth to Olivia’s throat again, tasting water and salt and the pulse that jumped hard against her tongue.
The coolness made the heat brighter. Under the falling veil, she let her fingers slip lower, beneath the waistband, and found exactly what she wanted: slick warmth, an easy welcome.
She stroked once to gather, then set pressure where it mattered and held it, making tight, even circles that didn’t chase, just built.
Olivia’s head fell back against the stone.
A sound broke from her that the water couldn’t swallow.
Her thighs flexed around Emma’s hips and then opened wider, hips arching into Emma’s hand.
Emma tightened her grip at Olivia’s waist to keep her steady and kept the metronome true, circling, pressing, refusing to be rushed.
“Look at me,” Emma said, lifting her head. Olivia dragged her eyes open. They went darker and wider, and Emma felt the answering throb in her own blood.
“Want more?” Emma asked.
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“More, Em. Please.”