Chapter 31 Emily
EMILY
Iheard Cam’s truck pull into the driveway and my hands stilled on the counter I’d been wiping for the third time.
This was it.
My stomach twisted into a knot so tight I thought I might be sick. I forced myself to keep breathing. In through my nose, out through my mouth. The same way I’d been doing for the past hour while I waited for him to get home.
The girls had gone down easy tonight. Alice had fallen asleep halfway through the second chapter of her book, and Audrey had been out before I’d even finished tucking her in. Which meant I’d had nothing to do but sit downstairs and spiral.
So I’d started cleaning.
I’d found a cupboard with a top shelf full of empty jars.
Mason jars, pasta sauce jars, jam jars. All clean but dusty, like they’d been saved for some future purpose that never materialized.
I’d pulled them all down and lined them up on the counter, wiping each one carefully with a damp cloth even though they didn’t really need it.
Anything to keep my hands busy. Anything to stop myself from chickening out and running home the second he got back.
The metallic scrape of a key in the lock shattered the silence. Then came the creak of the door. His heavy footsteps in the entryway.
“Em?” His voice carried into the kitchen, low and a little rough. Probably tired from whatever job had kept him out this late.
“In here.”
He appeared in the doorway a moment later, and my heart did that stupid thing it always did when I saw him. That flutter and squeeze that made me want to cross the room and bury my face in his chest.
But I couldn’t do that.
He looked tired. His hair was messy and there was dust on his jeans. But his eyes softened when he saw me, and a small smile tugged at his mouth.
“Hey.” He moved further into the kitchen. “Girls give you any trouble?”
“No. They were perfect.”
“Good.” His eyes roved over all the glass jars on his kitchen counter. “Everything okay?”
“Uh, yeah. Well, um, no, actually.” I set the dishcloth down, my hands gripping the edge of the counter. “I wanted to talk to you.”
He stilled. “Okay.”
The silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable. The words I’d practiced in my head for the past two days suddenly felt impossible to say.
“The other night,” I finally managed. “In the truck.”
“Yeah.” His voice was careful. Guarded.
“I can’t keep doing that.” The words came out in a rush. “I can’t keep doing this to you. It’s not fair.”
He straightened, his jaw tightening. “Doing what to me?”
“This.” I gestured between us helplessly. “Kissing you and touching you and then pulling back. Leading you on when I know it can’t go anywhere.”
“Who says it has to go somewhere?”
“I do. Cam, you deserve someone who can give you everything.” The words felt trapped in my throat. “Someone who isn’t a total fuck up. And that’s not me. So I think we should just... stop. Before this gets any more complicated.”
He stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he took a step toward me. “No.”
I blinked. “No?”
“You don’t get to do that.” His voice was firm but not angry. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle. You don’t get to tell me what I deserve or push me away because you’ve decided that’s what has to happen.”
“Cam...”
“You told me your terms weeks ago, and I accepted them.” Another step closer. “You can change those terms for yourself whenever you like. That’s your prerogative. But it’s not fair to change them for my sake, without even asking me if that’s what I want.”
An invisible band squeezed my ribs. “But I...”
“Do you want to stop?” His eyes searched mine. “Actually want to? Or are you just scared?”
I opened my mouth but nothing came out. Because he was right. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to keep kissing him and touching him and feeling the way he made me feel.
“You don’t understand,” I whispered.
“Then help me understand.”
I opened my mouth but the words died on my lips. How could I explain something I could barely face myself? Words were cheap. Words were easy to misunderstand. I needed him to see the reality. The ugly, jagged truth I carried around every single day.
If I told him, he might imagine something tragic. Something noble.
I needed him to see the ruin.
My hands moved to the hem of my shirt. Cam’s eyes widened slightly, confusion flickering across his face.
“Emily, what are you...”
I pulled my shirt over my head in one quick motion and dropped it on the floor.
Then I stood there in just my bra and jeans, my arms by my sides. My gaze was locked on a spot on the floor because I couldn’t bear to see the disgust that would be written all over his face.
The silence was deafening.
I could feel him staring. Could practically feel the weight of his gaze moving over my skin, taking in the scars that covered my abdomen and chest.
I couldn’t look at him.
“Who did this to you?” His voice was so quiet I almost didn’t hear it. But the edge in it was unmistakable.
My throat was so tight I could barely breathe. “I did. A long time ago.”
I waited for him to say something. To ask me why, or to tell me to leave, or to look at me with that particular brand of horror I’d seen before.
But instead, he said, “Emily.”
I somehow summoned enough courage to raise my eyes to his. He was looking at me with such profound tenderness, I felt the breath still in my lungs.
“Can I give you a hug?”
I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. I just nodded.
He moved slowly, like he was afraid of spooking me, and carefully pulled me into his arms. His hands were gentle as they settled on my back, holding me close but not too tight. Like he was trying to keep me together while giving me room to breathe.
I buried my face against his chest.
His shirt was soft under my cheek. His heartbeat was steady and strong. His arms were solid and safe around me. The knot in my stomach started to loosen some more.
I was so fucking confused. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to recoil, to be repulsed. Not pull me closer. Not hold me like I was something precious instead of damaged.
So yeah, it didn’t make a lick of sense, but when standing here in his arms felt this good, I didn’t have the strength to question it.
We stood like that for a while, his hands gentle on my back, my face pressed against his chest, both of us just breathing. The kitchen was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the house settling.
Finally feeling brave enough, I raised my head.
His eyes met mine, still full of that tenderness that made my heart roll over. Then he leaned down and brushed the lightest kiss across my lips. Gentle. Comforting. Reassuring.
God that felt good. Without even thinking, I leaned closer, wanting more. He did it again. A little longer this time. A little more pressure. Now there was a spark there. Something that made my breath catch. My blood started humming.
I felt his body respond, his cock twitching against my stomach. Surprise almost overrode the heat. I pulled back slightly, staring up at him with wide eyes. “You... You still want me?”
He looked at me like I’d just said something ridiculous. “Fuck yes. I’m not a robot.”
“Oh.”
The word barely left my mouth before he was kissing me again. Really kissing me this time. Cupping my face. Angling my head so he could deepen the kiss. His other hand splayed across my bare skin, warm and solid and right.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pressing closer. He dragged his tongue over my lower lip and I immediately parted my lips for him, a low sound escaping me that he swallowed with his mouth.
His hands started to move. Slowly at first, like he was still checking to make sure this was okay. One palm slid up my spine, fingers tracing the line of my shoulder blade. The other moved to my waist, his thumb brushing the skin just above my jeans.
Over my scars.
But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. His touch was reverent, exploratory, like he was learning every inch of me. Like my scars were just another part of my skin to discover.
No one had ever touched me like this. Ever. I didn’t know what to do with all the feelings roiling inside me. All I knew was that I wanted more. That I needed more.
I let out a low whimper, trying to get even closer. His grip on my waist tightened and he made a low, answering sound in the back of his throat that sent heat pooling low in my belly.
His hand moved higher, fingers splaying across my ribs, his thumb grazing the underside of my bra. My breath hitched and he pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and searching.
“I want you to do something for me,” he murmured against my lips.
“What’s that?” I gasped out.
“Let me see you come.”
“N-now?”
He pushed me back against the counter. “Right fucking now.”
All I could do was nod.
He claimed my lips in a rough, hard kiss. His fingers were already on my jeans, working the button free before I could even process the move,
His thumb slipped beneath the waistband of my underwear, pulling it down, rough and sure. I braced my hands on his shoulders, hips tilting toward him. Then his fingers were on me, through the wetness, stroking slow circles over my clit. A moan slipped out, low and helpless.
“Jesus,” he breathed against my neck. “You’re soaked.”
I couldn’t answer. Could barely think. His touch was deliberate, maddening, just enough to make me chase more. Then one finger dipped inside, testing, and I jerked against his hand, craving deeper.
“Look at me,” he said.
I dragged my eyes up. His gaze was dark, intense, locked on my face like he was memorizing every flicker of sensation.
“You feel this? You feel how you’re clenching around my finger?” He pushed in deeper, curling it slightly. “That’s for me.” Another slow stroke. “All this heat and need. For me.”
I whimpered. Nodded.
He added a second finger, stretching me just right, his thumb circling my clit in small, relentless presses. Every nerve lit up. My thighs trembled.
“Gonna come like this?” he murmured, watching my face. “Right here on my hand?”
I couldn’t speak. Just nodded again, breath coming in short bursts. My body stiffened, coiling toward that edge. The world narrowed to the pressure, the friction, the way his fingers owned me.
“Let go,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
And I did.
The orgasm detonated, violent and sweet, my back bowing as pleasure ripped through every muscle. I choked out his name, fingers digging into his shoulders, light exploding behind my eyelids.
He didn’t stop, but his movements, gentler now, eased me down, drawing the climax out until I shuddered and gasped into the quiet kitchen.
His forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing hard. I felt the heat of him, the hard line of his cock pressing into my hip. He’d given me this moment without taking anything for himself.
When I finally opened my eyes, he was watching me.
His gaze was steady, intent, like he was trying to read every thought crossing my face. He reached up to brush his thumb gently across my cheekbone.
“You okay?”
I nodded, still catching my breath. My legs felt like jelly. My brain felt like mush. I was pretty sure if he let go of me right now, I’d collapse into a puddle on his kitchen floor.
“Good.” His mouth curved into a small smile. Satisfied. A little smug, even. He brushed a kiss against my lips and leaned back. “Because we need to talk.”
That snapped me back to reality a bit. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Because I need to know where your head’s at right now.”
“Kinda in the clouds, if I’m being honest.”
That only made his smug smile wider. Leaning forward, he dropped a kiss on my nose. “See, it’s like this. The girls are at my parents’ this weekend. Friday night through Sunday. And I want you in my bed that entire time.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact.
Oh Lord.
His eyes searched mine. “But I need to know that’s what you want too.”
God, the way he said it. So direct. So sure of what he wanted, but still giving me the choice.
“I do,” I whispered. “Want you, I mean. I just...”
“Just what?”
I bit my lip, trying to find the words. “I’m not sure about…” I gestured to myself. Standing in there in just my bra and unbuttoned jeans, my scars on full display, I felt almost overwhelmed with uncertainty.
His thumb traced my bottom lip, pulling it free from my teeth.
“Emily.” He waited until I met his eyes again.
“How about this? All you gotta do right now is decide if you want to hang out. If yes, we go at whatever pace you need. If Friday night comes and you change your mind, that’s fine.
We’ll watch a movie and eat pizza and that’s it.
But I need to know right now if you even want to try. ”
Did I want to try?
I was still buzzing from what he’d just done to me. Still overwhelmed by the way he’d touched my scars like they didn’t matter. Still trying to process that this man, this gorgeous, patient, impossible man, wanted me in his bed for an entire weekend.
Fuck yes, I wanted to try.
“Okay,” I said softly.
“Okay?” His eyebrow raised slightly.
“I want to stay over this weekend.” My voice was stronger this time. More certain. “I want to be in your bed.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Heat. Satisfaction. “Good.”
Then he was kissing me again, slow and deep, like we had all the time in the world.
When he finally pulled back, I was breathless all over again.
“You should probably head home,” he murmured against my lips. “Before I decide I can’t wait until Friday.”
I laughed, the sound shaky but genuine. “Yeah. Probably.”
With that, he bent down and picked up my shirt from the floor. Instead of handing it to me, he gathered it in his hands and lifted it over my head, helping me slide my arms through. The gesture was so tender, so domestic, it pulled at my heart in the best possible way.
When my head emerged from the fabric, he was smiling at me.
“Friday,” he said. Not a question. A promise.
“Friday,” I agreed.