Chapter 48
Tristen
There’s drool on my chin when I wake up the second time, the nosepiece of my glasses jamming into the bridge and making my swollen eye water.
I probably should have iced that.
Swiping the back of my hand below my lip, I feel the bed beside me.
Cold.
Empty.
My heart sinks a little despite the clear sunlight streaming into the room and a glance at the clock lit up on my phone screen tells me it’s only been another hour since I woke up last. I was the only one in bed then, too, my shorts halfway up my ass and my contacts searing my retinas.
It took everything in me to pluck them out and replace them with my glasses, find a shirt, and seat myself in bed.
I tried to wait up.
I’d hoped that Em would hear me and come lay down. I know that he didn’t sleep well at all, I could see it in the way his eyes drooped when we got home. Not that the firehouse is the best place to sleep, even when you are used to the ambiance.
But I can tell that he never came back here, and that has me biting my lip with worry.
It takes what feels like a full minute to lift my head the rest of the way up, my mostly seated position leaving me aching. Stiff. Nearly fucking immobile.
“Jesus, fuck,” I mutter and force a stretch from one side to the other, the searing pain in my ribs making me gasp.
My fucking knee pops when I straighten it.
This is what I get for fighting that asshole.
Footsteps echo through the open door, and I clutch my side when the sound sparks hope inside my chest.
Is it Emmett?
God, I would kill just to see his smile right now. His light hair and those fucking eyes hidden behind it.
More footsteps follow and my brows scrunch up when I hear the faint whisper of my best friend getting closer and closer.
“Em! He’s awake!”
“Hatley,” I hiss at his yell with a damn wince. “I’m right fucking here.”
The bastard just snickers and takes back off down the hallway.
“What the hell!”
It’s not even all the way off my lips before the doorway is filled with light hair and dark energy.
But there’s a slight tip to his lips and a …plate?
My chest inflates at the sight of him regardless, some part of me almost used to the cloud that Emmett carries with him, and I instinctively reach for him.
His cheeks flush and he thrusts out the plate to fill my hands instead.
My eyes immediately burn.
“You … brought me toast?”
He nods and hides behind his hair, those honey irises nearly glowing from behind the strands.
“With peanut butter.”
My heart thumps wildly and I avert my gaze down so that he doesn’t see how badly my eyes water.
“Thank you,” I manage to say past the thickness in my throat, but it comes out more like a whisper. Setting breakfast on the bed beside me, I reach across and offer a palm up to him again. “Can I?”
He steps closer and slides his soft hand along mine.
It’s gentle. Subtle.
But I feel it all the way to the top of my head.
It makes me tug on him, bringing him close enough that his shins hit the mattress. “Okay?”
His nod knocks more of his hair into his face.
I both hate that … and love it.
“I want you in my lap.”
His sudden sharp inhale pierces the air around us and I hold my breath. Keep my grip on his fingers steady. Stare right into those sweet eyes of his.
His teeth sink into his bottom lip, and I nearly groan at the sight.
“O-okay. But how?”
I pull and he falls into me, his knee jamming right into the meat of my thigh. Hiding the wince, I pull my leg until both are between his.
“Now sit, bubbles.”
His throat bobs with his swallow before he settles back on my thighs, straddling me.
At first, he’s stiff. His eyes wide with fear but shining with something else. Something I wish I could name or understand better.
“Tell me where I can touch you,” I whisper thickly. “Move my hands. I don’t care where, just please show me where.”
The grip he’s got on my fingers tightens before he lets go, a slight tremble in them as he migrates to my wrist.
“And you’ll … let go if I say something?”
There’s a shake to his voice that wounds me deeply.
“Yes.”
“You promise?”
My eyes burn and my chest fills with the strength coming from him. The fucking trust he’s handing me. “I promise, baby. I promise.”
Not once does he look away as he shifts my hand and pulls it closer, gently pressing my palm to his hip.
He grabs my other one and does the same.
My fingers curl lightly into the fabric and his slide up to hold onto my biceps.
His eyes slide closed, his head falling back, and the breath shakes from his lips.
I’m afraid to move. To blink. To breathe, for fear of bursting this bubble he’s let me in and fuck.
He’s so goddamned beautiful that it hurts.
The column of his throat is exposed and pale like marble, his messy hair falling around his head.
There’s a freckle, light brown and sexy as hell, sitting right beneath his chin.
Don’t ask me how it’s sexy. It just is.
“Tristen,” he rasps, the grating sound of his voice making my cock jump. “I want to know what it’s like.”
I swallow. Hard.
“What’s like?”
“To feel something else.”
My exhale is shaky. My fingers trembling as I uncurl them from the fabric and cup his hips.
“T-tell me what you need, Emmett,” I nearly whisper.
His head comes forward, his gaze crashing with mine. He studies me with parted lips and flush cheeks, his pupils blown wide.
“Touch me.”
It thick. Heavy. Loaded with so many emotions that every muscle in my body tightens up.
“Do you know the colors of a traffic light?” I ask, dipping the tips of my thumbs just below the hem of his hoodie. It’s feather light and warm. Soft. He nods and I lick my drying lips.
“Green, yellow, red.”
“What do they mean?”
His gaze bounces between mine, an air of desperation radiating from him in waves.
“Go, slow down. Stop.”
I gently press the pads of my thumbs against his skin, teasing small circles. “What color is this?”
He swallows. “G-green.”
I draw a breath and bring my hands up higher, leaving just my pinkies curled around the waistband of his pants and my fingertips touching the base of his back.
“Yel-yellow.”
Nodding, I bring them back down so that it’s just two digits touching his skin.
“What about—” slowly, I trail across his hip with a knuckle, “—this?”
He whimpers out a soft ‘green’ and my whole body lights up.
Jesus fuck, I’m gonna combust.
His grip has migrated to my shoulders where he’s digging into me like he’s holding on for dear life.
I want him to leave bruises. So later, when I question my sanity, I’ll have proof that this moment was real. That he was actually here and not some fever dream.
We’re closer now, his breath feathering over my lips and the tip of his nose brushes mine.
So close and yet … so far.
“What about …” I trail over his stomach, just above the waistband, and stop when I feel hair.
His lips part with a tiny gasp when I scrape gently at the coarse strands. They’re short. Thin. Maybe a step above peach fuzz.
And yet I wanna rub my face all over it. Move my hands higher to see if it’s the same on his chest.
Fuck.
I pull a long breath.
“Color.” It’s all rasp and wear.
His forehead slants over mine, his lips so close that I feel them like a ghost.
Instead of answering, Emmett clears the distance and kisses me.
My heart thumps wildly behind its cage, my pulse so heavy, I feel it everywhere.
I’m almost dizzy when I reach up and cup his face, his lips parting against mine.
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
The taste of him explodes on my tongue and he tilts his head.
The way we slide together, fighting and fitting, feels so much like fucking that my balls draw up.
It makes me brave. Maybe a little stupid. Definitely a lot loopy.
I bring the hand not cupping his face to the bunching in the center of his pants, hovering just above where he’s clearly hard beneath the fabric.
“Okay?”
His head falls to my shoulder, his panting breath tickling through my shirt, his fingers interlocking behind my neck.
He holds me tightly, like maybe he’s just as afraid of this being a dream as I am, and fucking whimpers.
My breath stutters when he leans back, the tension in my entire body synching up when he tips forward to feather his lips over mine again.
“G-green.”
Muscles like a rubber bands letting loose, I palm him through the pants with just enough pressure to earn me a gasp.
Nails like daggers dig into the back of my neck and his breath feeds mine, his panting like the sweetest non-narcotic shotgun.
It’s fucking good. So goddamn good.
What it would be like to have him exhale a cloud from between kiss-swollen lips for me to suck back. It’s almost like I can feel the burn in my lungs, the tang on my tongue.
“T-T-Tristen,” Emmett whimpers, his body shaking. “Wh-what’s happening-g?”
A wave of shame washes over me as his forehead falls back to my shoulder, hiding his face from me, and I lick my lips.
Focus on him.
“Um … what—what does it feel like?” I ask, my voice cracking. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”
“No!” he chokes out.
I cup the head of him through the sweats and rub.
His claws in my neck dig so deep, he might have broken skin. “Tristen, I’m scared,” he whispers on a breath and mine catches.
“I’m right here,” I murmur back, my lips feathering over his ear. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
“No!”
The corner of my lips tip up, but my chest is tight. My pants are tight. Fuck, my everything is tight.
“Turn your head, Emmett. Kiss me.”
He whimpers and slowly rolls his head along my shoulder, lining his lips up with mine.
“Please, don’t stop.”
His lips touch mine, his tongue poking out to ask for me, and he gasps when we collide.
My palm grows wet, and his nails dig deep.
Holy fuck, I think he’s coming.
For a split second, he pants into my mouth, feeding me his orgasm like that shotgun I wished for, and I accept every piece of it. Every seared puff.
But then he freezes.
“Oh, my god.”
And then he’s gone.