Chapter 2
Emma is nervous,and when I glance over at the table of her friends, they quickly look away. “A girls’ weekend?” I guess, lifting an eyebrow.
“Yes,” she says, almost into her glass as she takes another sip. Emma is as tall as I am, and she’s wearing flats, so we’re perfectly eye-to-eye.
“Tell me, what do a bunch of beautiful women do in the city on a girls’ weekend?”
It takes some prodding and follow-up questions, but eventually, we find our way. Emma tells me about her exploration of my city with her friends—food, walking cobblestone streets, hitting all the highlights like the Vatican and Trevi fountain. She has an American accent with a slight twang, one I can’t place.
She loves it here, and when I tell her I’ve lived here most of my life, she begs me for recommendations.
“We have one last day together tomorrow. You must have some suggestions.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and open it, swiping away texts from Vincente, my friend I was here with, that tell me he’s left the bar already. “Where are you staying?”
“Just a few blocks from here, actually. But we are sharing hotel rooms.” She blushes prettily, embarrassed, perhaps because she’s making assumptions about where tonight is leading.
“I am not far from here either,” I say, holding her gaze over the rim of my wineglass as I sip. “Plenty of privacy.” Privacy, but not ideal on account of all the boxes that are stacked up for the impending move. But the bed’s still there, made up for a few more nights of sleep.
Her blush deepens. Emma has fair skin, very faint lines at the edges of her brown eyes, and thick, long gray hair. I set my wineglass down, and she leans in as I show her a map and some suggestions on my phone for places to eat.
We talk about the options, complicated by one of her friends who is vegan, but we eventually settle on a quiet place I’ve been to a few times with a courtyard. I send it to her via Airdrop when she pulls out her phone.
From then on, I keep it light. She’s clearly here for the weekend, and while she’s shy, she’s definitely not looking for anything long term—which is perfect for me.
I’m not looking for a third wife.
I’m just looking for a bit of fun.
When we order another round, I ask for water, too, and I make sure Emma hydrates between the wine. Her cheeks are still flushed, but from the wine or the attention, I’m not sure.
I’ve put my usual moves on her; a soft brush of her arm, a light touch on her back. When we clink glasses, I don’t step back out of her space.
She’s got big, beautiful eyes I could get lost in for the night and a small delicate mouth that I want to touch. That ache of desire has a hold of me, and I want to take her home.
Based on the way her eyes drop down to my mouth, I think she has the same idea too. I lean in closer, and her lips part at my nearness. Her eyelids flutter as I press a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. When I pull back just enough to breathe, she turns slightly, lining us up. I press another kiss to her lips, and she softens against me.
“Emma,” I say when I pull away. “Come home with me?”
Her teeth capture her bottom lip and worry it as her eyes bounce between mine, but she nods, the unbitten side of her lip tipping up into a smile.
I signal for the bill and Emma finishes her glass of water while she waits and then leads me toward her friends. They’re already watching us and grinning; the short, long-haired one looking smug.
Emma says something to them in a whisper before I catch up to her, and one of the women, the brunette, claps her hand over her mouth, eyes dancing in amusement. Emma picks up a purse from the empty chair.
“Hello,” I tell them.
Before I can say anything else, the brunette drops her hand and clears her throat. “Can I see some ID, please?”
The woman with the gray streak in her hair guffaws. I pull out my ID, and the brunette takes a picture of it.
“Where are you going?”
I give her my address.
“Are you driving?”
“Okay, Mama Bear,” the gray-streak woman interrupts.
“It’s okay,” I say. “We will take an Uber.” I would take a taxi if I was by myself—well, actually, I would walk, but in the name of efficiency, a car would be best—but I want Emma’s friends to know she’s safe, and Uber gives them the ability to track the ride.
“That she’ll order and let us track,” she answers primly.
Exactly what I had in mind. “Yes, signora. I will take excellent care of her.”
That mollifies the protective one. Emma tugs me away when the other whistles, blowing them a kiss as we walk toward the exit and calling goodbye.
Out on the street, Emma covers her hand with her face. “Oh my god,” she mumbles.
“What?” I ask, bending down to see her better, but I’m pretty sure she’s laughing.
“Is it always this embarrassing?”
I gently tug one wrist, and she drops it. I keep my grip on it and use it to pull her closer. Those rosy pink cheeks haven’t faded at all. “What is embarrassing about it?” I ask, but don’t let her answer. “It’s life,” I say with a shrug and grab her other hand too. “It’s a good life.”
“Good, huh?” she says. We’re closer now, the September night air between us is almost chilly. She bites her lip, gazing at me.
I wrap my arms around her, taking her hands with me behind her back. Her chest presses against mine, her breath hitting my lips and her eyes widening. Our noses touch, just a small nudge at first before I purposefully drag the tip of mine across hers. Her eyelashes flutter, the smell of wine and sweet botanicals wrapping around us.
I close the last millimeter, brushing my lips against her bottom one, just a tiny drag of soft skin against soft skin. I nip, and it startles her.
Her lips part, and I go in for a full kiss, my lips easing hers open and my arms pulling her harder against me. Emma lets me keep the lead, but she responds eagerly, with a sweet little moan in the back of her throat as I barely dip my tongue in.
I pull back before we get too heated. “Emma, call the Uber.” I give her my address while she orders the car, and then I cup her head with my hands, fusing our mouths together again. These kisses are hotter, more insistent, and Emma kisses back with more confidence.
A car honks, and I ease back, releasing my grip and steadying her when she sways slightly. I open the door to our ride and guide her in, following right behind.
To my relief, Emma doesn’t scoot all the way over. When the door slams behind me, I pull her toward me and cover my mouth with hers again. She grips the lapels of my jacket, keeping me close, as if afraid that I’ll pull away.
What would be a long, cobble-stoned walk down dark streets is a brief car ride. We get out at our destination, and I thank the driver.
When I turn back to Emma, she’s laughing to herself.
“What?” I ask.
She presses her hands to her cheeks. “I haven’t really done that before.” At my look, she laughs again. “Making out in front of a stranger, I mean.”
“Did you like it?” How much did she like it?
She tilts her head as I usher her through the vestibule and into the lobby. “Are you asking if I am an exhibitionist?”
I press her up against the wall of the lobby and kiss her, this time deep with more tongue. When she’s thoroughly disheveled, I trace light kisses up the side of her face. “I just want to know what you like,” I whisper in her ear.
“You,” she says back, shyly.
Fuck, that’s hot. I grunt and thrust my hips against her, watching as her eyelids flutter in arousal. Pushing off from the wall, I lead her up the stairs and into my apartment. My cat, Zola, has been acting out lately, the boxes and luggage clueing her into the impending move. I brace myself walking in and hope that she hasn’t made her displeasure known again with a mess, but everything looks in order and, most importantly, smells good.
Emma will be the last woman to come back to this apartment that I’ve lived in for six years. I’m downgrading again. My previous home was more befitting a CFO’s salary. This one was better on a professor’s salary but still enormous. The new apartment will be better suited to a lone professor and his cat.
The entryway is small, and Emma looks around. When she turns her attention back to me, her back is against the wall. She’s still flushed, lips kiss-swollen.
My eyes travel down her body. Full breasts, soft belly, generous hips and thighs, all wrapped in a subdued purple dress that ends at the knee. It’s a modest outfit but curve-hugging.
And also provides easy access.
I let my finger trace the same path my eyes took. She sucks in a little when I pass her stomach, but I ignore that. I’ll prove to her how sexy her body is.
When I can’t reach any further, I draw my gaze back up to hers and hold it for a beat before slowly lowering myself to my knees. Years of playing football means I can’t do this for long, but a few minutes will be completely worth the stiffness.
Emma’s eyes widen.
My fingers are at the hem of her dress, playing with it lightly. I inch it up the soft expanse of pale thigh, keeping my eyes on hers. Her breath accelerates, her lips part, and the smell of her arousal hits me. My eyelids flutter, and I nuzzle the skin I’ve exposed.
When I look up, Emma’s dropped her head back and I take it as an invitation to move further. I groan when I reveal her soft pink panties with a damp spot between her legs.
“So sexy.” I whisper the words against her skin. Her hips shift as I run my fingers up her sides, hooking them into her panties and tugging down. Her stance widens, so I only take them down to her knees.
She smells so fucking good. Emma’s left her hair natural, soft curls in such a light, fine color, that I can’t tell if it’s blonde or gray. I place my palm on her belly, using my thumb to stroke the hairs. When I glance up to check on her, she’s thrown her head back, her chest heaving in anticipation.
I press my open mouth against her at the bottom of her mons. My tongue slides down, spread flat and delving between her lips and over her clit, curling when I get to?—
“Stop,” Emma says, and I freeze. I pull back to look up at her, and my stomach twists. She’s not wide-eyed in pleasure but in panic. “I have to—” She fumbles with her panties. “I have to go.”
“What? Emma?—”
She doesn’t even get the material up over her hips, just enough so that she can leave. The next thing I know, I’m on my knees in my empty hallway, the doors slamming behind her, leaving me alone.
“Miao.”
Correction—alone with my cat.