Chapter 33
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
EMMETT
Coffee spills over the edge of the cup onto my hand.
I curse under my breath, trying not to wake Aspen as I tiptoe around her kitchen.
The last time I was this concerned about making noise I was sneaking out of my grandparents house to drink shitty beer in the woods.
Turns out there are a lot of things I’ll do for Aspen that I wouldn’t do for anyone else.
Like sticking around long enough to be here in the morning and make breakfast.
Skin pink and hot, I set the mug on the counter and shake my hand off over the sink.
Twenty minutes ago, I slipped out of bed after spending an undisclosed and arguably creepy amount of time watching her sleep. Long enough that my muscles locked up from staying still beside her after the nightmare.
I thought I would be more ashamed of her seeing me like that—this one was worse than the one she’s seen before.
I think about the email still in my inbox from Carl with the contact info for therapists. Sharing more about my childhood with Aspen was one thing, but I’m not eager to have a stranger pry into my emotions.
For all the crap I gave her about her nickname, it’s never felt like she thinks I’m broken. She just sees me . . . and she hasn’t left yet.
Somehow, after Aspen found me on the floor last night, I still managed a few hours of sleep.
I spent the night alternating between bouts of shallow sleep and staring at Aspen in the moonlight, watching her chest rise and fall while I tried to figure out how I got so lucky to land in her helicopter, in her hospital, in her loft, in her life.
This bubble feels doomed to burst eventually, and I already know it’ll hurt. So will going back to that simple, lonely life I told her about last night.
I shut off the water, drying my hand on the towel hanging on the edge of her sink and add the mug to the tray she used the night the girls came over for margaritas.
It’s piled high with two omelets, bacon, and toast for both of us.
If I make it to the bedroom without spilling this shit, it’ll be a miracle.
Eyes on the tray, I lift it slowly, turning toward the living room—another first.
Who the fuck am I?
And when I look up to take my first step, it nearly ends up all over me because Aspen’s stretching, arms above her head, my shirt riding high on her thighs.
“Morning, Angel.” I don’t move for fear of spilling this tray everywhere.
“You made me breakfast?”
“I did.”
She smiles sleepily, her eyes dragging over my bare chest. “This is going to sound really objectifying, and I mean it with all my heart.” She waves a hand in my direction. “You look so hot in my kitchen.”
“Since we’re being honest. You’re a goddamn wet dream in my shirt.”
She saunters across the kitchen, hands sliding over mine and taking the tray from me before setting it on the counter.
“Know where it would look better?”
My eyes drop to the hem her fingers are toying with.
“I have ideas.”
Any good intentions I had about easing into the morning evaporate. This food was a distraction from everything last night dredged up.
She lifts the hem, pulling the too-big shirt over her head and dropping it at her side. My willpower has nothing on her naked and ready in front of me.
“Where are your underwear?” I growl.
Her lips quirk and her shoulder lifts. “A girl can never be too careful with thieves about.”
I step closer, my hands landing on her hips like it’s where they belong. I tilt my head, running my lips up her neck. “How will I ever complete my collection?”
“You’re a resourceful guy; I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
“And you’re awfully smug considering how hard I’m about to fuck you.”
“If that’s supposed to curb my mockery, I fear you’ve misjudged me.”
Backing her up, I steer her across the kitchen to the table I tasted her on last night. I spin her away from me and lower my mouth to her shoulder, scraping my teeth over it. “Hands on the table.”
She glances over her shoulder, mouth falling open as I kiss down her spine. My hands trail down her sides until they find their home on her hips.
“Fuck, Angel, I tried to be patient last night, but I can’t be that guy today. Not when I need you like this.” My bare feet nudge hers apart as I trace the line of her hip with my fingers, before dragging them through her sex. “I’m going to make sure you feel me here for days. That okay with you?”
“God, yes,” she whispers, her eyes drifting closed as I finger-fuck her slowly. She’s so slick my fingers easily slip in and out. “Give me an ache that never leaves.”
What I wouldn’t give to have her keep a piece of me.
“Did you come out here without your panties on planning to taunt me? Is that why you’re ready for my cock before we’ve even started?”
She pins her lip between her teeth but doesn’t answer. I pull my fingers free, watching her sag and clench around nothing.
I rub my palm over her cheek in warning.
Her eyes flash with desire.
My hand comes down against her creamy skin. “I need your answer.”
“Yes. Working up the nerve to do it just made me want you more.”
Freeing my cock, I stroke it, using her to coat myself. With each stroke, I bump against her. My tip slips through her folds. “You woke up all alone and came looking for a fuck.”
“Yes,” she cries.
“I don’t have a condom,” I warn, forcing myself to slow down, even though every instinct in me wants the exact opposite.
Aspen stills beneath my hands.
I drag my mouth over her shoulder, grounding myself before I say it. “I had a vasectomy a few years ago, and I had a physical before fire season—everything came back clear.”
My grip loosens on her hips just enough to let her move away if she wants to. “I know what I said, but we don’t have to do this. Not like this.”
She turns her head, eyes softer than I’m prepared for. “I have an IUD,” she says quietly. “And I was tested a few weeks ago.”
The air between us shifts, turning heavy in a way that has nothing to do with sex.
“Are you sure?” I ask, because I need to hear it again. This can’t just be heat and leftover adrenaline from last night.
Aspen looks at me like I’m safe. Like I’m someone solid enough to build something around.
Her fingers curl around my wrist. “I’m sure.”
Those words settle somewhere deep enough to scare me. Instead of sitting with that feeling, I push inside her an inch.
She’s hot and wet. Heaven, made for me.
Being inside her with nothing between us threatens to overwhelm me. When I pull back it’s as much for my sanity as it is to give her a moment to adjust.
“Fuuuccckkk,” I mutter, sliding back home.
There’s only this. Just us, but mostly her. She’s the real magic in this room. I’m just lucky to get to experience it.
“Unreal,” I mutter.
She stretches around me, hugging me and pushing me to the edge of sanity. In this moment, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. Which is dangerous as hell considering I’m still not convinced I’m capable of being what Aspen actually deserves.
She deserves stability. Someone good. A man without ghosts clawing at his heels. Not someone held together by scars and bad coping mechanisms.
I look down at where we are connected, marveling at how simple this is. “So right,” I murmur against her back. “Jesus Christ, Angel . . . you feel so right.”
And just like that, close suddenly isn’t close enough anymore. I need her facing me. I need more.
I pull out, bringing her with me and laying her back on the table. I lift her foot to the table, splaying her open for me.
“Oh, Emmet,” she whimpers. “It’s—your—”
“Words, Angel,” I demand, slowing my thrusts as if that will clear her mind.
“I’m so full.”
I lean over her, dusting kisses up her sternum and neck to the corner of her mouth where I whisper, “You can take it.” Her mouth falls open when I bury myself inside her, a little rough. “Can’t you?”
Strands of hair fall across her face as she nods. “Yes. I want it.”
Here, I can give her all of me. My hands move her hair to the side, and my mouth finds her neck.
“You look like a dream taking me.”
I push my hips forward, a bruising grip on her hip to keep her from sliding up the table, my other hand snaking between her legs, finding her swollen clit.
She keens at the first brush of my fingers over it, and the pressure drives her crazy, so I flatten my thumb, giving her what she needs.
“You should see the way you’re swallowing me up.”
The more I talk, the wetter she gets, until the kitchen is an echo chamber of skin slapping, her incoherent sounds—mine pathetic and barely hanging on—and a wet suction that is downright indecent.
“Can you hear how badly you want this?”
“Emmett.” She reaches for me, pink touching her cheeks. Although I’d like to think it’s from exertion, I won’t risk leaving a fleck of doubt that I don’t crave all of it.
I sink all the way inside of her, only giving her shallow thrusts as I cover her, trapping the lobe of her ear between my teeth. “It’s music to my fucking ears.”
She melts into the table, putty under me as I strum her clit and drive her higher.
“Only thing better is the sweet noises you make when you let go for me.” Those I’ve committed memory.
“I’m close,” she warns.
“I know.” I grit my teeth, heat coiling down my spine and I try to hold back, but she’s too perfect, and it’s all too much, pushing up, up, up until it’s all I can do to hold on and get her there.
“Angel.” I push rough circles with the pad of my thumb.
“You need to come for me. Barely hanging on here.”
She nods erratically, and squeezes her eyes shut.
I slap her clit., and her eyes shoot open, a garbled noise leaving her as she squeezes around me.
“Need those eyes when you’re coming on my cock, Angel.”
She tilts her chin, determined and gorgeous, shifting her hips to meet me. The change in the angle makes everything better, rubbing my exposed nerves raw as she trembles, her cunt quivering around me.
“Just. Like. That,” I say, letting go of the leash I’ve kept myself on and barreling toward release with her.