21. Sully
SULLY
Idisappear into the kitchen with my heart hammering like I just finished sprints, leaving her on the couch.
Fuck.
I grip the edge of the counter for a second, trying to get myself under control.
My hands are still warm from touching her.
From feeling the soft skin of her calf, the way her body fit against mine when I carried her.
I can still smell her, that faint jasmine scent mixed with the warmth of her skin.
My dick is half-hard in my briefs, and I’m standing here in the kitchen like an idiot, trying not to think about how good she felt pressed against me.
I grab a glass, fill it with water, and take a long drink, willing my body to calm the hell down.
She’s hurt and vulnerable, don’t be a creep.
The last thing she needs is me acting on this stupid, rekindled crush.
But the way she looked at me when I had her in my arms, it was like she wanted me too.
I drag a hand through my still-damp hair and let out a slow breath.
Get it together. I fill another glass for her and head back into the living room, trying to look normal.
She’s still on the couch, leg propped up, cheeks flushed. Her eyes flick to me when I walk in, then quickly away. The tension between us is so thick I can barely breathe.
“Here,” I say, handing her the water. My fingers brush hers this time. Neither of us pulls away fast enough.
“Thanks,” she murmurs.
I sit on the coffee table right in front of her, close enough. “How’s the ankle?”
“Better with the ice,” she says as she takes a sip, avoiding my eyes.
The silence stretches between us. I can feel her gaze on my bare chest, the way her eyes keep flicking down before darting away again. Interesting. My skin feels hot under her stare.
Finally, she clears her throat. “You should … put a shirt on.”
I raise an eyebrow, a slow grin tugging at my mouth. “Why? Don’t you think you can keep your hands off me?”
She scoffs, but her cheeks flush a pretty pink. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m not the one staring,” I tease, leaning in just a little closer.
“You’re basically naked,” she shoots back.
I glance down at myself, then back up at her with a smirk. “No, I’m not. I have pants on.”
She gestures at me, eyes wide. “Yeah, your underwear.”
“They’re boxer briefs,” I argue, fighting a smile. “Perfectly acceptable lounge attire.”
Her mouth opens, then closes, and the blush on her cheeks deepens. “Who walks around their apartment in their underwear?”
“Someone who thought they had the place to themselves.”
The words hang between us.
“Well, it’s rude.”
I raise a brow and lean forward. “You know what’s rude …” my voice drops, “checking out my package while I give you first aid.”
She huffs and splutters, her face is bright red. “You wish.”
“I do.”
My answer surprises her, and I watch in real time the heat flare across her skin, up from her chest to the tips of her ears.
She looks away fast, but not before I catch the way her lips part, the quick little inhale she tries to hide.
Her fingers tighten around the glass in her hand like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.
“You’re impossible,” she mutters, but there’s no real bite in it. Her voice is too soft.
I lean in a fraction closer, elbows on my knees, still sitting on the coffee table right in front of her. Close enough that my bare thigh brushes the edge of the couch beside her hip. “Am I?”
Her eyes flick back to mine. There’s a war going on behind them, embarrassment, frustration, and something hotter that makes my pulse kick up. She opens her mouth, then closes it again, like she can’t decide whether to push me away or pull me closer.
The silence stretches, thick and heavy. I can hear her breathing. Can see the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat. My gaze drops there for half a second before I force it back up.
She swallows. “You should … really put a shirt on.”
I smirk, slow and deliberate. “You keep saying that, but you haven’t stopped looking yet.”
Her cheeks burn brighter. She huffs out a laugh that sounds more like a nervous exhale. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Maybe I am.” My voice drops lower. “Maybe I like knowing you’re looking.”
For a second, the air between us feels electric. Like if one of us moves even an inch, everything we’ve been dancing around since Maine is going to snap.
Then she looks away, biting her lip, and the moment breaks.
I stand up slowly, giving her space even though every instinct tells me to stay right where I am.
“I’ll go put a shirt on,” I say, voice rough. “Before you combust.”
She doesn’t answer, just stares at her ankle like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. But as I walk toward my room, I feel her eyes on my back the entire way.
And I’m smiling like an idiot.
I can’t sleep. It’s been three nights since I carried Ember to the couch, and I still feel her body against mine every time I close my eyes. The soft sound she made when I lifted her. The way her fingers curled into my shoulders.
I throw the covers off and head to the kitchen for water.
The apartment is dark except for the small light over the stove.
I stop in the doorway when I see her. Ember is standing at the counter in an oversized T-shirt, one hand gripping the edge like she needs it to stay upright.
Her shoulders are shaking. She’s crying, quiet, broken little sounds that hit me straight in the chest. I should turn around and give her privacy.
Instead, I step into the kitchen. “Em?”
She startles, quickly wiping at her face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” I move closer, stopping a few feet away. “What’s wrong?”
Ember shakes her head, trying to pull herself together. “Nothing, just …”
“Talk to me …”
She mulls over my request. “Stupid emotions …” she confesses. “I came out for water, and then it all hit me at once. Kevin, the divorce. It’s like my brain waited until everything was quiet to remind me how much of a mess I am.” Her voice cracks on the last word.
I can’t stand it. I close the distance and pull her into my arms without thinking. She stiffens for half a second, then melts against me, burying her face in my chest. Her hands fist in my T-shirt as fresh tears soak through the fabric.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur into her hair, one hand rubbing slow circles on her back. “You’re not a mess. You’ve been dealt something life-changing, and you’re doing a pretty fucking good job of dealing with it.”
She lets out a shaky laugh that sounds more like a sob. “I feel so stupid. Shouldn’t I be over this by now? Cassidy is.”
“You’re allowed to grieve it,” I say quietly. “And Cass, well … she’s a whole other beast. Maybe she’s coping, or maybe she’s surviving just like you, but she’s better at hiding it.”
We stand there for a long time, her body warm and soft against mine. I can feel every breath she takes, every small shudder as she tries to calm down. My hand keeps moving on her back, soothing, and I have to fight the urge to press my lips to the top of her head.
Eventually, her breathing evens out as she calms herself, but she doesn’t pull away.
“Better?” I ask, voice low.
She nods against my chest. “Yeah, thank you.”
I should let go now, but I don’t.
The kitchen is quiet except for the hum of the fridge.
Her fingers are still curled in my shirt.
My hand is still on her back. The air feels thick, heavy with everything we’re not saying.
She tilts her head up to look at me. Our faces are inches apart.
For the first time since Maine, neither of us looks away.
“Do you regret what happened in Maine?” she whispers.
The question hits me like a punch. “What? No. Why would you think that?”
She looks down, embarrassed. “Because … after it happened, you said it stays in Maine. Like it was a mistake. Like you wished it never happened.”
I stare at her, stunned. “I thought you regretted it,” I say quietly. “You ran. You wouldn’t look at me. You wouldn’t talk about it. I figured you were embarrassed and I was the asshole who took advantage of the moment.”
She shakes her head, eyes glassy. “I was embarrassed that I threw myself at you. You didn’t take advantage, it was me who did.”
The words hang between us.
I swallow hard. “I don’t regret it, Em. Not for a second.”
Her breath catches.
For a long, charged moment we just look at each other, the kitchen light casting soft shadows across her face. My hand is still on her back. Her fingers are still curled in my shirt.
Then something snaps.
I kiss her.
It’s not gentle, it’s hungry and desperate.
I’ve been starving for her. She makes a soft, broken sound against my mouth and I lift her, hands under her thighs, setting her on the kitchen counter like she weighs nothing.
Her leg’s part for me instinctively and I step between them, kissing her deeper, tongues sliding, teeth grazing.
She pulls back just enough to breathe, eyes glassy and wild. “Sully …”
“Tell me to stop,” I rasp against her swollen lips.
She shakes her head, voice trembling. “I don’t want you to stop. I just … I want to feel something. I haven’t felt anything in such a long time. I just need to not feel broken anymore. You know?”
The vulnerability in her voice wrecks me. I kiss her again, slower this time, deeper, like I’m trying to pour everything I feel into her. My hand slides up her thigh, under the hem of her oversized T-shirt.
Oh shit.
She’s now wearing any underwear. Fuck, now that I know this, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stop myself from touching her. When my fingers find her already soaked, she whimpers into my mouth, hips rolling against my hand.
“Fuck, Em.” I groan against her lips. “You’re so fucking wet for me already.
” I slide two thick fingers inside her, curling them just right, stroking that spot that makes her gasp and shudder.
She’s so tight, so hot, clenching around my fingers like her body is begging for more.
My thumb circles her clit in tight, relentless strokes while I kiss her neck, sucking lightly on her pulse point.
“That’s it, baby,” I murmur, voice low and filthy against her ear. “Ride my fingers. Let me feel how much you need this.”
She rocks against my hand, desperate and needy, soft moans spilling from her lips as I fuck her with my fingers slow and deep at first, then faster, my thumb circling her swollen clit.
“You’re so fucking tight,” I growl, biting her earlobe. “So wet and perfect. Come for me, Em. Let me feel you fall apart on my hand.”
She comes hard, clenching around my fingers with a broken cry of my name, her whole body shaking as the orgasm crashes through her.
I don’t stop, I keep fucking her through it, drawing it out, milking every last pulse until she’s trembling and gasping, tears slipping down her cheeks from the intensity.
When she finally comes down, she looks at me like I just rewired her entire world, eyes wide, lips parted, her breathing ragged.
“Um … wow.” She stares at me with amazement in her eyes. “I’ve never … um, you know …”
“Come,” I say the word.
She nods. “Yeah … um … so quickly before.” I raise a brow. “I mean with my own fingers, yes, but not with …”
“Someone.” I finish her words for her.
“Yeah.”
I slowly bring my fingers to my lips. I taste her slowly, deliberately, sucking every drop of her slickness off my fingers while holding her gaze the entire time. She looks wrecked, lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes wide like she can’t believe what she’s seeing.
“Fuck, Em.” I groan, voice low and filthy. “You taste so fucking good.”
She whimpers, thighs trembling around my hips. I slide my hand back between her legs, fingers teasing her swollen, sensitive clit, rubbing slow, lazy circles.
“You’ve been missing this for years, haven’t you?” I murmur against her ear, voice dark. “No one’s ever made you come like that before. Kevin never made you this wet, never made you shake and cry on his fingers like a desperate little slut, did he?”
She gasps, hips jerking against my hand.
“I’m not that inexperienced boy you lost your virginity to anymore. I can make this tight little cunt feel things you’ve never even dreamed of.” I lean in, brushing my lips against hers, voice low and teasing.
“Tell me you don’t want me to do that again. Tell me you don’t want me to bend you over this counter and fuck you until you forget his name.”
Her breath hitches, eyes glassy with lust.
I smirk, pressing my fingers a little harder against her clit. “Or maybe you want me to drop to my knees right now and eat this pussy until you’re screaming my name. Would you like that, Em? Would you like me to show you what a real man can do to you?”
She lets out a shaky, desperate sound, hips rolling against my hand.
“Yes,” she whispers, voice breaking. “Please … I want it.”
I push her back against the kitchen island, open her legs, and bury my face between them. The first long, slow lick has her gasping, hands flying to my hair. I groan against her, tasting her properly, sweet, wet, addictive.
“Fuck, you taste even better than I remember,” I growl, licking her again, slower, savoring her. “So, fucking sweet. So, fucking wet for me.”
I suck her clit into my mouth, tongue flicking fast, and she cries out, thighs shaking around my head. I slide two fingers back inside her, curling them deep, fucking her while I eat her like a man starved.
“That’s it,” I murmur against her pussy, voice muffled. “Ride my face. Use me. Let me make you come all over my tongue.”
She’s moaning, hips grinding against my mouth, completely lost. I suck harder, fingers pumping faster, and she falls apart again, crying out my name, thighs clamping around my head as she comes hard, soaking my tongue.
I don’t stop until she’s trembling, gasping, pushing at my head because it’s too much.
When I finally pull back, my chin is wet with her, lips swollen. I look up at her, eyes dark. She stares at me, breathing hard, looking completely ruined and utterly beautiful.