52. LIAM
52
LIAM
Now
Emerson and I went to Traverse City, Michigan, for the weekend. It started as a work trip when our bar manager and cocktail curator-mastermind quit.
Ben was planning on visiting Traverstini, which is known explicitly on social media for its bartender, Flynn. We want him to work for us.
When I told Emerson about the situation, she asked if we could go instead.
We drove up on Friday morning and spent the afternoon and evening with Flynn. Saturday morning, we biked Sleeping Bear Dunes National Park before hopping around wineries in the afternoon.
You should have seen the smile on her face when a stranger randomly air-dropped a photo of us they took. I know she’ll have it printed and in her memory box before Monday is over.
I had forgotten how much I loved traveling with Emerson. Yesterday, I kept picturing the places I wanted to experience with her. I have a list in the Notes app on my phone. Whenever I traveled, I found myself thinking about her. She’d enjoy this café, take a picture of this, want to visit this museum, try this food, and complain about this hilly city.
I’d write down the city, date, and memory in the note, knowing that one day, when we were back together, I would take her to those places and beyond. There isn’t a part of each other or this world I don’t want to explore together.
“States, I’m back. ”
I set two coffees on the kitchenette counter of our hotel room.
Walking through the hotel room, I laugh to myself when I hear the music coming from the bathroom. Emerson still has the same shower playlist from when she was twenty-two. Six years later, she hasn’t outgrown her love for young Justin Bieber and 5 Seconds of Summer. It’s cute.
The bathroom door is open, and the steamy air drifts from it. I slide through the gap quietly, dropping my running shorts and shirt to the floor.
I open the door to the shower, but a hand comes to my chest before I can step in.
“What do you think you are doing?” Emerson is smirking at me. The hot water runs over her. I watch as a droplet hits her chest and runs between her breasts. I have an urge to lick it off her.
I take a step forward, pushing her finger further into my chest. “Going to bathe you.”
“No.” There is a glint in her eyes when they flick down to my dick. Already hard just at the sight of her.
“Why not?” I push my tongue into my bottom lip.
“Thought we could play our game .” Her smirk grows. “Flip the coin. Heads, you watch. Tails, you join.”
Watch what? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen her shower.
“Coin is on the counter by the sink.” She drops her hand from my chest, dragging her pointer finger down my abs. Her nail gently scratches the lines of my muscles, and my body shudders. Emerson stops when her finger is about to reach my dick. Holding my gaze, she runs her entire hand up me. My jaw clenches. Then she gently pushes me back toward the sink.
I grab the coin, flip it, and extend my hand to her.
Heads.
“Looks like you’re watching.”
“I’ve seen you take a shower before, States,” I remind her.
“I’m not showering.” Emerson’s head tilts to the side, eyes burning into mine, as she steps back into the water. Her hand follows the path the water droplet took a moment ago, sliding it down her chest to her stomach to between her legs. “Feel free to. . .” She flicks me a look.
Oh.
I stumble backward at her confidence and, well, what she’s doing to herself. Finding the doorway for support, I lean against it, making myself comfortable for the show.
Up against the glass, through the steam coating the panes, I see Emerson’s body. Her womanly curves, erect nipples, and her head thrown back from the pleasure she’s bringing herself.
One hand working inside of her. She alternates between pumping in and out and circling them inside.
Her other hand makes its way up to her breast.
I’m biting my lip, trying not to lose all control this minute. This is one of the hottest things Emerson has ever done.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask her.
“You.” Her head rolls forward, and our eyes lock for a split second before her gaze drops to my dick, my hand slowly moving up and down. “I always think about you. I pretend that my hand is yours and that the fingers inside of me are longer, thicker, and stronger. Filling and stretching me more than I can.”
I always think of you. I always thought of her, too.
“Liam,” she whimpers.
I can’t take this anymore.
I cover the distance from the doorway to the shower, turning up 'She Looks So Perfect’ playing on her phone. It’s probably the fastest I’ve ever moved in my thirty years of life.
“Don’t finish,” I command her. She listens and drops her hand as she turns around to face me. “Good, States. Now turn around and get on your knees.”
She listens, sinking down onto the tile. “Hands, too.” Emerson listens like a good girl. “Now crawl to me.”
I’m on the opposite side of the shower. On all fours, Emerson starts moving towards me. Deliberately slow, looking up at me through her long, black lashes. Green eyes inflamed with desire. Water runs along the curve of her spine and off her ass.
I take an audible breath as she gets closer. Trying to refrain myself from releasing before I get to taste or touch her. She stops, rising to her knees in front of me.
“Let me see your hand.”
“Which one?” Emerson asks playfully.
“You know which one.”
She stretches her arm up, putting her hand in front of my face. I lean my mouth to her fingers, circling one of the two that were inside of her with my tongue before sucking the digit into my mouth.
I remove her hand, moving it in front of her face. Holding her wrist, I tell her, “Now you.”
She takes her middle finger into her mouth. Cheeks hollow out as she imitates what I did to her pointer finger.
Her eyes flare, and she can barely cry out when I replace her finger with myself, thrusting into her mouth.
My hands are tangled in her hair as I get off in her mouth. Her eyes watch my movements. My eyes watch her take me so well.
Heads did win the coin flip, after all.
Emerson swallows and stands in front of me. Her mouth is on mine as if it wasn’t even a thought. I place my hands on the back of her thighs. I pick her up, pushing her up against the black tiles. Her legs are wrapped around me as we kiss.
“Am I allowed to finish yet?” She says, mouth still on mine.
“No,” I reply, bringing her down onto me. I thrust into her, picking up her pleasure where she left off patiently.
Emerson shifts her body down onto me. The sensation has my eyes rolling. “Whatever that was, do it again and you can finish.”
She does. Again, and again, and again, until we are a mess of moans and us.
We shower off—I actually bathe her this time, then pack our bags to head back to Chicago.
** *
There’s an hour and a half left in our drive. My hand rests on Emerson’s thigh, the other on the steering wheel. Momentarily, I remove my hand from her to turn down the music we’ve been singing to.
I glance over at her in disbelief that she’s sitting here with me. It’s been a month since her birthday, and we decided to be together—a month more than I ever thought we’d get.
“I still can’t believe all of this was part of Natalie’s elaborate scheme to get us back together,” I say.
“Yeah, I’m happy we are back—wait. Natalie’s what!?” Emerson’s eyes flare, and she blinks rapidly.
Shit, did she not know?
“Natalie knew who I was when we met. . . ” I speak slowly. “She sought me out.”
Emerson brings her feet onto the seat, folding her legs in front of her.
“What are you talking about?” Her head spins in my direction. I don’t look at her, keeping my eyes on the busy highway, but I know her brows are pinched, and her cheeks are heated.
“She told me she told you,” I stutter over the confusion I’m experiencing. Natalie promised me she would tell Emerson—and I believed she would. Why wouldn’t she? “I. . . I thought you. . . k-knew.”
“Clearly not. I have no freaking clue what you are talking about.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You also said that when you figured out Natalie and I were friends. Are you lying?”
“I didn’t lie to you. I didn’t know either time. I swear— ”
“What the hell is going on, Liam?” She cuts me off. “You better tell me everything right now.”