Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
Emerson
I wake up with the taste of Twila still on my lips.
Going to bed alone last night was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was obvious Twila was kind of freaking out.
There was no way I was going to pressure her into anything she wasn’t ready for or even sure she wanted, so I left her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek before heading to my cold, lonely bed.
Pushing those discouraging thoughts away, I roll out of bed and head for the bathroom. After using the toilet, I take a quick shower and brush my teeth. Once I’m dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt, I head into the common area of the suite to see if Twila’s up, yet.
The room is empty, and her door is still closed, so I sit on the couch to check BingBang while I wait.
It looks like we were filmed walking through the casino last night by a couple of people, but no one has posted anything from inside the club.
I’m relieved, because those kisses we shared weren’t meant for public consumption. They were for us, and us alone.
“Morning,” Twila chirps as she exits her room, dressed in a pair of jean shorts and a tank top. “I’m starving. Want to go to the buffet downstairs for breakfast? They’re supposed to have a gourmet French toast bar on Saturdays.”
“Sure,” I say, pushing to my feet. “That sounds good.”
“Great,” she says, and her smile is a bit too tight. “Let’s go.”
I stare at the back of her head as she leads the way toward the door, my eyes narrowed.
She’s avoiding any mention of last night and pretending everything is normal.
Does that mean she regrets kissing me? Or is she upset with me for not pulling her into my bed?
I’d rather the latter, honestly. I can deal with her upset. I can fix that, no problem.
But regret? That’s another animal, entirely.
At breakfast, Twila moans every time she takes a bite of her French toast, causing a bit of a problem in my pants. These shorts hide nothing, so I just pray the napkin in my lap covers the evidence of her effect on me so I don’t traumatize any of the other diners.
We talk a little bit about the videos posted of us last night and this morning, and Twila says she saw them, too. Again, she doesn’t breathe a word about what happened on that dancefloor last night. She obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.
Well, that’s too bad.
I can’t pretend that kiss never happened. I can’t act like I don’t want it to happen again when I most definitely do . That, and so much more.
When we get back to the suite after breakfast, I take her hand and pull her toward the couch, saying, “I need to talk to you about something.”
She doesn’t resist, but she does scoot toward the opposite end of the couch the second we sit down. She looks tense and guarded, like she’s waiting for a bomb to drop, or something.
“I want to talk about what happened last night,” I say slowly. “About the kisses.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Please,” I say, the word dripping with angst. “Don’t be sorry.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, her eyes wide and startled. “W-what?”
“Don’t be sorry,” I repeat. “I’m certainly not. I liked it. A lot. Hell, I loved kissing you, Twila.”
“Really?” she breathes like she’s afraid she’ll break the spell if she speaks any louder.
“Really,” I say, my voice strong and clear.
“I know this whole thing is supposed to be fake. That we agreed to be friends. But…I like you. As more than a friend. And I don’t want to ruin things between us, so if you don’t feel the same, we can forget this conversation and pretend like it never happened, but… I want you, Twila.”
Her eyes go wide as saucers, and her mouth falls open as she stares at me, obviously dumbfounded. Shit. I went too far. She doesn’t feel the same. I’ve fucked this all up, and now I need to backpedal.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “Let’s just forget––”
Twila leaps into action, and my words cut off as I find her straddling my lap and pressing her lips to mine.
Her hands tangle in my hair as she holds me still for the onslaught, and her sudden dominance makes my cock spring to life.
She moans into my mouth when she feels it, then rolls her hips and bears down to rub herself over my length.
She tastes like powdered sugar and syrup, and my spirit soars as I realize this is really happening. It’s not a dream. Twila is bucking against me as she brushes her tongue over mine again and again.
Snapping into action, I grip her ass and give it a squeeze as I flip us.
She lands on her back on the couch as I stretch over her, nestling my hips between her thighs.
She yanks at the hem of my shirt, and I break off our kiss just long enough to jerk it over my head and toss it aside.
Her hands roam up my chest and over my bare shoulders, driving me insane with need.
We kiss for two minutes or an eternity––I’m not sure which––then I break it off, lifting my head to look down at her as rough breaths saw in and out of my lungs.
“Do you want to go to my room?” I ask as I gently brush her hair back from her face.
“Yes,” she says, nodding emphatically.
“Good,” I say, my voice deep and gritty with relief.
I climb off the couch and offer a hand to help her up. She takes it without pause, and the second she’s steady on her feet, I pull her to my bedroom. Stopping at the foot of the bed, I yank her into my arms and kiss her.
She kisses me back with enthusiasm, and when I toy with the hem of her tank top, she steps back and whips it over her head.
My eyes drink her in as she unbuttons and unzips her shorts, teasing me with slow deliberation.
They drop to the floor, and she steps out of them, and the sight of her in a lacy white bra with matching underwear nearly does me in.
Keeping her gaze locked with mine, she climbs on the bed and stretches out like a feast just for me.
And, fuck, am I going to feast .