Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
Twila
My stomach is buzzing with bumblebees as I step out onto my front porch. I saw Emerson pull in from the window, and I had to take several deep breaths before pasting on a smile and stepping out to greet him.
I don’t know why I’m nervous. Hell, I wasn’t this jittery when I drove to Vegas to meet him for the first time.
“You made it,” I call out with a plastered-on smile as he climbs out of his car.
“It was a nice drive,” he replies as he grabs a suitcase and a duffel bag from the trunk. “Traffic was unusually light for a Monday morning, and once I left L.A., it was wide open all the way to the seventy-eight.”
“That’s good,” I say as he approaches, ignoring the way my stomach flops at his nearness. Spinning around, I offer him a wave, adding, “Come on in.”
I give him the tour, and he’s suitably impressed by the house and my backyard oasis. Pride gushes through me because I got this place all on my own, and Emerson doesn’t shy away from expressing how amazing that is. Like he’s in awe. Or maybe like he’s proud of me, too.
When we go upstairs, my nerves return in full force.
There are four bedrooms up here, including mine, and I’m torn as to whether I should show him to it or put him in one of the guest rooms. My first instinct is the latter, but the thought of him sleeping somewhere other than in my bed leaves me feeling a bit depressed.
He is my husband, however short-term the status may be. And it’s not like we haven’t…done things.
I realize we’re still standing in the upstairs hallway in complete silence when Emerson’s hand curls around mine. I startle, then meet his gorgeous blue eyes.
“I can sleep wherever you want me, Twila. There’s no pressure. I just want you to be comfortable.”
He punctuates the words with a soft squeeze of my hand.
I stare at him, in awe of his intuitiveness, as well as his kindness.
And I have to admit, I didn’t sleep well last night.
Not only because I was nervous about his arrival this morning, but because my bed felt lonely without him.
Sure, we were both passed-out-drunk the one night we slept together in the same bed, but somehow, I felt his absence last night.
And I didn’t like it.
Making the decision, I tug the hand that’s still holding mine toward my bedroom. He doesn’t budge, and when I look back, he gives me an apologetic look before pulling his hand free of mine so he can grab the handle of his suitcase. Right. He needs both hands to carry his stuff inside.
I lead the way, heading straight for the his-and-hers walk-in closets.
“This one is full of my stuff,” I say, pointing to the left. I head right, adding, “I only have a few things in here, so there should be enough space to hang your clothes. Plus, all of those built-in drawers are empty.”
“Thank you. This is perfect,” he says, shooting me a grin.
His smile makes me feel hot all over. This is what he really wants. He wants to be in this room. With me.
I bite the corner of my lip as my thoughts wander back to our time in Las Vegas. The things we did in bed. And in the shower. The things we wanted to do, but couldn’t because of a definitive lack of preparedness.
I glance toward my nightstand. I’m definitely prepared, now. Raven ordered an economy-sized pack of condoms and three different kinds of lube through her grocery delivery service to be delivered to me this morning. It was a gag gift. Sort of.
I look back at Emerson, who’s started to unpack. Making the decision, I leave the closet and wander toward my bed. I look over my shoulder, and he’s still got his back to me, placing a stack of folded garments into one of the drawers.
I take a deep breath and steel my spine.
Gripping the hem of my t-shirt, I whip it over my head and drop it to the floor.
Then, I undo my shorts and wiggle my hips until they, too, drop.
Stepping out of them, I climb onto the bed.
Laying my head on the mountain of pillows, I lift one arm up and let it curl around my skull as I bend one knee.
I read somewhere years ago that this was the position that makes a woman look the sexiest.
Am I being a bit brazen? Sure. But I really want to fuck my husband. Right now.
And the science of my position must be right, because when Emerson calls my name and turns around to find me, whatever he’d been about to say dies on his lips as his jaw unhinges and drops open.
His eyes heat just before he morphs into a tornado, spinning and hopping as he jerkily sheds his own clothes.
I laugh at his effort, and he stops to take a calming breath when he’s finally wearing nothing but his boxer briefs.
He climbs onto the bed with a wide smile, stretching over me and nestling his hips between my thighs. His face hovers over mine, perfectly still, as we grin at each other for a few short beats.
“Hi,” he whispers, finally.
“Hi,” I repeat back to him.
He dips his head and kisses me, and it’s the gentlest, sweetest, most reverent kiss I’ve ever received. He pulls back for a scant second, then dives in again. This time, his kiss is all-consuming and filled with demand, like he’s been starved for it.
“God, I missed you,” he murmurs as his lips trail down my neck and across my collarbone.
I’d make some kind of joke about how it’s only been a day since he saw me last, but my brain melts when he rolls his hips, showing me exactly how much he’s missed me. The ridge of his hard cock presses against my clit, making me gasp, so he does it again.
I’m already soaked and ready, so I tug on his hair to get his attention. When he looks up, I point at my nightstand.
“Top drawer. Condom. Now. Please.”
Emerson’s eyes move from the nightstand, darting back to mine. He must see the urgency in them, because he nods once, then stretches over to yank the drawer open.
“Jesus,” he murmurs when he sees the unopened box. “Did you buy all of these just for us?”
I look at the box, groaning when I read the large number printed on the side. “Raven. Joke. Please, just open it. I need you inside me.”
That is the first time I’ve ever uttered that particular sequence of words. To a man, anyway. I may have said them to a bag or two of caramel turtles in my life, but that’s a completely different context.
Emerson pushes himself upright and sits back on his ankles before he rips the plastic off the box and tears into it. Pulling a condom free, he tosses the box back into the drawer and sets the single packet on the mattress beside me.
When I stare up at him with impatience, he smirks and says, “Take your bra off, Twila.”
There’s something different about his voice. Gone is the golden retriever, eager to please, and in his place is something…other. This new beast is confident and commanding, and I don’t hate it.
I don’t hate it at all.
Without a word, I tuck my hands behind my back to unclasp my bra. Emerson smiles down at me with a mix of satisfaction and pride, a combination so heady, my channel floods with fresh heat from just that look, alone.
“Perfection,” he breathes when I toss the bra across the room and settle back against the pillows. “God, you are flawless, Twila Greene-House.”
The tacking of his last name to mine is deliberate. A reminder that we’re not two near-strangers having a little fun in bed. That he’s my husband. A man about to ravish his wife.
I don’t hate that, either.
He nods at my lower body, indicating without words that he wants the underwear gone, too.
I lift my hips and shove them down before dropping back to the bed and swinging my legs up into the air.
Emerson takes over, sliding the silk and lace up my calves while intentionally skating his fingertips across my skin.
As soon as my ankles are free, I drop my legs back to either side of him, and he growls at the sight of me on full display.
Reaching forward ever so slowly, he runs a knuckle along my slick flesh. A moan rips out of me, and I can no longer tell if it’s from pleasure or despair. I need more than what he’s giving.
“Emerson,” I gasp, “please.”
“We’ll get there,” he promises. “But first, I need another taste.”
My hips buck involuntarily at his words, and as I stare up at him through lust-heavy eyelids, he smiles.
I can almost see his internal debate over whether or not to tease me further, but he must decide against it, because he performs some acrobatic moves that leave him stretched out on his belly with his warm breath heating my sensitive bits.
My body goes perfectly still, rigid with anticipation as I wait for the first touch of his lips. His tongue. Emerson draws the moment out, and just when I think I might snap, he runs the flat of his tongue along my slit.
An animalistic howl rips from my lungs, and it must drive Emerson a bit wild because he stops teasing me and gets to work devouring my flesh. I’m writhing within seconds, grunting unintelligible words as he moans against my clit like I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.
I feel myself getting close, and instead of relishing the anticipation, I panic. Reaching down, I grab fistfuls of his hair and tug until he lifts his head to meet my eyes.
“I want to feel you inside me while I come,” I huff out, and his crystal blue gaze turns steely as he nods.
I watch as he slides off the mattress and pushes down his underwear, his eyes never leaving mine. When he steps out of them, my gaze drops to his thick, hard cock. Saliva pools in my mouth, and I swallow it down as he climbs back onto the bed, resuming his earlier kneeling position.
Picking up the condom, he rips the packaging open and plucks the latex free.
Tossing the wrapper aside, he rolls the condom on with slow, meticulous fingers.
Then he’s stretching over me again while guiding the tip of his cock toward my entrance.
I lift my legs and wrap them around him before digging my heels into his ass, urging him to hurry.
He must catch my not-so-subtle hint, because he drives his hips forward with a roar, filling me in one powerful stroke.
“Oh, fuck,” I gasp as his hardness stretches me in the most delicious of ways. “Yes. God, yes.”
The words tumble from my lips like a holy prayer until Emerson lowers his head to kiss me.
The second our tongues touch, his hips start to move.
He pulls out and pushes back in with surgical precision.
He’s pushing in at slightly different angles each time, and when he hits that perfect spot inside me, and I yelp, he holds that angle for each subsequent thrust.
“Oh, my God,” I pant after breaking away from his kiss. “I’m going to come.”
The pressure inside me builds faster than I’ve ever experienced, and I want to chase the high. I also want to stop it so I won’t come so quickly. I don’t want this to end.
“Come for me, Twila,” he murmurs in that deep, authoritative tone he used before. “Show me how much you love my cock.”
My core clenches, making my mouth fly open in a silent scream. Sparks burst to life behind my closed eyelids as pleasure rockets through me. My whole body is rigid as I ride the wave, and yet, Emerson doesn’t stop.
He keeps pumping into me, hitting that sensitive spot again and again, drawing my orgasm out into a never-ending storm of decadence. A stream of nonsensical words flow from my lips until his erection pulses inside me, and he plunges deep, freezing while he grunts through his own release.
Holy shit.
I never knew sex could be like that. I never knew it could be so…
Fuck, I can’t even think of a word to express it. It’s indescribable.
“Fan-fucking-tabulous,” Emerson whispers when his body finally relaxes atop mine.
I can’t stop my smile as he burrows his face into the crook between my neck and shoulder, kissing the sensitive skin there.
“My thoughts, exactly,” I whisper back, and I feel his answering grin against my skin.
Fan-fucking-tabulous.