Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SEAMUS
“You gave Chuck a chair he can’t sit in?” I ask as she sets the tea down on the coffee table after finding a coaster.
“What can I say? I give shitty presents.”
She grips my hand as if to help me up, but I shake my head. My rib is protesting the thought of any movement, even though no part of me is fond of this chair. “I don’t think I can get up right now.”
“Do you want your tea?”
“No.” She’s still holding my hand, a look of entreaty on her face, and I decide to be honest. “I want you.”
She watches me for a few seconds, as if she’s deciding whether she’d like to kiss me or kill me. “Five minutes ago, you were trying to convince me to stay away from you.”
“What can I say? I’m a complicated man.”
And then she surprises the shit out of me by sitting on my lap, straddling me, careful to stay away from my ribs.
I give her a questioning look, and she says, “Lucky for you, I’m a complicated woman.”
“There was never any question about that,” I murmur, soaking in my fill of her face. It’s different up close, gifting me with details most people don’t get to see. The tiny wash of freckles across the bridge of her nose, a little curl of short hair at her temple. A dark ring around the edges of her irises. Instinctively, I want these details to be mine.
Smiling, she says, “It seems only fair for me to be uncomfortable with you, considering I brought the chair over.”
“I’m not uncomfortable anymore. Besides, you heard what the nurse said. I need to sit. I’m following instructions.”
“And I’m going to help,” she insists.
“You’re going to sit here with me all night?” I ask, wrapping a hand around her hip. “It might get boring.”
“I think I’ll figure out something to do,” she says, moving her hips just the slightest bit—obviously in a bid to drive me crazy.
“You think you’re going to get out of touching yourself if you dry hump me?” I ask, tightening my grip on her slightly.
“No.” She meets my eyes and holds them. “I’m going to do that, too. I’ve been thinking about it all day.”
A groan escapes me, and this time it has nothing to do with physical discomfort. “God, Em. You drive me absolutely fucking crazy. You’ve driven me crazy since the first night we met.”
She rubs against me again, making my dick stand all the way to attention. “I can feel that, Seamus.” Then she lifts her hand to my face, her fingers rubbing softly along my cheekbone. They’re kissing my skin as she watches me, her mossy eyes hitched to mine in a way that feels tangible. I’m waiting for her to pass her prognosis—to let me know if I’m going to die right here, or if I’m going to be able to fuck her. “You know, Leap Year only comes once every four years.”
“I don’t care about Leap Year right now, Emma. There’s only one thing I want, and it’s separated from me by too many layers of clothing.” I slip my hand under her sweater, hissing at the feeling of her soft flesh under my touch as she writhes over me again.
Her eyes glimmer with the knowledge of what she’s doing to me. “Maybe we only get to touch each other on Leap Days.”
That’s news that might disappoint me in the future, because I have a feeling I’m not going to want to wait every four years to feel her come apart around me. Part of me is also panicking, thinking this is something I absolutely should not do. I’m no good at relationships, and my feelings for this woman are already so complicated. What happens if this thing between us explodes? I won’t be able to escape her, or she me. It’ll be anything but easy and clean.
But I’ve never been a man to overthink. Why start now?
“I can accept that,” I say, “as long as I get to touch you now. I'm going to die if I don’t.”
She grinds against me again. “Are you sure you’re not going to die if you do? You haven’t had the best luck over the last couple of days.”
I chuckle and move my hand over her back, lifting it up to her bra strap and unfastening it—freeing her for me. “I’m feeling pretty fucking lucky right now.” My hands both dip under her shirt, getting a couple of glorious handfuls, and I duck in to kiss her sweet neck as she arcs it back. I press my lips to her soft, fragrant skin and then graze it with my teeth. A gasp escapes her, and she lowers her head to me, her lips parted and ready to be claimed. I need them. I need her , in a way I haven’t let myself need a woman in a long time. Since Lia.
That thought pulses fresh panic into my blood, but the desire I feel for Emma’s lips, for her sweet body, is greater. It’s a need that has the rest of my body marching to its beat. Even the pains I’m carrying fall into the background—an ugly hum that I can mostly ignore as I relinquish one of her tits to reach back and grip her hair, bringing her mouth to me as she rocks her body closer.
Her lips part, her surrender a thing of absolute glory, but Emma’s no wilting flower. She wars her tongue with mine as she rolls on top of me—the promise of her so seductive that my whole body lifts in the uncomfortable chair. She’s careful to stay away from my bum rib, but her mouth is attacking mine with as much abandon as I’m attacking hers. A feeling of relief encompasses me, because it feels as if the whole year has led up to this once-in-every-four years blip of a day when she can be mine. I’ve thought about her for months. I’ve coveted her. I’ve stroked myself countless times thinking of that moment against the wall of Smith House. Wondering if it would have ended differently if I’d let her keep the damn flask and gone for something sweeter…
I’d taken the flask because I was discomposed over her effect on me, even then, when I didn’t realize how much I would come to like her. Want her. Covet her.
I reach for the hem of her shirt, urging it up, even as I refuse to break contact with her sweet mouth. She pulls back. I half-expect her to laugh, but her gaze is serious. Surprised. She doesn’t say anything as she pulls off her sweater and then her unclasped bra, leaving her topless in my lap—a lucky bastard, for sure, even though the rabbit gives a little kick inside his cage to remind us that we’re not alone, and the apartment is enough of a mess that it might give poor Chuck a heart attack. I’ll care about that at some point, but right now, I only care about her.
Emma’s dark hair spills around her face, her lips pink, her eyes aglow beneath her dark brows, her tits bared and pink-tipped. Lovely. Sculpted with the same artfulness as the rest of her. “You’re beautiful,” I say, feeling a thrum of wonder and warm emotion inside my chest. “You’re an absolute fucking knockout. A wonder.”
“For a little rich girl?” she asks with her usual teasing look.
“For anyone. I could look at you for the rest of my life. It could be the only thing I ever did, and I’d never get bored.”
I don’t know where the hell that came from, but at the moment, it feels true.
“I like looking at you, too,” she says softly, leaning in to kiss my jaw.
“I know,” I say wryly before claiming her mouth again, sucking on the bottom lip because I don’t want to let it go.
She pulls back slightly, giving me a sultry, almost sulky look. “I think we’d better keep your shirt on for now, though.”
A growl escapes me, even though I know she’s probably right. I don’t know how the hell I’d get it off right now, and if I did, I’d probably just reveal a huge black-and-blue spot, not to mention the healed stab wound she questioned me about earlier. I don’t want this moment to be dragged down by heavy shit like that.
“I can live with that,” I say, then lower my head and bury it between her tits—which would be a fine place to die, if you ask me. I claim her nipple in my mouth as I weave my hand into her dark, thick hair. I savor the sounds she makes for me as her hips continue to buck—each movement a delight and a torment.
She pulls back slightly, watching me, something in her eyes…
Voice uncharacteristically gentle, she says, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“ Hurt me ,” I say. “Injure me. Bruise me. But, for God’s sake, let me get into your pants.”
She laughs, her throat moving with it, and I lean in on impulse and kiss it softly, ending with a nip. She makes a sound that indicates she wants to say something, so I pull my lips from her, feeling the immediate need to press them back.
“I’d probably need to do all the work.”
I’ll be damned if that doesn’t make me even harder—hard enough to break concrete.
“You take me how you need me, Emma. Anything you want.”
Her eyes glimmer as if I’d handed her the world, and how could I not smile? She loves to be in control, and I just gave her the reins. I’d like to think she’d be okay with passing them back and forth, but maybe I’ll never know. She is a woman of her word, after all, and she said tonight is the only night we get to touch. For four years. Well, if it is, I’m going to make the most of it.
She rocks against me again, and I feel like I’m seconds away from coming in my pants. “I want it to happen in this chair,” she says. “It needs someone to enjoy it. This may be the only way how. Besides, they told you to sit up as much as possible.”
I grip her hip tighter, wanting her to stay exactly where she is. “You are a woman who listens to the rules.”
“I wouldn’t be here if I were. Where are your condoms?”
There’s an assumption behind the words. It’s a correct assumption, but probably not for the reason she’s thinking. I haven’t fucked anyone since coming to Asheville. Hell, I haven’t kissed anyone since the last time I kissed her , but if she knew that, she might read something into it. She’d probably be correct to, and yet, I’m guessing she wouldn’t like what it implies. I don’t like what it implies.
I also don’t like how many times I’ve wondered whether she’s gotten any rebound action since moving to Smith House. She could walk into any bar and have the men all falling all over themselves.
She’s here with you now, you idiot.
“My bureau, top left drawer.”
“You trust me to go through your things?” she asks as she gives me another teasing little pass—pressing down on my straining dick.
“Absolutely not. But right now I don’t care.”
She laughs as she gets up, leaving me feeling totally bereft—like my body no longer knows what to do with itself if she’s not on top of it.
“I’ll be right back,” she says over her shoulder.
I watch the sway of her ass in those tight purple yoga pants as she leaves, thinking all kinds of thoughts. She’s a perfect vision in those pants, tight in all the right places, with her dark hair loose around her bare shoulders and the expanse of her back on display. When she’s gone, I’m left with an unfamiliar feeling. Nerves. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, and I don’t at all like it. I try to stuff it down, where I keep all the things I don’t like, but they’ve had a way of surfacing lately. Of breathing down my neck.
My eyes find that rabbit, who looks uncomfortable in his cage, and an unexpected feeling of sympathy washes through me. Sure, Carrot wants to bite and scratch me, and he would probably gnaw on my corpse if I died in this room. But he’s caught in a cage. I know what it is to feel caught, and I’d bite off my own foot to escape, no question.
But I don’t feel caught right now, with Emma.
I feel nothing but fortunate, and all this rabbit has is the pile of curated carrots she gave him.
“We’ll get you sorted,” I murmur to him, just as Emma emerges from my bedroom with a strip of condoms, her chest is still bared to me. I can’t look away from her.
“Are you talking to Carrot?” she asks, her voice teasing but pleased as she prowls over to me.
“I was talking to my dick,” I tease. “Come here.” I reach for her, and she sets the condoms down on the table, within reach, and sits on my lap. “You feel good on top of me,” I breathe out. “So good.”
Like she belongs, but that’s something I know not to say. Even if she hadn’t set the boundary of tonight, I would have set boundaries of my own. She’s my sister’s sister-in-law. She’s a lawyer. She’s a woman who could wrap me around her pinky with a glance. She’s dangerous to me for so many reasons, but especially for this one—
I don’t want her to leave.
She runs her fingertips through my hair, then circles them around the bump on my head, surprising me when she tips her lips up to press a soft kiss next to it. A feeling of sweet warmth pulses through me, which I try to strangle by focusing on the painful need I feel.
“We have to take off your pants,” she breathes into my ear and then rises to her feet and slips off her shoes, followed by her yoga pants and underwear, leaving her bared to me.
My body’s still exhausted, still hurting, but I’ve never gotten up more quickly. My rib reminds me it’s still very much bruised, my head suggests that rest would be a better alternative to what I have planned, but I’m going to listen to no one but my dick right now.
Emma watches me with a smile, then gets down on her knees and unfastens the button of my pants, then tugs the zipper down, track after track. She pushes them down while staring up at me, her eyes full of heat.
“Do you want a taste?” I ask, half kidding. Okay, five percent kidding.
Her answer is to grab my shaft and lick her tongue around the head of my dick slowly, like she’s tasting a lollipop to see if it’s a flavor she enjoys.
I swear under my breath, my heart beating so hard, I wouldn’t be surprised if it broke free of my chest.
“I don’t know if it was enough for me to form an educated opinion,” she says, her voice pitched low as she holds my gaze, my dick still held in her hand.
Then she takes more of me into her mouth, going deeper, and I suck in air harshly enough that my rib throbs. I swear some more and then burrow a hand into her hair, watching her as she bobs on my dick, the sensation so exquisite, I know I’m in danger of falling to my knees. Especially right now.
I tug her hair back lightly, and she meets my eyes again, making my balls ache. “Emma,” I say, “you’ve got to stop that. I’m going to lose control.”
She grins at me and sucks harder, swirling her tongue over me, before pulling back. Still on her knees, my dick next to her face, she says, “Maybe I want you to.”
“I’d like it to happen inside of you,” I say, cupping her face, her hair tickling my palm, her breath warm on my dick. “If tonight’s my only chance to touch you, I need all of you.”
She shocks me by kissing the side of my shaft. Then she gets up and backs me into the uncomfortable chair. “I need all of you too.”
She reaches for the condoms next to the abandoned and no doubt cold cup of tea and opens one of the packages, taking it out and rolling it over me.
Before she can do anything else, I lean forward to kiss her tits, her abdomen, and reach between her legs to get her ready for me. But she’s already very ready for me, so wet and slick I could cry. I play with her, and a heady little sound escapes her as I move my fingers and my palm, but then she shakes her head and pushes my hand away. “Your cock. Now.”
I’m not one to argue.
She climbs onto my lap again, positioning me against her glorious slickness, and then starts to lower down—the sensation making my eyes want to roll back in my head. But I can’t let that happen, obviously, because then I’d have to take them off of her. She takes me an inch at a time, pausing to let herself adjust to me—and then she’s fully seated, and a feeling of pure contentment rolls through me. It feels so good, so right, and I wrap my arms around her and kiss her as she starts to roll her hips, taking me in and out of the best place I’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting.
I groan into her mouth, and she nips my lip as she grinds down harder. I’m not going to last long like this, with her playing with me, taking me at her speed, enjoying me. I reach between us and rub her as she continues to take me in and out, and I’m rewarded when she arches her neck back. The chair moves on the floor, the feet screeching, and I could give a crap if it makes a chair-sized dent in the wall. I’m inside of her, and she’s arching against me as if I’m—
Oh God, I'm not going to make it.
I grab her hips, my rib crying out, but I don’t care. I move her against me, and when she joins her motion with mine, it feels so damn perfect. Even more perfect when I lean in to suck her nipple and then taste her lips. I thrust up into her while pushing her down, and she cries out into my mouth.
It’s still fucking perfect when she forgets where my injury is in her wild abandon, because I'm the man who made her feel that way. She pushes closer, closer, tightening around me, and then her whole body starts to tense. The chair creaking like it’s going to fall down or collapse into sticks. Let it.
I push in deeper, and I feel her falling over the edge.
“Oh my God,” she says into my ear, and then bites the lobe, and I’ll be damned if that’s not what pushes me over with her.
I pump up into her one final time, panting, sweating, hurting , and somehow that only makes the feeling better. Stronger. I’m overcome. I’m obliterated. I’m in disbelief. And I know, in the way a man knows these things, that once every four years could never be enough. But it has to be. She said she won’t give me anything else, other than the torturous joy of watching her make herself come, and she is definitely a woman of her word.
She buries her face deeper into me, her arms twining around my neck. Her whole body pressed to me. It hurts, and it feels good. “That was…unreal.”
“I disagree. It was incredibly fucking real,” I whisper back, leaning down to kiss her hair. “I knew it would be like that.”
She glances up at me, an unreadable smile on her face. “So did I.”
I want to carry her into the bedroom, but I’m in no condition to be carrying anyone. Probably not in a condition to be fucking a beautiful woman in a chair either, but even a stopped clock gets lucky twice a day.
She burrows into me again, and this time I groan from the pressure to my rib.
She snaps back and pulls off me, my dick sensitive to its unfortunate change in circumstances. “Oh crap, I hurt you.”
Not yet , a voice in my head whispers. Not yet. But the yearning I’ve been feeling is stronger now that I’ve been inside her, and I can admit to myself what I’ve probably known all along. She has the power to hurt me. To obliterate me. To crack me into pieces and stomp on them.
Normally, that realization would make me want to back the fuck off, but that’s not what I want. I want as much of her as she’s willing to give me.
“I’ll be fine,” I insist, “but let’s get some sleep. I might take a pain pill.”