Chapter 17 Emmett
EMMETT
One second, she's sitting beside me, all tense, telling me nothing can happen. And the next, she's launching herself at me, her lips crashing into mine.
Fuck.
For a split second, I freeze, my brain short-circuiting. This is wrong. Every rule I've ever set for myself is screaming at me to stop. The right thing to do is to stop.
Fuck it.
Need takes over as my hands slide into her hair, the strands soft and silky.
I fist them as I angle her head and kiss her back, hard, deep, taking everything she's offering and demanding more.
This. This is what I've been craving since London.
Her mouth is hot. Desperate. Her tongue sweeps against mine as she whimpers into my mouth.
That sound ... Christ, that sound shoots straight to my cock.
I'm already hard, I have been since she showed up in that see-through tank top with her nipples pressing through the fabric.
But now I'm painfully, achingly hard. Her hands clutch at my T-shirt, pulling me closer, and I can't help myself.
I wrap my arm around her waist and haul her onto my lap so she's straddling me.
The hoodie. My hoodie with my name on the back rides up, exposing her bare thighs as they press against my hips through my sweats.
Shit.
She grinds down on me, and I hiss through my teeth, my grip tightening on her waist. I can feel her heat through the thin fabric. It's driving me insane.
"Fuck, Trouble," I growl against her lips.
"Don't call me that," she breathes, but she's kissing me again before I can respond.
Harder. Deeper. Her hips roll against mine in a rhythm that's going to make me lose my mind.
My hands slide under the hoodie, where I find bare skin, she's so soft and warm. I grip her waist, my thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts through that thin tank top. That’s right, no bra.
I can feel her nipples, hard peaks pressing against my palms. She arches into me.
Moaning. That sound. That fucking sound is going to haunt me.
"Wait," I manage, pulling back slightly even though it kills me. "We can't ..."
Her brows pull together. "You don't want to?" She sounds hurt.
"Fuck, Trouble. I want to. I so fucking want to. But I don't want you to regret it."
She licks her plump lips. "One time." Her hazel eyes darken with want, her pupils blown wide. "Just once. To get it out of our system before we have to work together."
"Joelle ..."
“We keep dancing around each other. I can't stand it anymore. I want this ..." She stumbles over her words. "I want this … want for you out of my system."
"You think after another taste this need between us vanishes?" Because I sure as hell know that I'm going to want more, so much more.
"It has to. This moment right now, and then we never speak of it again. Tomorrow, we're colleagues. Professional relationship. Nothing more."
I should say no, push her off my lap, and walk away before this gets any more complicated. But I'm not that strong. Not when it comes to her.
"One time," I repeat.
She nods. "One time."
I cup her face with both hands, my thumbs brushing her swollen lips, her cheeks flushed. "You sure about this? Because once we start, I'm not stopping if this is the only chance I have to have you."
"Stop talking and kiss me, Captain."
The way she says it. Breathless. Commanding.
It breaks whatever restraint I have left.
I crush my mouth to hers, pouring months of frustration into the kiss.
All the nights I've spent thinking about London.
About her. About this happening again. She meets me with equal intensity, her fingers sliding into my hair, tugging hard enough to sting.
I groan, my hands roaming over her body, up her sides to feel her ribs expand as she breathes, then across her back, pulling her closer, and down to grip her ass through those shorts.
I squeeze. She grinds down on me again, harder this time. I nearly lose it right there.
"Bed," I mutter against her lips.
"No. Here. Now," she demands.
Fuck. She's going to kill me. I shift our weight and lay her back on the couch, following her down so I'm hovering over her.
My hoodie has ridden up to her waist, exposing those linen shorts and miles of smooth, tanned skin.
I kiss her again, slower this time. Deeper.
Savoring it. My hand slides up her thigh, squeezing the firm muscle there.
She gasps into my mouth, her hips lifting toward my touch.
"Tell me to stop. Last chance," I say against her lips.
"Don't you dare."
My hand moves higher, teasing, taking my time even though I want to rush until my fingers brush the hem of her shorts. She arches into my touch, her breath coming in short pants.
"Emmett ..."
"I've got you, Trouble." I slip my hand under the fabric and find her wet and wanting.
So, fucking wet and ready for me. Holy fuck.
"So, fucking perfect," I growl, circling her clit with my thumb while sliding one finger inside her.
She cries out, her back arching off the couch, her hands fisting in my T-shirt hard enough that I hear the fabric strain.
"Quiet," I warn, even though I love the sound.
"Unless you want the neighbors to hear how good I'm making you feel.
" She bites her lip, nodding, but when I add another finger, stretching her, she moans again.
Louder. I capture the sound with my mouth, kissing her as I work her with my hand, slow, deliberate, building the pressure the way I remember she likes.
The way she responded in London when I took my time.
Her hips move against me, seeking more friction, more pressure.
I give it to her. "That's it," I murmur against her lips.
"Take what you need." She's panting now, her chest heaving, her skin flushed. She’s close.
I can feel it in the way her body tenses.
The way her walls flutter around my fingers, the way her nails dig into my shoulders through my shirt.
I adjust my angle, curling my fingers, hitting that spot that makes her see stars.
“Oh God," she gasps. "Emmett, I'm ..."
"I know. Let go, Trouble. I've got you." She shatters, her whole body trembling, her walls clenching around my fingers as she comes with a broken cry that she muffles against my shoulder, her teeth grazing my skin through the fabric.
Fuck. She's beautiful like this, completely undone and mine.
I work her through it, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until she collapses back against the couch, breathing hard, her eyes glazed.
She looks up at me, cheeks flushed, lips parted. "That was ..."
"Not done yet." I kiss her again, slower this time, my hand sliding out from her shorts, making her whimper at the loss.
I bring my fingers to my mouth. Taste her.
Her eyes widen then darken. "Fucking perfect," I say.
Then I'm kissing her again, settling between her thighs, she can feel how hard I am, how much I want her. Need her.
"Emmett," she breathes, her hands sliding under my shirt, her nails dragging across my abs, leaving trails of fire. I groan, grinding against her. The friction is almost too much. Almost not enough. I need her. Now. My hand moves to the waistband of my sweats, and I’m about to push them down, about to finally . ..
Then three sharp knocks at my door.
We both freeze.
Time stops.
"Emmett?" A female voice calls from the other side of the door.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Collette.
The color drains from Joelle's face. "Shit." She scrambles off the couch, pulling down the hoodie and adjusting her shorts with shaking hands.
I sit up and run my hand through my hair, trying to calm down, trying to think and get my cock under control. "Just a second," I call out. My voice rougher than I intended.
Joelle's panicking and looking around like she's trying to find somewhere to hide.
"Bathroom," I mouth, pointing down the hall. She nods and disappears, her footsteps quick and quiet. I take a breath and adjust myself, which is still painfully hard as hell, and attempt to look normal even though I'm anything but. I head toward the door and open it.
Collette's standing there, phone in hand, a worried expression on her face. "Hey. Sorry to bother you." She's looking past me. Trying to see inside. "Have you seen Jo?"
"Jo?"
"My sister. She's not in the apartment, but her phone and keys are there. I'm worried she went out without them and got locked out somewhere."
"She's here."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Here?"
"She got locked out earlier and has been waiting here for you. We didn't hear you come home."
"Oh." Relief floods her face, then suspicion creeps in. "Why didn't she call me?"
"Doesn't have your number memorized."
"Right." She's studying me now. Taking in my disheveled hair. My flushed face, the way I'm breathing harder than I should be. "Is she okay?"
"Yeah. She just popped to the bathroom. Come in, let me get her." I leave the door open, safer that way. "Your sister's here," I call out down the hall.
The door opens to the bathroom, and Joelle steps out.
She's composed now, hair kind of smoothed down, face neutral.
But I can still see it, the flush on her cheeks, the slight tremble in her hands, the way her lips are swollen from my kisses.
We stare at each other, and the corridor feels too small, the air between us charged with everything we didn't get to finish.
Collette's eyes narrow when she sees Joelle in my hoodie. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Everything's fine." Joelle is not acting fine. "Like Emmett said, I stupidly locked myself out while taking the trash out."
Collette's eyes narrow on her sister. "Why are you in his hoodie?"
"Because I walked out in my PJs."
Collette clocks what her sister is saying. "That's nice of him."
"You can give it back later," I tell Joelle.
"I'll wash it and give it back as soon as I can."
Collette continues to look between the two of us. "What?" Joelle asks her sister.
"You're acting weird."
"No, I'm not."
"I told her that too." I smirk.
"Her social skills are not great. Thought they would have improved in London," Collette adds.
"Hey," Joelle says, offended. "We were talking about work. So, no socializing needed."
Collette looks at her sister, surprised. "Seriously?" She shakes her head.
"What?" Jo asks, looking confused.
"Thanks again, Cap. I'll take her off your hands," Collette says.
Little does she know her sister is still currently all over my hands. Fucking hell, Emmett, that was crude.
"I'm not that bad." Joelle moans to her sister.
"I know you're not," Collette says, placating her. "See ya tomorrow." She ushers her sister out of my apartment.
The door closes.
Silence.
I lean against the wall and close my eyes.
What the fuck just happened? I almost had sex with Joelle, while she was wearing my hoodie.
My teammate's sister. The team physio. This is bad.
Really bad. I've crossed lines I told myself I would never.
I bring my fingers to my mouth and lick them.
I can still taste her. Fuck. My cock comes to life again, throbbing, angry, and needy.
I look down at the tenting in my sweats.
I don't think. I don't even move to the bedroom.
I don't have time, the need is overwhelming.
Right fucking here, in the living room, where moments ago I had my fingers buried inside her, I shove my sweats down roughly, and my cock springs free.
Thick and hard. I wrap my fist around myself and the relief is immediate.
"Fuck," I growl, stroking myself hard, fast. No finesse, just need.
All I can see is her, spread out on my couch, legs open, my hoodie pushed up, looking at me like she wanted to be devoured.
The sounds she made when I touched her, little gasps, moans, whimpers.
The way she was so fucking wet for me, dripping, ready.
How tight she was around my fingers. How she clenched when she came.
My grip tightens, pre-cum leaks from the tip, and I use it, stroking myself faster.
Harder. All the while the fingers that were inside of her are held against my nose, breathing her on.
I think about burying myself inside her again.
How tight she'd be around my cock. Remembering how she felt all those months ago.
The way she took me. All of me. Those hazel eyes rolled to the back of her head when my cock hit that place deep inside her.
"Fuck. Fuck." I'm grunting, almost animalistic, but I don't care.
I think about flipping her over, bending her over the couch, pulling those tiny shorts down, and sinking into her from behind, seeing my name on her back while I fuck her, claiming her, marking her, making her scream.
I'm close. So, fucking close. I stroke myself brutally.
Chasing it. Thinking about her mouth. Her lips wrapped around my cock.
Looking up at me while she takes me deep.
Thinking about coming on her face, her tits, marking her everywhere. Mine.
"Fuck. Joelle. Fuck." My release hits like a freight train, and I come hard.
My vision whites out, cum spurts over my fist, hitting the floor as my whole body shakes with it.
I keep stroking, drawing it out, milking every last drop until I'm empty and gasping.
My knees nearly give out. I stand there, breathing like I just finished a game, with my hand covered in stickiness, cock still twitching.
I stare at the couch, at the cushion where her head was, where she came apart for me.
One time.
Fucking bullshit.
Because I'm already hard again just thinking about it. Already desperate for more. I need her.
I'm so fucked.