Chapter Seven
Emelia
I'm not sure what time it is when my ringing phone jolts me awake on the couch. I sit bolt upright, slapping the coffee table in search of it. My eyes are bleary and unfocused when I finally pull it in front of my face, trying to figure out who is calling me.
The whole world snaps into focus when I see Royce's name lighting up the screen, along with the time. It's after two in the morning. He texted me after his game earlier tonight, saying they were getting ready to fly out. I didn't think I'd hear from him again until tomorrow at the earliest.
"Royce?" I say into the phone, my voice raspy from sleep. "Is everything okay?"
"It is now," he says. "Open your front door."
"What?" I blink into the darkness.
"Open the door, babe."
"Royce!" I jump off the couch like it's on fire, my heart pounding. "Are you…?" I don't even finish the sentence before I'm scurrying across the living room.
I fumble with the lock and then jerk it open. I barely have time to process Royce standing on the other side in a t-shirt and gym shorts, breathing like he ran all the way here from Michigan, before he's yanking me into his arms.
My phone clatters to the floor.
His lands beside it.
"Fuck," he growls, kissing me so hard our teeth clack together as he steps into the house. "I missed this fucking mouth."
I whimper, my hands all twisted up in his hair as I practically climb his body, trying to get closer to his wicked mouth. He helps boost me with his hands on my ass.
"You're here," I gasp against his lips.
"Fuck yeah, I am," he groans, nipping my bottom lip. "Been dying to see you again since I drove away after our date. I couldn't wait another second, Emelia."
My heart flutters, something a lot like joy shooting through me. He probably drove here straight from the airport. I was the first thing on his mind after his game. Not sleep. Not the fact that they won. But seeing me.
I groan, my back thumping against the door as my tongue tangles with his.
He kisses me until I forget every reason I ever told myself not to let this happen. Until I forget how to breathe.
"Damn, baby." He bites my bottom lip, palms both my ass cheeks as if he's staking his claim, and then tugs my shorts down with a single rough motion. Cool air shocks my bare skin before his hand is there, his fingers digging in and squeezing like I might try to run.
I probably should, but I don't want to run. I want him all over me, right now.
"Please," I whimper, not above begging to get what I want.
He grinds against me, the hard line of his cock pressed to my belly, only a thin sliver of fabric separating us. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, hungry and deep. The sound he makes—something between a growl and a moan—goes straight to my clit.
"You want this, baby?" His hand slides lower.
"Yes. God yes," I gasp, clinging to his shoulders, as he parts my slit like he owns every inch of me. I'm so wet it's embarrassing, but he only groans and presses harder, rubbing slow, torturous circles.
"Tell me to stop," he rasps against my neck, his voice wild with need.
"Don't you dare stop," I breathe, my head dropping back against the door. It feels like my whole body is strung tight, every muscle waiting for his next command. If he stops now, I may explode into pieces.
His thumb circles my clit mercilessly, faster, harder, his fingers sliding inside me until I gasp into his mouth. My hips buck without permission, my body traitorous and desperate, but he pins me with nothing more than the wildness of his eyes.
"R-Royce," I stutter. My knees threaten to collapse as he works me, his lips right at my ear, his voice velvet and steel. "More."
"More?"
"Fuck me, Royce," I groan, rocking against him. "Please."
"I know what you need, baby. You're dripping for me already," he says, a hint of smug awe in the words as he fucks me with his fingers until my vision blurs.
He seems to know exactly how close I am. Instead of finishing, he pulls back, dropping to his knees.
I choke on a moan as he drags my sleep shorts and panties all the way down my legs. His hands never leave me. His eyes never leave my face. He looks up at me like I'm the answer to every prayer he's ever had.
"Stand still for me," he commands. "Let me see what a lucky motherfucker I am." His palms run up my calves and thighs, spreading me wide. "God yeah, pretty baby. Look at you."
I don't get a chance to respond before his face is between my legs, his mouth working me with unholy precision. His tongue flattens and curls, licking until my hands scrabble uselessly at the wood behind me.
Heat surges through every inch of my body, filthy noises echoing from both of us.
His tongue circles my clit, laps at my slit, and then thrusts deep.
I sob his name in response, my hands in his hair, pulling him closer.
He doesn't let go, not even when my hips buck, and my thighs clamp around his head. I'm so high on him I barely notice when my own voice cracks, the sound echoing around the entryway.
I come so hard I lose any pretense of control, my body a writhing mess.
Royce doesn't let up, not for a second, not even when I'm shaking and sobbing and half begging for mercy. He's ruthless, eating me through the orgasm, and then demanding another one.
I give it to him, flying apart with a shout.
I'm still catching my breath when he surges to his feet, hauling me up with him as if I weigh nothing.
He stumbles a little, and I giggle, my legs wrapped around his waist and my arms locked around his neck, but he finds his balance quickly, shooting me that cocky, devastating smirk of his before kissing me again.
I taste myself on his tongue and moan, so turned on, I can't think.
He backs me into the living room and sinks down on the couch with me still clinging to him, never breaking the kiss.
My tank top is bunched around my ribs, my chest heaving against him, but he doesn't even bother with it. He just grabs the neckline and yanks it down, popping my tits free. His mouth is there immediately, sucking hard enough to make me gasp.
"Christ, Emelia. I could live on your taste and this perfect body." His teeth rake my nipple. "Every inch of you is a dream, baby."
His cock is already hard, straining beneath the thin mesh of his shorts. He fumbles them down just enough to slip it free.
I reach for him, wrapping one hand around his shaft, desperate to feel him.
"Goddamn," he hisses, his hands trembling as we work together to line him up, the blunt head notching at my entrance. His eyes are wild with need, the pupils so dilated they swallow up the green. He looks so damn sexy, so desperate. "Are you sure?"
"Get inside me," I whisper, writhing above him.
He thrusts up, splitting me open.
I cry out, more a sob than a moan. The stretch is overwhelming, the fullness too much and not enough all at once. My hips jerk, my body trying to accommodate his sheer size.
"Ride me," he growls, his voice pure gravel.
I whimper, bracing myself on his shoulders and sinking down, inch by greedy inch, until he's buried so deep that I swear he's in my soul. The stretch almost hurts, but it's the kind of ache I know I'll crave for the rest of my life.
His fingers dig into my hips, guiding me, forcing me to take every last inch. "Look at you," he rasps, biting down on my shoulder. "Taking me so fucking well. You were made for me, Emelia."
My head falls back, a wild moan tearing out of me as I ride him with a desperation that borders on holy. His hands roam everywhere, never letting me forget who's inside me.
Every time I come up, he slams me back down, our bodies colliding in a mess of sticky skin and tangled limbs.
"God, Royce," I gasp, lost to the pleasure. "I missed you." I don't mean to say it, but the confession just slips out between one deep thrust and the next.
He grins like I just gave him the world. "Show me, pretty baby. Come all over my cock," he commands.
The words alone almost do me in.
And then he takes over, lifting me up and down his length until I feel like I'm flying.
My toes barely graze the edge of the couch cushion with each surge, the motion so relentless and precise that my brain short-circuits.
All I can focus on is the perfect drag and stretch of his cock inside me.
I can't think, can't breathe. There's only him inside me, the pleasure so intense it's a shockwave.
My orgasm slams through me so violently I scream, clenching around him with pure, helpless greed. It's not graceful or quiet. It's wild, raw, and shattering. I arch against him, clutching his shoulders, riding every aftershock as he fucks me through it, grinding up with such intent I sob.
He doesn't stop. Not even when I'm shaking, not even when I try to squirm away out of instinct. He holds me pinned, still impaled, watching my face as if it's the only thing that matters.
"I want another," he growls, his eyes locked on mine.
I sob something unintelligible, but my body is already winding up again, every nerve ending so oversensitized that the pleasure feels like lightning.
It's like he knows it. He slows just a little, rocking me on his cock with deep, grinding thrusts that make me dizzy. His mouth finds my breast again, his tongue laving over my nipple before he bites down just hard enough to pull another gasp from me.
The second orgasm hits different. It burns up from my spine, molten, almost savage. I clamp down on him, my body liquid and light at the same damn time.
He yanks me down, burying himself to the hilt with a growl that vibrates through my whole body. His cock pulses and jerks inside me, the rush of heat so sudden and fierce it triggers another aftershock.
I cling to him, my nails digging into his back, and ride him through the desperate shudders of his release.
He doesn't let go, not for a second. His arms clamp around me, keeping me flush to his chest, both of us panting like we just ran a marathon.
"You're mine, Emelia," he pants in the aftermath, his body trembling against mine. His lips brush my throat, his kiss so sweet it hurts in the best way possible. "You're all mine."
I bury my face in his throat, tears prickling at my eyes. In this moment, I can't deny that I want to be his. So damn badly that it's terrifying.