Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lane
We’re in my bed, and she’s astride me, bouncing up and down. I can’t believe I have to fight off another climax. I’ve come twice already.
She’s pulled her hair out of the ponytails and it’s curtained over her face. I have both palms full of her creamy tits, and there’s nowhere else I want to be.
I might’ve been a little obsessed after I saw her photo, but this tells me there was a reason. This chemistry between us? It doesn’t happen every day.
“Ride me.” I stuff a hand in her silky strands. “You’re soft all over. Your hair, your skin, that sweet pink pussy of yours.”
She pants, rolling her hips as she moves. She’s disappearing again. It isn’t my imagination. She disappears into her head, and this becomes nothing but fucking.
She might think that, but I’ll show her the truth.
I stop thrusting and hold her still. “Look at me, Em.” Her eyelids flutter open. “Who’s fucking you?”
“You.” She strains against my hold, trying to steal scraps of pleasure. I’ll give her all she wants, but she’s going to know who’s doing it.
I rock up, burying myself deep into her warm, willing body. “Who?” I withdraw.
“Lane.” She wiggles her hips, teasing the crown of my cock until I almost give in. I don’t. She huffs out a breath and drapes herself over me, kissing along my jaw. “Mr. Foster.”
I grunt. “Damn right. You and me.”
I finally have Emerson Langley in my bed.
“Mine,” I growl again, my hands cinched on her hips. She’s riding me fast, coming to another release. She’s gasping like it’s a shock she can come again, a clear sign she hasn’t been with anyone who deserves her. “My wife.”
I fight off the crest of my climax, battling it out until we can explode together.
“Lane,” she gasps, and I’ll never get tired of hearing my name spill out of her mouth when I’m buried deep inside her.
For the moment, she’s not fighting what’s between us.
I tangle a hand in her hair and wedge my other one in the slickness between us. “Ride me harder, Em.” A shiver racks her body, and heat floods my fingers. I don’t need to do anything. The friction on her clit when she slams down on me is enough. “Take everything and fucking explode.”
“Yes,” she hisses, her body tightening.
“Take it all because it’s yours.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” She goes taut and bows back, her mouth dropping open.
Finally, I can let my release flood out. Nothing between us. This night is what I’ve waited years for.
She trembles and shakes, but I clamp my arms around her as we ride out our climax. When she collapses on my chest, there’s never been anything more perfect. The two of us, in my bed, taking what we need and want from each other.
Aftershocks ripple through me, but I continue holding her. “I thought I was crazy.”
She pushes up, her hair draping over her face. “About what?”
“You.” I trail my fingers down her cheek. “As soon as I saw you, I became obsessed. You are so damn beautiful,” I murmur. “I questioned whether I had really put the idea of the trust in your dad’s head. I replayed every conversation.”
I feel her uncertainty more than I see it in the dark room. “If you didn’t, why did you agree?” She licks her lips and rolls off me.
I slip out of her, but I don’t let her go far.
I tuck her into the blankets beside me. It might be her curiosity about this conversation that’s keeping her here, but I’ll use it. “I didn’t want to trap you somewhere you’d be miserable, but I also wasn’t going to let him tie you to anyone else.”
“Do you think he would’ve?”
No. It’s just the flimsy excuse I keep hanging my morals on. “He didn’t have a lot of other people he was close to.”
“What about your brother?”
I pull back, a curl of jealousy going through my blood. I’ve never been jealous of my brothers. Only protective. “Would you have rather—”
She puts her fingers on my lips. “No, and no insult to Cruz, but he’s not my type.”
“I am?” Her answer is more important than I care to consider.
“You’re just enough of a corporate guy to be the opposite of everything I grew up with, yet hick enough to make me feel comfortable.”
She sounds so begrudging, I laugh. “It’s the coveralls? They do it for you?”
She turns to her side, her back to my front. “Seems like it doesn’t matter what you wear.”
Grinning, I clamp an arm around her and pull her tight into me. “Your double ponytails drive me a special kind of nuts.”
She laughs. “Is that what I need to do? Get a headshot with the ponytails?”
“Yes. Just for me. I’ll still take your regular headshot.”
She’s quiet for a few moments. “What was it about that picture? I can’t imagine a guy like you getting hung up on some photo.”
“A guy like me?”
“Lane, have you looked in a mirror?”
I chuckle, enjoying how she feels in my arms. Cuddling. “You think I’m hot?”
“Come on.” She flips around so she’s facing me. I keep my hold around her. “You were drowning in pussy. Admit it.”
I laugh. The only pussy I’ve been obsessed with is hers. “No, Em. Growing up like I did made me averse to drama. Except the kind of drama that redoes my house with cheeky chickens.”
She giggles and lets out a sigh. “I can take them down.”
“Don’t touch my cock pictures.”
Her body shakes with quiet laughter. “No touching your cock—got it.”
“Don’t misunderstand me. My cock is all yours. That pillow stays.”
“I might tone it down a little. It’s not like it’s my style.”
“What is your style?”
She takes a while to answer. “I don’t know. I had to get my first apartment so quickly that I didn’t have money to decorate. I furnished it on a budget. I’ve been planning to move somewhere better for years, so I never put the effort in.”
“Let me tell you, you put all the effort in cock-ture.”
She barks out a loud laugh. “Touché.”
Something she said niggles at my brain. “Why did you have to get your apartment so fast?”
“Katie, Hillary’s mom, wanted a tidy little family, and I was almost done with college.”
From the way she goes still, I don’t like Hillary’s mom. “She still around?”
Emerson scoffs. “Turns out raising a baby is hard, and raising one that doesn’t stop moving, is as curious as an entire cat colony, and has frequent meltdowns wasn’t her thing.”
“She couldn’t handle being a mom?”
“Walked out and never came back, just like our mom.”
“Shit.” The only role models she’s had for mothers are the ones who’ve walked out. At least Brooks is showing her that not all parents bail—except for when he kicked her out.
“Yep.” She snuggles into me. “Tell me something sweet. I don’t want to go to sleep with those memories in my head.”
I don’t dwell on memories. I do what needs to be done. But several funny parts of my past bubble up, and sharing them with her is my first inclination. “Cruz started living with Mae first, and then I did too after it was clear life was better in their world. Mae taught me how to make cookies.”
“What kind?”
“The first batch I made alone was chocolate chip. Easy, right?”
She links her arm with mine around her waist. “Not so?”
“Oh, they were easy.” A soft chuckle leaves me, remembering the encouraging laughter from Mae after the first pan. “I melted all the butter when I mixed them, and then I overloaded the cookie sheets.”
She smiles against my arm. “They merged?”
“Giant, square cookies. Four of them to go with the four pans I used.” I grin at the memory. “The guys bought me at least eight bags of chocolate chips, joking that maybe I’ll get two dozen out of them.”
“Did you make more cookies?”
“Absolutely. I had to prove them wrong.”
She giggles. “I make cookies with Hillary. Her favorite is peanut butter.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Not peanut butter,” she says, still laughing.
“Let me guess . . . you like frosted sugar cookies. Christmas is your favorite holiday, but you’ll make them in the middle of July.”
She tenses, and I can picture the frown I can’t see. “How’d you know?”
“You like red velvet muffins, and you didn’t complain once that Elodie made red velvet anything outside of February.”
“People complained?”
“Some women were in town for a wedding and were scandalized. So Elodie’s made them every week since.”
Her exhale’s soft and sleepy. “Passive-aggressive. A woman after my own heart.”
Kind of like chicken-geddon. I press a kiss against her hair. “Good night, Scrappy.”
“Good night, Mr. Foster.”