21. Mateo
MATEO
Am I dreaming?
This has to be a dream?
I must be asleep because there is no way that I am currently standing here, mere inches from Emerson’s bed, looking at her in nothing but a little black thong that shouldn’t even be considered underwear.
She may as well be naked with how little it actually conceals.
Her body is on full display, and it’s like she was plucked out of my deepest, darkest fantasies. Her pale skin is almost completely covered with all of her tattoos, and I find myself staring at all the designs I’ve never seen before.
I probably have the tattoos on her arms and legs memorized with how often I’ve caught myself staring, and I’ve always wondered which ones were hidden beneath her clothes.
Right now, seeing the tops of her thighs, her stomach, her breasts, there’s ink I only ever wished to see.
My mouth waters at the sight of her pale pink nipples, perfectly on display by the spiderwebs around them, and I’m practically drooling by the time my eyes find hers again.
Come on, rockstar. I know you want to.
At this moment, I can’t think of anything I want more.
Seeing her like this is the closest thing to torture I’ve ever known.
My chest tightens, my fingers ache with the urge to reach out, and every part of me is fighting the same battle—wanting to pull her closer while knowing it’s a line we shouldn’t cross. My body leans toward her before I can stop it, every instinct reaching for her.
She’s my son’s nanny.
She’s hurting and grieving, and I don’t even think she realizes it.
She’s looking for an escape.
And that escape is me.
“Emerson, we can’t,” I manage to say, and it takes all of my remaining strength. “This isn’t a good idea. This is crossing a line.”
She’s right there, close enough that I can see the tiny movements of her breathing, but she might as well be miles away. The restraint feels almost like a physical weight pressing against my ribs, keeping me from crossing a line I can’t uncross.
“If you can tell me that you’ve never thought about this,” she whispers, “then I’ll put my shirt back on, you can go back to your bedroom, and we can pretend this never happened.”
She inches closer, and I’m almost too distracted thinking about what her lips taste like to register what she says next.
“But if you can’t,” she continues, “then I think we should take advantage of tonight,” she says. “Just this once. Just tonight. And then it’ll be out of our systems, and we can pretend that it never happened.”
Just this once.
Out of our systems.
She drives a hard bargain.
The words echo in my mind, like a devil on my shoulder.
I’ve been fighting my attraction for Emerson since the night I met her.
She makes it hard to focus, hard to see straight, and maybe if I just give into this lust, just for tonight, I’ll be able to focus on my son, on this tour, and what the fuck comes after it’s over.
“Just this one time,” I say, more to convince myself than anything else.
Emerson nods, and I feel my resolve slowly fading.
And when she wraps her arms around my neck, every ounce of restraint I thought I had disappears, and I crash my lips into hers.
Kissing Emerson is like a spark to gasoline.
Like going from zero to one hundred in less than a second, growing into something impossible to control.
My hands instinctively go to her waist, and just the feel of her lips has me hard. My fingers dig into the skin hard at first before I realize how tightly I’m holding her, releasing my grip slightly.
“Don’t go easy on me, rockstar,” she says against my lips before pulling me back in, her fingers tangling in my hair and pulling on the strands.
Our kiss deepens, her tongue lining my lower lip, and I eagerly grant her access.
It’s been years since I’ve felt someone’s lips against mine—even longer since it had such an effect on me, practically panting into her mouth and coming apart at the seams.
If this is what it can feel like, something as simple as making out like teenagers, how am I ever supposed to stop?
How is one night ever going to be enough?
The first touch of Emerson’s tongue against mine sends a jolt of pleasure through me, and I groan into her mouth as I taste her.
If we only have tonight, I plan on taking full advantage of this.
I just hope I can fucking last.
Slowly lowering her to the bed, I hover just above her as she lays her head down, never breaking our kiss. Her arms go from the nape of my neck, down my sides and around my torso until she’s pulling me down.
Feeling her under me is almost too much, but she then holds me against her, her nails digging into my back, and I hope she leaves marks—just so I can look at them tomorrow to remind myself that this wasn’t just a dream.
My cock is hard as she pulls my lower body down to meet her, only a few layers of material between us, and my body instinctively begins to grind against her.
And I almost come on the spot.
Groaning at the contact, I feel her teeth find my bottom lip as I repeat the motion, growing addicted to the feel of her. It’s almost painful—the pressure building low in my stomach is overwhelming, but I don’t want it to stop.
The more we move with each other, the more instinct begins to take over. And when I move against her again, and she moans into my mouth, it’s like my body knows its sole purpose is to make sure she makes that noise again and again.
“Right there,” she says against my lips. “Harder.”
And I have to obey, grinding against her until we’re both writhing messes.
My forehead is slick with sweat as I try to hold out, already feeling the pressure building. “If we keep this up, I’m not going to last.”
“You’ve already lasted longer than I thought you would,” she teases.
“You really know how to stroke a man’s ego, has anyone ever told you that?” I reply.
She shrugs her shoulders. “Not the only thing I know how to stroke.”
A chuckle escapes my throat, just as I use my grip on her waist to switch our positions, falling onto my back and pulling her on top of me.
She straddles my waist. “What? Dry humping like horny teenagers isn’t your thing?”
I want to tell her it’s not enough yet more than enough at the same time. I want to tell her that I need to feel her come on my hand, taste her as she comes on my tongue, watch her as she comes on my cock.
I want it all, over and over again, until the sun comes up.
And maybe even then.
“I’ll even let you cop a feel,” she teases, grabbing my hands and sliding them up her body until I feel the soft skin of her breasts in my hands, and I’m groaning at the contact.
I try to make sense of the thoughts swirling through my brain to come up with some sort of witty comment, but it’s already impossible to keep up with my nanny when her clothes are on.
And then she grinds over me hard enough to have my eyes rolling to the back of my head, and I’m not capable of stringing together more than, “Fuck.”
She does it again, and all I can do is look up at her, watching the way her eyes are hooded in pleasure, her hands coming to grab my wrists, using me as leverage as she moves over me.
“Seems to be doing just enough,” she breathes, still trying to tease me even as she chases her high. Her movements begin to slow, and I slide my hands down her body until they’re resting on her thighs.
I can’t help the way my fingers dig into the skin. This time, I don’t stop myself. The thought of marking her body—and how much I like it—comes as a shock to me, but I can’t linger on the thought for long.
Not when I’m watching the way her pussy grinds against my cock.
And when I think she’s content torturing me like this until the sun comes up, she reaches for the hem of my pants, yanking them down, my cock, heavy and aching, springing free just as she pulls her thong to the side, sitting up on her knees.
I hold my breath, feeling like I could come from just the thought of her sitting on my cock, but then her eyes widen, her lips parting.
“I don’t have a condom. And I don’t have sex without a condom.”
I exhale, relieved that she wasn’t having a realization that this is a mistake and we need to stop.
Because I think that might’ve actually killed me.
“I don’t have any,” I admit, “but I got a vasectomy a few months after my divorce was final,” I tell her, admitting the words I haven’t spoken aloud to anyone before. It’s just never been relevant, especially with no sexual partners in the last four years.
“Why?” she asks.
I look down between us, where she holds her underwear to the side with one hand and the waistband of my pants in the other.
“Do we really have to get into it now?” I ask. “When my dick is literally out, and you’re naked on top of me.”
“Just answer the question,” she pushes, and I’m not sure why she cares so much. Here I am thinking a vasectomy is pretty self-explanatory, but apparently not to Emerson.
“After Crew, I decided I didn’t want any more kids.”
“You don’t want more kids?” she parrots, like she’s trying to make sense of the words.
“Nope,” I say, bringing my hands to rest behind my head, figuring that I might as well enjoy the view if I’m going to be interrogated. “It’s just me and Crew.”
She doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at me, like she needs a second to process the words before prompting, “And I’m assuming you’re clear?”
I nod my head.
“And there’s no chance I can get pregnant,” she says, more to herself than me. Her shoulders drop, and I feel her weight settle more on top of me, relief evident in her features.
“I can run out and grab condoms, just to be safe,” I offer. “I’m sure there’s a gas station or something open close by.”
She shakes her head, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.
Her hand wraps around my shaft, her hand moving up and down slowly as I take in a sharp inhale.
She leans down, pressing a long, deep kiss to my lips, and it’s safe to say I’m seeing stars, drunk on the taste of her—I don’t know how one night is going to be enough.
She strokes me, from root to tip as she lifts up on her knees again.
But before she sinks down, her hand freezes at the tip of my dick. “Um,” she says against my lips before sitting back up, and I’m about to explode from the anticipation. “What the fuck is this?”
I look down at where her fingers explore the silver barbell pierced through the skin.
“I’d argue it’s pretty obvious,” I offer, fighting the embarrassment of having this woman who is almost ten years younger than me find the frenum piercing I got when I was twenty-two and lost a bet.
“A vasectomy and a penis piercing, rockstar,” she starts, her exploratory fingers moving over the sensitive skin of my dick has my jaw clenched so tightly I’m surprised my molars aren’t cracking. “What else are you hiding from me?”
“Baby, I’ll tell you everything you want and more, but please let me fuck you first,” I plead, the words tumbling out of me. “Because if you keep playing with my cock like this, I’m going to come in your hand, and I have a feeling you’ll never let me live that down.”
Emerson’s eyes slightly widen as they meet mine, and she smirks down at me like she’s the devil incarnate. “We’ll put a pin in it,” she says before she brings her hand to her mouth, dragging her tongue up her palm before she uses it to stroke me up and down.
“Fuck, Em. You’re going to be the death of me,” I grit through my teeth as she finally begins to sink down, the warm, wet heat of her teasing my cock, and I have to take deep breaths—the feeling almost too much.
“If you’re lucky,” she says as she sinks down even further. My fingers dig into her hips, resisting the urge to grab her and slam her down—instead, I help ease her down, letting us both adjust to the feel of me inside her.
Even if it tests my restraint in ways I didn’t think possible.
“Ready to show me what you got?” Emerson breathes as she bottoms out, and I hiss at the feel of her pussy swallowing my cock, and just like before, instinct takes over.
It’s like my body knows exactly what to do, like it was made to do this.
Using my grip on her hips, I take control of her movements, sliding in and out of her as she rides me, her speed starting out slow before she starts to speed up. Her eyes close, her head tipping back, leaving her neck on full display as her tits bounce up and down with her movements.
Pressure builds as she finds her rhythm, and I’m seconds away from falling apart—but even though it’s been years, I will myself to hold out until she comes.
She places one of her hands on my chest, using it to keep her balance as she fucks me, and her other hand finds her clit, moving two fingers in slow circles, and I’m mesmerized by the movement.
I commit it to memory, so not only do I never forget the hottest view of my entire life—Emerson, touching herself with my cock inside her—but so I know exactly how to get her off next time.
Next time.
It’s a sobering thought.
Because that wasn’t the agreement.
There is no next time.
There’s only tonight.
But I can’t dwell on the thought for long because I feel Emerson’s hand leave my chest to grab my wrist, bringing my hand to her neck.
She doesn’t have to tell me twice.
I wrap my hand around her throat, gripping tightly, her moans filling the room as she draws tighter, faster circles over her clit.
“Come for me, baby,” my voice rasps, and I tighten my hold on her throat.
Her pussy tightens around my cock, but I refuse to close my eyes, needing to watch her come apart on top of me.
Her rhythm falters as she falls apart, and I let her ride out her orgasm even though it has mine on the precipice.
“Come with me,” she breathes, and I take it as permission. Flipping our positions one more time, Emerson’s back hits the mattress, and my hand finds her throat again as I drill into her, chasing the release that’s evaded me for years.
My other hand finds her clit, moving my fingers just like I watched her do, her pussy suffocating my cock as my head rests against her shoulder, feeling her breath against my neck just before she sinks her teeth into the sensitive skin and rips my orgasm from me.
I don’t even want to know the noises I’m making as I fall apart, coming inside her for what feels like forever, drowning in the feel of her.
And it isn’t until I come to, loosening my grip around her neck, my eyes adjusting to the view of her black hair splayed out on the sheets, that the realization hits me.
One night was never going to be enough.