Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Leif
Icatch Emily as she leaves the worksite. “Hey, do you have plans for lunch?”
Her stride falters a half-step, steel-toed boots caked with mud, and she cuts me a sideways look that’s equal parts amusement and knowing. “I packed a sandwich. It’s in the trailer.”
I fall into step beside her, matching her pace across a flattened stretch of dirt. Her fitted work shirt is dusty at the collar, grayed with a day’s worth of drywall dust and the general grit of construction. The afternoon light angles through the pines, catching the silver strands of her hair.
“Professor.” Her husky greeting curls around me. “Are you playing hooky from school today?”
“No meetings on Thursday.”
“Lucky you.” Her pace quickens.
The work trailer sits on a poured concrete slab, its aluminum siding dented in a dozen places, the door hanging slightly crooked on its hinges.
“It’s been quiet since Grady came back,” I venture.
Grady’s been on and off the island for the last week, getting everything ready to move into his new cabin this weekend. It means he’s been too busy to visit after that first night back.
We reach the trailer steps, and Emily goes first, her boots heavy on the metal grating. I follow, pulling the door shut behind us, and the latch hasn’t fully clicked before I’m turning, taking her face in my hands.
Her jaw is warm under my palms, and when I lean down to kiss her, she meets me halfway. My thumbs brush along her cheekbones, and her fingers curl into the front of my button up.
Her grip tightens, tugging me closer, and whatever restraint I planned dissolves on the spot. I walk her backward until her shoulders meet the trailer wall, my body pressed along her length, her height letting her meet me almost chest to chest.
A ragged sound catches in her throat as my hands find the hem of her work shirt. They slide beneath it, palms flat over her stomach, feeling the warmth of her skin through the dust and sweat of the day. She arches into the touch, her ribcage expanding under my hands, and tips her head back.
I take the invitation.
My mouth drags down the column of her neck, licking away the salt of her sweat. Her pulse jumps under my lips, and I chase it, teeth grazing the point where her throat meets her shoulder. She exhales through her nose, and her hand fists in my hair to yank me back up.
Suddenly in a rush, I undo her buttons.
Her shirt hits the floor first, the sleeves catching on her wrists until she pulls free. Her bra follows, the clasp undone with a twist of my fingers, and the cotton lands somewhere near her boots.
I pull back far enough to look at her, then take her by the hips and walk her the few steps to the metal desk.
The late afternoon light coming through the trailer’s single window catches the planes of her shoulders, the powerful lines of her torso where muscle meets softness.
Her breasts are full, dusky nipples already tightening in the cool air, and I cup her, thumbs brushing across them in slow circles, and she makes that sound again, lower this time, catching in her throat.
I lower my head, and as my mouth finds her left breast, she gasps. I suck, rolling my tongue around her nipple, and her hand flies to grip the desk behind her as her breathing fractures into short, uneven gasps.
I switch to her right breast, my free hand still caressing her left, and her head drops back. My pheromones bloom, filling the small, enclosed space, and beneath it I catch the answering crush of clover rising from her skin. Her fingers tighten in my hair as her hips rock forward, seeking friction.
I look up from her breast to find her jaw set, lips parted, gray eyes heavy-lidded and fixed on the ceiling. Her breathing breaks completely, coming in ragged gasps, and her thighs tense against mine where we’re pressed together.
I drop to my knees.
My hands find the button of her work pants, pop it open, and drag the zipper down in one smooth pull.
The heavy canvas catches on her hips, and she lifts to help me, one hand braced on my shoulder as I tug the pants down her thighs.
Her underwear comes with them, dark cotton bunched around her boots, and I leave them there, pooled at her ankles.
I look up at her in question.
Her fingers tighten in my hair, the grip just shy of pain, and she holds me there in answer.
My mouth finds the inside of her thigh, tasting salt and the faint musk of a day’s work. My lips trace higher, along the crease where thigh meets hip, and she moans, her hips shifting forward to meet me.
When my tongue finds her, a growl tears from her throat in a way that sends my pulse racing.
I take my time, spreading her folds open to circle her clit with my tongue, reading every shift in her breathing, every tightening of her fingers in my hair. Her thighs tremble beneath my hands as she fights the urge to rock into my mouth.
My hands slide up to her hips, and I draw her forward. Her control cracks, and her hips roll into my tongue in short, hungry thrusts, her moans echoing off the thin walls of the trailer.
I pull back, leaving her gasping.
Her hips follow me, seeking, and she releases a frustrated growl. “Leif.”
I stand, and Emily reaches for my belt before I can. Her fingers work the buckle open, and then she shoves my jeans down my hips, and her hand wraps around me.
An involuntary whine escapes me as she strokes me, her palm rough on my sensitive shaft. Leaning forward, I claim her lips in another kiss, and her mouth opens beneath mine, our tongues tangling together.
Her boots dig into the trailer floor, thighs locked together by her pants and underwear. I pin her to the desk, the metal groaning beneath us, and angle myself between her closed legs. My hand guides me to her slick folds, the heat of her drawing me in despite the shallow angle.
Her forehead drops to mine, our breath tangled in the sliver of space between us as her body clenches around me.
She shifts her hips in silent demand, and I slide between her thighs, the head of my dick popping in and out of her swollen folds.
The trailer groans with each motion, the sound lost beneath the rasp of our breathing.
Her nails score my back through my shirt, the scent of crushed clover and flannel rising between us.
I adjust my angle, aiming for her sweet spot, and her breath hitches.
“There?” I rasp out, hitting it again.
She answers by tightening around me, her body gripping mine in a way that borders on pain, and I drive in harder, the tightness amplifying every thrust. Her hand fists in my shirt, and her teeth sink into my shoulder, muffling a cry.
The burst of pain sends me over the edge, and I spill inside her with a broken sound.
Shudders still wrack my body as I pull out before she can lock me, then slide my hand between us to find her clit, drawing out her own release.
I kiss her cheek, her temple, the corner of her jaw, each lighter than the last, until she laughs. “That was worth missing lunch.”
“What are you talking about?” I nuzzle her throat. “I feasted.”
Her bark of laughter echoes around the trailer. “We should probably dress before someone pops in with a supply order.”
“Probably.”
With reluctance, I step back, and we pull our clothes back into order, laughter mixed into the straightening. I try to help with her bra clasp, my fingers fumbling with the hooks, and she bats my hands away.
“I’ve been doing this since I was twelve. I’ve got it.”
“Just trying to be helpful.”
She snorts. “Your definition of helpful involves a lot more groping than the dictionary suggests, Professor.”
But she relents, dropping her hands, and I fasten the clasp between her breasts.
Her work shirt comes next, buttoned crooked the first time, then straightened with a grumble from her and a chuckle from me.
As she tucks it into her pants, I hike my pants back up, zipping them with less grace than she managed.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
Her brow quirks. “Shouldn’t that be my line?”
“No, I mean thank you for giving me a second chance.” I run my hands through my hair to straighten it as best I can without a brush. “After the fight, I convinced myself I’d ruined it, and the more time that passed, the more afraid I became that I wouldn’t be able to fix us.”
Emily pauses in the process of relacing one boot. “You didn’t ruin anything.”
“I hurt you.”
“Yeah, but you were doing the best you could based on your history.” She finishes lacing the boot, double-knotting it with a tug. “I’m glad you didn’t let fear stop you from continuing to try.”
I reach out to take her hand and flatten it over my sternum, right over the fluttering bond reaching for her even now. “I had good reason to fight for us.”
Emily’s thumb brushes once over the spot beneath my hand, right where the flutter answers her touch. “You always did.”
The trailer falls silent around us. Outside, an engine rumbles somewhere across the site, followed by the distant metallic clang of someone unloading supplies, signaling the end of lunch, but she doesn’t step away.
I study her, memorizing the dust smudged along one cheek, the silver strands escaping her braid, and the tiny crease that appears beside her mouth whenever she tries not to smile.
“I love you.” The words leave me before I can second-guess them.
Her lips twitch. “I know.”
I huff a laugh. “That wasn’t the response I was hoping for.”
“I know.” She reaches up to cup my jaw. “Because I love you, too.”
The flutter beneath my ribs surges so hard it steals my breath. For months, I wondered if I waited too long. If apologies would never be enough. If I’d broken what we were building beyond repair.
But Emily didn’t give up on me, even while she worked through the hurt I caused.
“I’ve wanted to tell you that for a while,” she admits quietly. “It just never felt like the right moment.”
“I think this one’s pretty good.”
“It’ll do.” I lean down to steal one more quick kiss before stepping back.
“So...” I smooth the wrinkles from the front of my shirt. “The Wright Pack invited you and Jared to join…”
Emily lets out a slow breath. “They did.”
“And?”
“We’re leaning toward yes.”
Relief unwinds a knot inside me.
“But...” she continues, “Jared and I don’t want to make that decision by ourselves.”
I frown in confusion.
“We want all four of us to sit down first. You, me, Jared, and Grady,” she says. “If we’re going to build a family together, then I don’t want any of us deciding things that affect everyone else without talking about them first.”
That sounds just like her.
Practical.
Thoughtful.
Determined to include everyone.
“I think Grady would appreciate that.”
“I hope so.” She reaches for her lunchbox, then hesitates. “He’s had enough people deciding his future for him.”
A comfortable silence settles between us as she unwraps her sandwich and offers me half.
As I accept, a thought occurs to me. “Have you told Grady yet?”
She cocks her head as she chews.
“About the pregnancy.”
She almost chokes and swallows hard. “No.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“I didn’t want the first thing he heard after coming home to be...” She gestures at her stomach. “About this.”
“Fair enough.”
“I wanted him to have a chance to settle first.” Her fingers curl around the lunchbox handle. “But I’ll tell him.”
“And you’ve confirmed it?”
“Not yet.” She picks at her sandwich. “We’ve got an appointment the week after next.”
That’s no time at all and forever, all at the same time.
Emily raises her half-eaten sandwich. “I should eat and return to the job site before my crew notices I vanished for an hour.”
“You’re the boss. You can take a longer lunch break.”
“Fine, I should leave before Clint comes searching for me and catches a whiff of the pheromones in here.” She shoves the rest of her sandwich into her mouth as she grasps the door handle.
“Can I go with you?”
My question gives her pause, and she turns back.
“To the appointment,” I add. “I’d like to be there, if you don’t think Jared would mind.”
A shy smile spreads over her lips. “No, I don’t think he’d mind. I’ll text you the appointment time.”
“Thank you.”
Pink stains her cheeks. “It’s nothing to thank me for.”
Then she’s out the door, and the trailer door bangs shut behind her.
I stand there for another moment, staring at the space she’d just vacated.
Less than two weeks until the appointment.
Less than fourteen days until we confirm if our future has already begun.
My hand drifts back to the flutter beneath my sternum.
The thought should have terrified me, but instead, I find myself counting the days.