27. Emerson
Emerson
“How dare you!” Henley shrieks, wet paint dripping down her arms. “Emerson Lane, you better start running.”
“Bring it on, Trouble.” I smirk. One hand still holding the hose, I use my other to motion her forward.
Lifting a paintbrush from the tray we haven’t cleaned yet, she launches toward me. The ferocity in her eyes excites me and terrifies me at the same time. Naturally, I do what any respectable man would do and aim the hose straight at her.
I swear the woman must be some kind of undercover Olympic athlete. The way she dips and dives around the spray of water leaves me speechless—and honestly, kind of turned on. I’m so stunned that I’m nowhere near ready for her brutal attack. Hen leaps into the air like a damn sage green banshee.
“Oh, shit!” I yell as she manages to tackle me to the ground. She’s a surprisingly strong, feisty little thing.
We hit the grass with a thud as uncontrollable laughter rips through me. It fills my entire body with so much warmth, it almost hurts. She straddles my hips, and her thighs pin me down on the ground. Her infectious laughter spills over me, as she uses the paintbrush to cover me from head to toe.
I could easily roll her over. Trap her beneath me. Kiss every inch of her until we are both sated and breathless. Even my stubborn dick agrees. Caged beneath my zipper, it’s growing more impatient. Especially as she unconsciously slides up and down against it while she covers me in paint.
But I resist.
There’s nothing more alluring than watching exuberance burst through her. My laughter fades as I lay in awe of the enchantress on top of me. The sunset’s golden hue is still bright enough to glisten over her body. I’ve decided I’ve died and gone to heaven, because glowing before me is an angel.
“Ha! You’ve been served!” she exclaims, breathless. Satisfaction rolls off her in waves as she drops the roller into the grass like a mic drop. Her chest heaves rapidly as my hands find her hips. Squeezing gently, I bite down hard on my cheek as I watch her eyelids flutter close.
“Em,” she whispers.
The shorts she wore today leave plenty of skin bare for my touch.
Slowly, I tease my fingertips over her thighs.
Up and down, setting a leisurely pace with each caress.
A shiver ripples through her as my palms sweep through the wet paint.
It seeps between my fingers as I stroke her legs, only making the feeling more intense.
As I trace my way over her thighs, I guide my hands higher. Stopping at the hem of her shorts.
Her hooded eyes lift open, just as the tips of my fingers slip underneath. She grabs my wrist, halting my path. “I’m sorry . . . as much as I want to, I just—”
“No need to apologize. It’s me who should apologize.” I pull my hand back, ashamed I let myself get carried away. “You’re in charge here, Hen. I’ll gladly wait, until you’re ready.”
Her gaze becomes glossy as she releases my wrist to cover her face.
As I sit up, I grab both of her wrists and block them from shielding herself.
“Please don’t hide from me. I want to see every part of you.
Happiness, sadness, and everything in between.
You don’t need to be afraid to share anymore how you’re feeling, okay? ”
She dips her head for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Thank you,” she whispers.
I wrap my arms around her, squeezing her tightly as I press a kiss into the crown of her head before releasing her. Hints of vanilla waft from her hair, chased by the spicy cinnamon scent I’ve come to claim as uniquely Hen.
My own personal little cinnamon roll wrapped tightly beneath my arms.
Pressing one my quick peck onto her forehead, I help us to our feet.
“Let’s hose off, then we can take a shower to get the rest of it off. Then, you and I are cooking dinner.”
As if on cue, my stomach grumbles.
Her smile grows wide, and relief washes over me to see it shine through once more.
Hen’s fingers glide over my stomach. Her touch spreads like embers through me once more. “Give me about an hour, and then we’ll take care of that problem,” she chuckles.
I help her wash off, doing everything I can to think about anything else besides her soaked body on display. But nothing seems to douse the flame she ignited.
By the time we say our goodbyes, my body has become a raging inferno.
I hold it together until I watch the screen door swing shut behind her. Then I bolt into my cabin and turn on the shower.
Reaching one hand behind me, I tear my shirt over my head and toss it to the side. Just like the night I caught her in the spa, my skin sizzles. Like any moment I might combust. I know I should just take a cold shower, like I did that night. That no good can come from what I’m about to do.
But fuck that.
The glass door hinges open as a cloud of steam mists all around me. Stepping inside, I let the scalding water soothe my muscles and lather my loofa with the same vanilla body wash I’d placed in Hen’s cabin. I don’t know what possessed me to buy two, but at this moment, I’m thankful I did.
Lathering my body with the soapy suds, I roughly scrub off the excess paint until I’m satisfied that I’m clean enough. Each pass of the loofa only amplifies the heat crawling through my veins.
Leaning one hand against the cool tile, I wrap my hand around my cock, hissing at the sensation. Her sweet scent curls around me, dragging me under into my deepest desires. Reminding me of the things I want to do to Hen’s body.
All the pleasure I could bring her.
All the ways I could show her just how much happiness she brings me.
With a groan, I let my head fall into the stream of water. It cascades through my hair and down my back, and I twist my wrist, stroking my cock in one long tug from base to tip.
“Fuck,” I murmur, repeating the same action over and over.
As my eyes seal shut, images of Henley’s hazel eyes come into clear view. I can almost feel her pouty lips brushing against my skin. Almost taste the spice of her tongue tangling with mine.
The muscles in my lower belly begin to tighten and my imagination runs wild. Picturing her tongue sliding over my length as it slides back and forth through her beautiful mouth.
Once languid movements are quickly replaced with harsh, rapid strokes as I chase after my high with each pass. Every muscle tenses and I throw my head back, her name passing through my lips in a hoarse groan.
Leaning my forehead against the tile, I struggle to catch my breath as all my pent-up desire for Hen washes slowly down the drain.
On unsteady legs, I let the water wash over me until I float back to my senses.
What should have left me sated has done entirely the opposite. The only thought playing on repeat is how incredible it would feel if we did that . . . together.
I finally pull myself together enough to throw on a pair of gray sweats and toss one of my team shirts onto the bed to throw on in a bit.
Rapidly sweeping through the cabin, I try my best to make it presentable before Hen arrives.
Just as I finish throwing some of my clothes into the hamper, I hear a light tap at the door.
As soon as I open it, a wicker basket is shoved into my arms. It’s stuffed with cooking utensils and an assortment of ingredients that look suspiciously like what you’d need to make grilled cheese.
My gaze wanders from the basket to the woman whose fingers are still gripping the other side. Her eyes make a slow perusal. Traveling from my toes to my chest. She stops there, lingering long enough to make my skin grow hot.
Only then do I remember that I’m missing my shirt.
The one I was supposed to put on before she arrived.
Oops.
She’s still glued in place as a smirk begins to form on my face. Then, as if something snaps inside of her, hazel eyes quickly flash up to mine. “Well, are you going to let me in, or just stand there blocking the path with all your naked glory?”
“You think it’s glorious?” I tease, smiling as she huffs and pushes past me.
With a stupid grin plastered on my face, I follow behind her. When I set down the basket, I notice a very familiar utensil sticking out of it.
Wrapping the ladle in my palm, I hold it up in the air. “Ah, so we meet again.”
Henley rolls her eyes and snatches it from me. I’m rewarded with a hint of smile lifting the side of her lips. She’s trying to hide it, but I always catch it.
We begin unloading the produce and I find more hidden utensils that I know didn’t come from our small supply in the cabins.
“Are you still the same little thief that you were growing up?” I laugh, gesturing to them all spread out on the tiny counter. It earns me a punch in my arm. “Seriously, what’s the story behind all of these? Why did they need to travel home with you?”
She pauses unwrapping the loaf of bread in her hand and picks up the whisk.
“Each of them has a special reason behind them. Like this whisk.” She holds it up between us.
“My mom gave me this after graduation. It’s the same one we would use all the time at home.
Also, the one she used to playfully smack me and Ryleigh with whenever we got mouthy in the kitchen. ”
A gentle laugh tumbles out of her at the memory. I smile alongside her, because I definitely remember a time or two I watched Ryleigh get swatted with this very whisk. That boy could never keep his mouth shut.
“I’ve used hundreds over the years, but hers just always seems to make the job go a million times faster.”
I grin as she hands it to me and then reaches over to grab the wooden spatula with little flowers carved into the handle.
“And this is from Harper. She sent it to me one month when I was incredibly lonely at culinary school. She said she wanted to ship me a little piece of home. It’s always been the best for putting icing on cinnamon rolls. ”
She places it back down, picking up the ladle slowly.
“And this—” She swallows deeply. “This was from your Mama.”
Henley’s fingers smooth reverently across the wood, and my heart swells. I set the whisk aside and slide my palm around her waist. As I gently brush my thumb against her hip, she speaks softly.
“She gave it to me as a reminder.”
“Reminder of what?” I ask.
“Autumn told me she wanted me to remember I’m like this wood.
Tough, yet flexible. Durable and dependable.
With the strength to carry the weight of the world and absorb the heaviness of it when needed.
But also, it’s okay to crack sometimes under the pressure.
It’s okay to make mistakes. Because like every piece of wood, each of us has little imperfections.
That’s what makes us beautiful. What demonstrates the growth that we’ve made.
Shows our resilience. Each one only making us stronger. It’s what makes us human.”
Turning her around to face me, I gently release the wooden ladle from her hand. Placing her arms around my waist, I nudge her lower back until she’s pressed against my chest. “She always knew exactly what to say when we needed it most, didn’t she?”
Nuzzling her head against my chest, I feel a gentle nod.
Time fades as we stand in the tiny kitchen, wrapped in each other’s arms. She fits perfectly. Like she’s meant to have been right here all along. Each time we embrace, it’s getting harder for me to release her.
I don’t ever want to let her go.