Chapter 3
EMILY
Alex's forehead rests against mine, his breath hot on my lips. The space between us crackles with electricity—wait, that’s a cliché.
There’s actually no electricity. Except maybe between synapses in my nervous system.
Just heat and want, and the thundering of my heart and my pulse, so bangingly loud I'm sure he can hear it and feel it.
I can't think. That kiss just demolished every fantasy I've had about this man, and I've had plenty. The reality of Alex's mouth on mine, his hand cradling the back of my neck, the barely restrained power in his touch ... it makes my imagination look pathetic by comparison.
Like really, really pathetic.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and those gray eyes are almost black now, pupils blown wide.
"Emily…"
I should say something witty or sexy or at least coherent, but the last of my brain cells has withered and died. Instead, I surge forward and kiss him again.
This time, there's nothing careful about it.
His hand tightens on my neck, his other gripping my hip hard enough I know I'll find fingerprints tomorrow—the thought makes me dizzy with want.
My hands find the front of his shirt again, fingers fumbling with buttons.
I need to touch him, need skin contact like I need air.
The scratch of his stubble burns against my face, and it feels exactly like I imagined when I wrote that stupid card—exactly right. His tongue slides against mine, and I whimper into his mouth, embarrassingly needy.
Alex responds by dragging me closer until I'm practically in his lap.
My dress rides up, probably exposing my non-flattering parts, and I should care about that, but I absolutely don't. Not when his hand slides to my thigh, fingers tracing just under the hem of my lace underwear.
Brand new, by the way. And a little too expensive for my typical underwear purchase… But, I digress, back to the plot…
"Come closer," he whispers against my mouth, shifting, pulling me fully onto his lap so I'm straddling him.
Oh. OH.
Dear God.
The new position puts me right against the hard ridge of his cock through his pants, and my body reacts without my permission. My hips roll, seeking pressure, friction, anything.
The small movement pulls a groan from deep in his chest. "Fuck, Emily."
Huh. He's the groaning type, I guess.
His mouth finds the sensitive spot along my neck, and I tilt my head back to give him better access.
My hands finally conquer the buttons of his shirt, pushing it open to reveal his chest—the tattoos I glimpsed through his thin running shirts and muscle tees, and spun into my fantasies, now right under my palms.
And yes, this man was created by the gods themselves. No, you cannot convince me otherwise.
I trace the patterns and swirls with trembling fingers, feeling the solid muscle beneath warm skin. His mouth travels lower to my collarbone, then to the swell of my breast just above the neckline of my dress.
My nipples tighten painfully against my bra, aching for his touch, and I arch into him.
"Alex, oh God—"
His hands grip my thighs, and suddenly I'm weightless. He stands with me in his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist automatically, locking at the ankles. The position presses us together more firmly, and we both make sounds that would be embarrassing in any other context.
Three steps to my bed—the perils and benefits of a studio apartment. He lays me down and follows me onto the mattress, his body covering mine. His weight feels like an anchor, grounding me when I might otherwise float away.
Alex's mouth finds mine again, and if anything, his kiss only turns rougher and hungrier. My hands explore his chest, his shoulders, pushing his shirt off completely. When my fingers find the scar on his right forearm, he stiffens slightly, and I soften my touch, tracing the raised tissue.
Alex pulls back, his gaze locked on mine as his hand finds the zipper of my dress.
"This okay, Em?"
I nod so hard I'm pretty sure I look like a bobblehead. "Very okay. Extremely okay."
A flicker of amusement crosses his face before he drags the zipper down. I lift my hips to help him slide the dress off, and then I'm lying there in just my crimson red bra and underwear.
I honestly struggled to convince myself to buy expensive lingerie yesterday, since I (or hopefully Alex) would just take it off. But right now, as Alex pins me with a hot gaze that makes my core clench, I realize every dollar was definitely worth it.
But then…
Like a douse of ice-cold water over my head, reality crashes in.
I'm not model-thin.
I have soft places and curves that don't match magazine covers. My thighs are too thick, and I have a tiny pouch in my lower belly. For a second, I want to cover myself and cross my arms over my stomach.
But the way Alex is looking at me...
"You're beautiful," he says. "Please don't hide from me, Em. Never hide from me. I want to see all of you. Every single inch."
His hand traces my collarbone, then down the valley between my breasts, over my stomach. My skin pebbles in the wake of his touch, goosebumps rise despite the warmth of the room. When his fingers hook under the band of my bra, I arch my back in silent permission.
He unclasps it with impressive efficiency (honestly, I'm taking notes, like, where did he get this experience), and then it's gone, and his eyes darken even further as he takes me in.
"Even better than I imagined."
His mouth replaces his hand, kissing down my neck, my collarbone, the top of my breast. When his lips close around my nipple, I let out a low, long moan.
His tongue circles the sensitive peak, rolls the nipple between his lips, and then he sucks.
It's hard enough to make me gasp, but gentle enough to leave me desperate for more.
He gives the other breast the same attention as his free hand kneads the one he just abandoned, and I squirm beneath him, my fingers digging into his biceps. Well, they would dig in if his biceps were not carved from marble. I need something, anything, more than this exquisite torture.
"God, Alex…"
He lifts his head and smirks. "You wrote something in that card."
Remember that thing about my brain cells withering and dying? Well, they're still apparently dead because I can't remember exactly what I wrote. There was a lot. Most of it inappropriate. All of it filthy.
"I-I wrote a lot of things, Alex. Too much. Which one are you talking about?"
Alex moves lower, pressing kisses down my stomach, positioning himself between my legs. He runs his hand along the expanse of my thighs, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there.
"About my mouth."
Which one? What is he…oh, shit, yes!
The last of my coherent thoughts completely evaporates as he settles between my legs, his breath hot against the inside of my thigh.
"You wanted to know if I'd take my time or be efficient," he growls, his voice deepening.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. "And?"
His mouth touches my inner thigh—not quite a kiss, more a brush of lips—and the scratch of his stubble against sensitive skin makes me gasp. "Guess you're about to find out."
Alex's thumbs trace the edge of my underwear, and I have to fight the urge to buck my hips and beg him to touch my pussy. But God, he takes his sweet time while I'm over here, almost mad with lust.
He does the same to my other thigh, and I make a sound that's definitely not human, sounding almost like Croissant.
"You mentioned this, too," he says against my skin. "How my stubble would feel here."
I manage a shaky nod. "It's … yes, that's—"
His fingers hook into my underwear, dragging them down agonizingly slowly, and then they're gone, and I'm completely naked under his gaze.
I expect him to rush now. To give in to the hunger I see in his eyes. Instead, he continues his torturous pace, pressing kisses to my inner thighs, moving closer to my pussy.
By the time his mouth finally, finally makes contact, I'm trembling, anticipation coiled so tight in my belly I think I might snap.
The first drag of his tongue along my slit has me seeing stars. My hips buck off the bed involuntarily, and his hands immediately grip them, pressing me back down. "Don't move, Em."
I try to obey. I really do. But my body has other ideas, especially when his tongue flattens against me, taking long, firm strokes that have my thighs quivering on either side of his head.
One of my hands fists the sheets, the other reaches for his hair. When my fingers tangle in the dark strands, tugging slightly, he groans against me—the vibration making me cry out.
"Alex, that's … oh God."
He pays attention. That's the thing that's going to kill me. He notices what makes me loudest, what makes my back arch off the bed, and he doubles down on those movements. Broad strokes alternating with focused attention on my clit.
And just when I thought it couldn't possibly get better, he slips his tongue into my pussy, and one of his hands slides up my body to cup my breast.
Oh my Lord.
His thumb circles my nipple in time with his tongue, and a bolt of heat sears through me. Alex just hums with approval. Another lazy lick, his tongue parting the folds, and then some open-mouthed kisses.
He's fucking me with his mouth, and I absolutely love it. I’ve never been wetter.
"Please, Alex. You're killing me he—"
The words are barely out when he goes back to lightly sucking on my clit, and a finger slides inside me easily. His mouth on my sensitive button, the finger in my pussy, and his free hand on my breast. My vision begins to blur at the edges, a sense of desperation building.
My head presses back into the pillow, neck arching, toes curling so hard they cramp. I'm close—that tightening low in my belly, that pressure that makes it hard to breathe.
Alex adds a second finger, and I gasp at the stretch. Then he curls them, hitting a spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
"Alex, I-I'm going to—"
He doesn't stop. Doesn't even slow down. His tongue circles my clit with perfect pressure while his fingers pump and curl inside me, and I hurtle toward the edge with no hope of stopping.
When the orgasm hits, it's not like waves. It's like being struck by lightning. My entire body goes rigid, back bowing off the bed, thighs tightening around his head, letting out halting whimpers of his name.
My inner muscles clench rhythmically around his fingers as he works me through it, his tongue gentler now but still moving, prolonging the pleasure.
"Alex…"
He withdraws his fingers slowly, presses a final kiss to my inner thigh, and begins to crawl back up my body.
His path is marked with kisses—my hip bone, my stomach, between my breasts, my collarbone, the hollow of my throat. By the time his mouth finds mine again, I've regained enough brain function to kiss him back.
I taste myself on his lips—tangy and musky and strange but not unpleasant. His face is wet, his stubble softened by my own juices, and that should be weird, but it's just hot, proof of how enthusiastic he was about what he just did to me.
My hands come up to frame his face, his stubble rough and slippery against my palms. When I break the kiss to look at him, I'm stunned by what I see. He looks almost as wrecked as I feel.
"Okay, so that was … I mean, I literally can't feel my legs," I say, still breathless.
The corner of his mouth lifts. "Good."
I laugh, the sound slightly delirious. "Good? I think I just saw God. Or maybe died. Is it possible to die from—"
He cuts me off with a soft kiss, tugging my bottom lip with his teeth and sucking on it. "Best Valentine's Day ever?"
"Best Valentine's Day ever."
"So far."
"So far?” My eyebrow shoots up, involuntarily.
His thumb traces my bottom lip, still swollen from his kisses. "This is the first of many. You're not spending another Valentine's with anyone else. Just me."
My stomach flips with delight. "That's pretty presumptuous for a first date, Alex."
"Do you want me to take it back?"
"No!"
He smiles and sits up, moving away from me, and I'm confused. He's still hard—the evidence obvious through his pants—and I expect him to want more.
"Wait, you're leaving? Where are you going?"
"Back to my place. You already look sleepy."
I sit up, legs still shaky, and clutch the dress to my chest. "No, I'm not." But I punctuate it with a yawn.
He gives me that hot smirk again. "Go to sleep, Em."
"But we could … I mean, don't you want to—" I point my chin at the outline of his cock.
He cups my face and kisses me. "I want to. But not tonight."
"That doesn't make sense. I'm literally offering—" I don't finish because I end up yawning again.
"My ego will be severely bruised, and I will never recover if you doze off while I'm inside you."
"Alex…"
The corner of his mouth twitches as he walks away. He opens the door and steps into the hallway. "Goodnight, Emily."
"Goodnight, Alex," I say, still sitting on the bed, feeling thoroughly ravished.
The door closes, and I force myself to stand on wobbly legs to lock it and lean against the door for a moment, trying to process what just happened. Perhaps I did die. Maybe I am in heaven.
A demanding meow breaks the moment. Not heaven, afterall.
Croissant sits at my feet, clearly unhappy with the whole situation. He's hungry and doesn't care that my world just tilted on its axis.
"Your mom has excellent taste, Croissant," I whisper. "And your soon-to-be dad has skills. Like, I mean, skills. Serious skills.”
The cat purrs, completely unbothered by this information. Unbothered and apathetic.
Still, I smile because for once, I'm not overthinking. Not worrying. Just feeling satisfied, wanted, and impossibly hopeful.