Chapter 4
ALEX
The apartment sits in pre-dawn darkness when I wake up, silent except for my breathing and the occasional car passing on the street below. I should be up, dressed in my running gear, and out the door within thirty minutes. Same routine, every day.
Today, I hesitate.
Images of Emily from last night play through my mind. The way she gasped when I touched her. How she tasted. The sounds she made when she came.
I move to the kitchen, start the coffee, and stand by the balcony door, watching darkness give way to early morning light. Coffee in hand, I sit in my reading chair, staring at nothing.
For the first time in years, I deliberately break my routine.
Normally, I'd be out the door right now. Instead, I'm still in my apartment, dressed in running clothes but going nowhere.
What I want to do seems ridiculous. I'm not sure if Emily likes running, and this early in the morning on a Sunday isn't exactly social calling hours. But I want to see her.
I pace the apartment and check the clock every three minutes. Finally, at 6:08, I cross the hall and knock on her door.
The wait stretches long enough that I consider retreating. Then I hear shuffling, a thump, and muffled cursing.
The door swings open, and Emily stands there, hair a tangled mess, wearing flannel pajama shorts and an old, ratty t-shirt. Her eyes are barely open.
"Someone better be dead," she mumbles, then focuses on me. "Alex?"
"Come running with me."
She blinks and rubs her eyes.. "What?"
"Running. With me. Now."
She leans against the door frame and yawns. "It's Sunday. And I'm asleep. And what makes you think I like to run?"
"I somehow knew you'd say that, so let's make a deal. I'll buy you croissants. The good ones from the French bakery on Fifth. I once heard you recommending them to Roberta."
Her expression changes instantly, more alert and excited, but still quite suspicious. "The chocolate ones and the one with pistachio cream?"
"However many you want. All the flavors if you can manage."
She considers this, eyes narrowing. "You're bribing me with baked goods to wake up at an ungodly hour and engage in physical torture."
"Yes."
"God, why?" She sighs dramatically. "Fine. Give me five minutes."
The door closes. I hear more thumping and what sounds like Croissant meowing in protest. Ten minutes later, she emerges in black leggings, a gray hoodie, and running shoes that look brand new and not broken in.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," she says, closing her door. "Croissant is judging me so hard right now. And how ironic is it that the only way I'm running is the promise of good pastry?"
"You'll survive."
"Bold assumption."
Twenty minutes into the run, I know two things: Emily is the worst runner I've ever seen, and I find it unexpectedly endearing. She basically alternates glaring at me, whining, and dragging herself.
"This is torture." She's bent double at the park's halfway point. "I think my lungs are collapsing, and my ankles are at their breaking point. My stomach also feels like I've been repeatedly punched. "
"They're not."
"How do you know? Are you a doctor?"
"No."
"Then you can't be sure." She straightens up, sweat dotting her forehead, and jabs an accusing finger at me. "If I die, tell Croissant I love him. And that you forced me to do this."
I slow my pace to match hers, which is barely above a power walk. Under normal circumstances, this would frustrate me since I maintain a seven-minute mile pace and hate disruptions. Today, I don't care. I’m shuffling… and loving it.
"You're enjoying my suffering, Alex. I can feel it."
"A little."
She tries to glare but eventually rolls her eyes. "At least you admit it. Honesty is a green flag." As we round the bend past the small lake, she stops completely. "I can't. I'm dying. Tell Croissant I love him."
"You already said that."
"It bears repeating."
I hold out my hand, and she looks at it suspiciously before taking it. Her palm is small against mine, fingers cool despite her exertion.
"Three more minutes. Then we get croissants."
"Croissants plural? As in, more than one?"
"As many as you want."
She squeezes my hand. "Okay, you know what? On second thought, I can do this."
We finish the loop with her dramatically gasping for air, and me trying valiantly not to laugh. At the bakery, she points at pretty much everything on display, except the ones with cream cheese because, according to her, cream cheese doesn't belong on pastries. It belongs on bagels.
Hard to argue.
But, as Emily pulls the first croissant from the bag, I try anyway.
“Aren’t bagels pastries?” She immediately stops and looks at me with wide eyes and a serious look.
“Alex, any man with this question will never get anywhere near my pussy ever again. Or, just to be clear,” she raises one finger in the air, then points it downwards, “my vagina.” I’m leaving Croissant out of this. ”
I try to stifle my laughter, “Just winding you up, Em, I know bagels are bread, not pastries. I might be ex-military, but I’m not a neanderthal.”
“Neandertahl is perfectly fine with me, on my terms and in certain situations… situations like last night, for example.” Emily’s eyes sparkle. Her morning torture dwindling fast.
We both smile.
Emily bites into the first chocolate croissant and makes a sound that goes straight to my groin. "Oh my God. Worth it. Almost worth it. I knew I had a strong will to live."
See, this is nothing to her, but watching her eat is its own kind of torture. She takes small, careful bites, closing her eyes with each one, making tiny sounds of pleasure. By the third croissant, I'm thinking about all the other ways I could make her make those sounds.
Walking back to the apartment, she bumps her shoulder against my arm. "Thanks for this. Even though running is still evil, and I will never voluntarily wake up early to punish myself."
"You're welcome. And it feels good to run."
"I only feel good because of the croissants."
"A win is a win."
Emily links her arm through mine, and I realize how much of a touchy person she is. I have zero complaints because I like it. "Is this what you do every morning?"
"Six miles. Same route."
"Six? We did, what, three? And I nearly died."
"Three and a half."
"You're a monster."
In the elevator, her scent fills the small space. Her hair has mostly escaped its ponytail, and a flush still colors her cheeks.
"I need a shower," she says, pulling at her hoodie. "I'm disgusting and sweaty."
Without hesitation, I take her hand. "Come to my place."
"Y-your place?"
"My shower's bigger and we need to conserve water…"
"…by showering together, right? Genius idea."
The elevator dings, and we walk to my door in silence.
Inside my apartment, she looks around, taking in the sparse furnishings. I don't give her time to explore. Taking her hand, I lead her to the bathroom and turn on the shower, letting it heat up.
Emily keeps looking around. "This is your apartment. It's nice. Very ... you. Minimal, but in a good way. Not like empty or anything. What I mean is—"
I kiss her to stop the nervous rambling, only pulling back to tug my shirt over my head. Without taking my eyes off her, I kick off my shoes and pull down my shorts and briefs in one motion, my cock jutting proudly against my stomach.
Emily's gaze zeroes in on my cock, and she whistles. "Oh, boy. You are gifted … everywhere. Okay, wait. My turn."
She takes her shoes and clothes off in record time, and I forget how to breathe.
Her body is all soft curves—full breasts with pale pink nipples, a gentle slope to her stomach, wide hips. Nothing like the hard angles of mine. I saw it last night, but it was dim. In the light of day, she looks like a fucking goddess.
In the shower, the hot water hits us, steam rising around our bodies. The plan was to clean ourselves, but all those decent thoughts fly out the window when Emily loops her arms around my neck, her nipples brushing against my chest.
Jesus Christ. A man can only have so much control.
"Alex..."
My name on her lips sends heat through me, and my self-restraint snaps in half. The need to be inside her is the only thought buzzing around my skull.
I slam my lips against hers as I lift her, wrapping her legs around my waist and backing her against the wall, only breaking the kiss to nip her earlobe. "You wanted to know how it would feel if I fuck you against the wall, right? This is no elevator, but it's a close second."
Without waiting for her reply, I reach my free hand between us, teasing her clit until she sucks my lip between her teeth. Fuck. I loop my arms under her knees and lift her, angling her pussy forward slightly toward me.
The head of my cock nudges her entrance, and I'm so hard I don't even need to guide it.
I slide my cock into her, just the tip, and hiss at how good she feels. My muscles contract as I fight the urge to come right here, right now. The last thing I want is to embarrass myself and disappoint her.
Nope.
Inch by agonizing inch, I push deeper into her inner walls until I'm buried to the hilt, both of us groaning at the feeling. I give her a moment to adjust before I start to move, pulling back and thrusting deep. The position lets me penetrate her deeply, hitting places that make her moan.
"Alex, oh God, Alex..."
Water cascades over us as I thrust harder, one hand gripping her hip, the other braced against the wall for leverage.
Her nails scratch down my back, and I drop my mouth to her neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. Marks that would take days to fade.
Something possessive and primal roars within me at the thought of other people seeing my brand on her. Me staking my claim.
"You feel so good, Em. So fucking good around my cock."
"Harder. Please, Alex, harder and deeper."
Her wish is my command, and I drive into her with more force, taking her with hard, merciless thrusts. The sound of skin slapping skin mixes with the shower spray and her continuous moans.