Page 85 of Heart of Gold

“Hey,” I say, tilting her chin up. “You’re not alone in this anymore. Even if I live five hundred miles away.”

“I know that,” she says. Her eyelashes flutter as she looks at me, her lips pressed together in a line. God, she’s so beautiful. My focus goes to those plump pink lips, and she rubs them together, with a flicker of her tongue to moisten them.

“Hey, Emily,” I say, my fingers still bent under her chin.

She looks at me, deep inside my soul.

“What do you want, Emily?”

“A time machine,” she says.

My hand travels to her jaw, my fingers threading through her hair.

"This is not a good idea,” I say.

“The worst.”

“You just got out of a relationship. I just got out of one.”

“And we have to think about Olive…”

“Yeah, we do.” My thumb rubs her cheek and her eyelashes flutter close and her lips part.

“This is not a good idea.”

“You already said that.” A tiny moan leaves her mouth as my fingers curl around the back of her neck.

Leaning in, our lips touch, and my fingers curl around the back of her neck, pulling her in. It feels like coming home. I taste the citrus from the beer on her lips. She tastes better than I remember. I scoot across the cushions to be closer.

Our kiss is not how I remembered.

It’s better.

The tension of the last week breaks as I pull her to me, our heads tilting from side to side as I taste her, over and over again. My tongue tests the seam of her lips, and then I break through, tasting her deeper. Her hand fists my shirt as she kisses me, ten years of longing manifesting into this kiss.

My dick rumbles to attention, bucking against my shorts. Every nerve ending remembers her and how she made me feel. How she makes me feel now.

She pulls away first, breathless and strained. She stands up, walking to the kitchen. Then the pacing starts.

“Are you okay? Was that okay?” I ask, crossing my legs so she can’t see the bulge in my shorts.

“No, it’s fine. It’s just a lot to process.”

“Okay—”

“Is it too fast? We just saw each other again a few days ago… It just feels too fast,” she says, pushing her hair off her forehead.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Why are you so sure?”

Emily is spiraling, so I stand up. Pointing to the door, I say, “I’m going back to the tiny house.”

“Why?”

I rest my hands on the soft skin of her arms, looking her in the eye. “If I don’t leave right now, I’ll lay you out on the couch, spread your legs wide, and make you come again and again until your hands are in my hair and you say my name over and over.”

Her chest heaves high and lowers as she folds her arms. I notice she’s squeezing her legs together.

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