Page 39 of No Sweet Goodbyes

Stryker, for probably the first time in his life, does the smart thing and leaves.

Honestly, good riddance.

Emma turns to me with a smile on her face, completely at odds with what just happened. “Do you want to take a shower with me? I kind of feel dirty.”

Without a goodbye for anyone, and directly contradicting what I told her only a few minutes ago with wanting to wait for everyone to leave, I take her hand and practically drag her into the house, ignoring the cheers and laughter as we go.

When we are inside, I lock the doors, and Emma watches me with furrowed brows.

“In case someone decides they’re staying the night. I want to discourage them. With a lock.” She follows me into the dining room, and I follow her with my eyes as she leans against the wooden table.

“You can say no, if you want.” Her hesitance makes me pause, and I don’t know how to answer the non-question. “I mean it,” Emma goes on. “I know I put you on the spot, and I just… I don’t want you to think that you have to take a shower with me. I just sort of said the first thing that came to my mind.”

“Emma.” I step so that we are facing each other and cradle her head in my hands, tilting it up so that she has no choice but to look at me. She keeps her eyes closed, like she’s afraid that if she opens them, I will reject her… again. “Emma, por favor. Please, just look at me.”

Her eyes open, and I hate myself. I hate what I did to her, what I made her think. Because right there on the surface is all the fear and potential anger at what she expects to happen.

I really don’t deserve this woman.

“I’ll take a shower with you… after.” With her face still held in my hands, I kiss her gently. At first. But when she starts to kiss me back, all bets are off. “First, I’m going to claim you.”

Before she can stop me, I pull her shirt over her head and push her back on the table so that her legs dangle over the edge.

Once she’s down, I pull the waistband of her leggings down and strip her until the only thing that remains is a matching pair of red lace underwear and a bra that I know for a fact I could tear without even trying. In fact, yep, there they go.

Emma doesn’t even squeak. Instead, she groans and I smile at the flush that takes over her chest.

“Santa Madre.”

Before I lose it completely, I strip off my shirt and step out of the sweatpants I threw on after my shower.

Emma, always the eager one, leans forward and props herself up on an elbow when I don’t move. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah,” I croak.

My cock is in my hand, and I gasp against even the slight pressure on my skin. But the look on her face. Wanting. Full of the same need and desire that course through my veins makes it impossible to look away.

“You’re not… small.” She licks her lip, biting down when I pump the length and let her see everything my hand covers.

Unable to take her look anymore, I grab one of her legs and smile as her ass squeaks and slides almost off the table.

In the next instant, I’m lined up with her body and have one of her legs around my waist and the other on my shoulder.

“Are you sure?”

Our eyes lock, and she nods.

Getting all I need, I slide into her warmth and groan with every inch she takes.

Her moan fills the air, and her back arches. When Emma’s leg starts to quiver, I turn my head and bite her calf, smiling against the skin when she starts to tighten around my dick.

“More,” she gasps.

I thrust harder. Deeper. Until we’re both out of breath, and I’m barely hanging on by a thread.

But she hasn’t hit the height of her pleasure yet, and I refuse to give in until she does. The table creaks with our weight, and Emma writhes beneath me.

“More.” Her repeated plea fills the air, and I let go of her leg and lean forward, take both of her legs around my waist, and bend forward until our lips meet in a clash of teeth and tongue and violence.

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