Page 27 of Home Game

They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but with me and Mom, the apple barely fell at all. She was like an older version of me with grey hair: fearless, shameless, and ready for anything.

But I didn’t want to be the one dealing with her puking or getting another fucked up ankle if she got super wasted tonight.

“Stay here,” I told Emmett, who was looking down at the broken button on his shirt like it was a math problem he couldn’t solve.

I took off toward my patio and caught Mom right as she was beckoning two of my friends over to fill the rest of her little glass cup. I picked it up, swigged half of it myself, grimacing at the vile combination of liquors.

“Storm’s stealing my brain blast!” Mom called out.

“Gin should never be combined with rum,” I said, sticking my tongue out. “Good God.”

She leaned over, whispering near me. “I shouldn’t be doing those anymore, anyway.”

“No shit,” I told her.

After I’d made sure the situation was under control, I headed back around to the side of the house.

Emmett was gone.

And even though I’d kind of expected him to leave, a little part of me was disappointed. Toying with him was fun, to be honest.

More fun than I’d had in a while.

“G’night, Fancy Pants,” I said under my breath, looking over toward his house.

7

EMMETT

His lips on my skin.

At the corner of my mouth.

His tongue on mygoddamn neck.

Every bone in my body ached as I woke from sleep for the second time that night, stirring in bed.

My cock was hard. Again. I shoved it up against the mattress, pushing it in like I could somehow get relief from rutting up against something. Anything.Fuck.

I’d been so good until I got home and got in bed. I’d managed to make it back to my kitchen, chug a ton of water, and spend time scrolling through work emails for at least an hour without thinking about Storm once.

Ignoring the memory of his touch.

Of the fact that he’d kissed me, all because he had some psychotic desire to get under my skin.

I’d eventually gone up to my bedroom, though, the rest of the night feeling like some distant memory that couldn’t possibly have been real. Storm Rosling wouldn’t kiss me. He barely knew me, and what hedidknow, he certainly didn’t like.

Sleep came quickly, but the dreams came just as fast behind it.

“Tell me to stop,” Storm said, so close to me, in the first dream. We were back in his backyard, but alone this time, not surrounded by a party. I could feel his lips against my ear as he whispered. “And I’ll stop anytime.”

How long had it been since I’d been touched like that? Since I’d evenletanyone get that close?

“Don’t stop,” I told him, knowing I shouldn’t say it even in a dream. “Please don’t stop.”

“Then tell me you want more,” Storm murmured, and as I felt his palm reaching down for my cock, I woke up.

Aching.

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