Page 62 of The Emerson Effect
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Please,” I say, the word dripping with angst. “Don’t be sorry.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, her eyes wide and startled. “W-what?”
“Don’t be sorry,” I repeat. “I’m certainly not. I liked it. A lot. Hell, Ilovedkissing you, Twila.”
“Really?” she breathes like she’s afraid she’ll break the spell if she speaks any louder.
“Really,” I say, my voice strong and clear. “I know this whole thing is supposed to be fake. That we agreed to be friends. But…I like you. As more than a friend. And I don’t want to ruin things between us, so if you don’t feel the same, we can forget this conversation and pretend like it never happened, but…Iwantyou, Twila.”
Her eyes go wide as saucers, and her mouth falls open as she stares at me, obviously dumbfounded.Shit.I went too far. She doesn’t feel the same. I’ve fucked this all up, and now I need to backpedal.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “Let’s just forget––”
Twila leaps into action, and my words cut off as I find her straddling my lap and pressing her lips to mine. Her hands tangle in my hair as she holds me still for the onslaught, and her sudden dominance makes my cock spring to life. She moans into my mouth when she feels it, then rolls her hips and bears down to rub herself over my length.
She tastes like powdered sugar and syrup, and my spirit soars as I realize this is really happening. It’s not a dream. Twila is bucking against me as she brushes her tongue over mine again and again.
Snapping into action, I grip her ass and give it a squeeze as I flip us. She lands on her back on the couch as I stretch over her, nestling my hips between her thighs. She yanks at the hem of my shirt, and I break off our kiss just long enough to jerk it over my head and toss it aside. Her hands roam up my chest and over my bare shoulders, driving me insane with need.
We kiss for two minutes or an eternity––I’m not sure which––then I break it off, lifting my head to look down at her as rough breaths saw in and out of my lungs.
“Do you want to go to my room?” I ask as I gently brush her hair back from her face.
“Yes,” she says, nodding emphatically.
“Good,” I say, my voice deep and gritty with relief.
I climb off the couch and offer a hand to help her up. She takes it without pause, and the second she’s steady on her feet, I pull her to my bedroom. Stopping at the foot of the bed, I yank her into my arms and kiss her.
She kisses me back with enthusiasm, and when I toy with the hem of her tank top, she steps back and whips it over her head. My eyes drink her in as she unbuttons and unzips her shorts, teasing me with slow deliberation. They drop to the floor, and she steps out of them, and the sight of her in a lacy white bra with matching underwear nearly does me in.
Keeping her gaze locked with mine, she climbs on the bed and stretches out like a feast just for me.
And, fuck, am I going tofeast.
THIRTY-FIVE
Twila
Oh, my God. What am I doing?I’m never this brazen with men.
But Emerson altered my brain chemistry when he told me he wants me. Something inside me cracked, letting out an inner vixen I never knew resided in there. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted a man in my whole life. Ineedhim. His touch. His taste. His weight on top of me and that hard ridge I felt earlier stretching me in the most delicious of ways.
His eyes light with glacial fire as he stares down at me. His fingers hook in the waistband of his shorts, pushing them down his thighs until gravity takes over and they drop to the floor. He grips his erection through his boxer briefs, and my channel floods with moisture.
Releasing his cock, Emerson lifts a knee to the bed and climbs on, moving over me and holding his weight up with straight arms.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs as he dips his head to kiss me.
I reach up to grip his shoulders as I kiss him back, but when I try to pull him down onto me, he resists. Instead, he moves his lips to my cheek, kissing down my jaw to my neck. As he trails a path of kisses along my collarbone to the upper curves of my breasts, I make my empty hands useful by reaching beneath me to unhook my bra. Emerson groans against my skin as I shed the garment and throw it off the bed, then all my thoughts disappear as the scalding heat of his mouth closes around one nipple.
My hips buck involuntarily, and Emerson rolls his own hips to rub his erection against my center. He groans at the contact, sending a shock vibrating from his mouth straight to my core. Then he releases my breast with a pop before moving downward, pressing kisses along the soft flesh of my stomach and abdomen before sitting back on his knees and tugging my underwear down.
“I need to taste you, Twila,” he says, his voice raspy with need. “Will you let me?”
I lift my hips and wiggle them to help him in his efforts as I moan, “Yes, Emerson. Please.”
