Page 79 of The Emerson Effect
I need you.
Nothing has ever felt like this.
Keeping his gaze locked on mine, Emerson climbs onto the bed and stretches out onto his back. A small up-nod calls meto him, and I’m scrambling onto the mattress before I have a chance to reconsider. Straddling his hips, I kiss my way up the center of his chest. Our lips meet for a brief moment before I keep going, only pausing when his lips latch onto my breast, sucking the nipple deep into his mouth while laving it with his tongue.
A loud moan vibrates from my chest, and Emerson releases my breast before turning his head to treat the other one with the same devotion. I’m writhing now, rubbing my slick core against his chest to find some relief.
Emerson senses my urgency and releases my breast as his hands clamp down on my hips. He guides me upward until I’m straddling his face on my knees, my center hovering just above his mouth. He gives me a second to grab ahold of the headboard before jerking me down and driving his tongue deep inside me.
I howl like a cat in heat, then whimper when he pulls his tongue free, only to howl again when he pumps it back into me. My thoughts jumble into a mess of broken syllables as he licks into me over and over, and just when I think I can’t take it anymore, he adjusts my position to pay homage to my clit.
I roll my hips as he licks at me with ferocious determination, and within seconds, my legs tense and my stomach hollows out, the telltale signs of an impending orgasm. I want to wait. I want to drag it out so this carnal moment lasts forever, but Emerson doesn’t relent. He finds the perfect spot by some supernatural instinct, and a fraction of a second later, I burst apart with a scream.
Something inside me breaks, and warm liquid pours from my core, soaking his face and, I’m sure, dribbling down his chin. Before I can consider being horrified by the moment, Emerson tightens his grip on my hips until it almost hurts and groans louder than I’ve ever heard him groan before.
“Fuck.Yes.That is so fucking hot,” he murmurs as he lifts me up an inch so he can lick me clean.
His muffled voice orders me to grab a condom, now, and as soon as I free one from my nightstand drawer, Emerson uses some heretofore unseen superhuman strength to lift me up, spin me around, and set me back down so that I’m straddling his shoulders.
“Put it on me,” he says, so I open the condom and lean forward, resting my weight on my elbows so I can roll it down his length.
The position opens me up to Emerson, and he wastes no time taking advantage, teasing my sensitive flesh with his lips and tongue as I work. The tip of his tongue finds my oversensitive clit, and I yelp when he flicks it.
As soon as I have the condom on his cock, I scramble out of his hold and crawl down his body. Twirling around, I straddle his hips and grip the base of his cock, lining it up with my entrance. Then I pause, not moving a muscle as our gazes devour each other.
“Is this what you want?” I ask, lowering until just the head breaches my entrance before pulling back up.
“Yes, baby. Give it to me,” he groans, and my eyes travel down his face to his chin, still wet with my juices, to his Adam’s apple that bobs as he swallows convulsively.
Fuck, he’s so gorgeous.
I lower again, but when I stop to tease him this time, he levers upright, grips my hips, and yanks me down until all of him is filling me up. We both moan as I roll my hips and grind down, pushing him even deeper.
The room tilts and spins until I find myself on my back, Emerson hovering over me with his cock still buried deep inside me. Neither of us moves for a long moment as he stares into my eyes, talking to me again without words. I don’t understandhim this time, because the look isn’t purely lascivious like before. There’s something else there.
Something deeper. Headier.
Just as I start to decipher its meaning, he blinks. When he reopens his eyes, they are pure heat and want, and I nod in response. He breathes out roughly, then starts to move. Not the quick, jerky motions that would tell me he’s chasing his own release. No, he moves slowly. Tenderly. Like I’m a fragile masterpiece that must be treated with care lest I shatter.
Out of nowhere, a second orgasm rockets through me. Emerson keeps moving at that slow pace, dragging my release out for an eternity. And it isn’t until I finally slump into a boneless puddle that he lets himself go, grunting though his own orgasm.
He dips his head and places a sweet kiss on the corner of my mouth as his softening dick slides out of me. He carefully rolls off the bed and pads into the bathroom to dispose of the condom and brush his teeth before he reappears, climbing back into bed and pulling me into his arms.
We lay like that, silent save for our quiet breaths, until he hums and murmurs, “I wish every day were like this one.”
“Me, too,” I whisper back without thinking.
And then, the thinking begins.
What am I doing? What arewedoing? Every day can’t be like this. It just can’t.
This isn’t a real relationship no matter how much we pretend. It had a fake beginning, and it’ll have a fake ending. Emerson and I are just enjoying the benefits for a while.
“Where are you going?” Emerson mumbles sleepily as I pull out of his arms.
“Bathroom. I have to…pee. Yeah, if you don’t pee after sex, you could get a UTI. Yeah. I’ll be back. You go to sleep.”
As soon as I’ve closed the bathroom door behind me, I have to fight the urge not to bang my head against it. A UTI? What the fuck, Twila? Who talks about bladder infections after sex?
