Page 106 of Echos and Empires
Each movement they made, though slight and fleeting, sent a fresh wave of adoration washing over her. They were so alike, yet she could already see subtle differences, small hints of their distinct selves peeking through the shared perfection. Sophie yawned, a tiny, toothless yawn, and Emma pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh, unwilling to disturb the delicate peace that wrapped around them like a second set of blankets. They were so peaceful, so serene, the very embodiment of everything she had fought for and would continue to fight for, as long as there was breath in her body.
She leaned over again, unable to help herself, unable to resist the pull of their tiny forms. Her fingers ghosted over their brows, featherlight touches that swept curls from closed eyes. She whispered to them, soft words filled with love and fierce promise. They were hers, and she was theirs, in the simplest, truest sense. Her heart ached with the purity of it, ached with the depth of feeling that had become as much a part of her as the air she breathed.
Emma lingered, absorbing the sweet innocence that clung to them like dew on a summer morning. She drank it in, letting it fill her, letting it fortify her. She needed it, this moment, this reminder of what mattered most. It was so easy to lose sight, so easy to get swept up in the chaos of the world and forget the quiet beauty that lay at the center of it all.
Little lips twitched, small fists unfurled, and the soft coos that spilled into the room were sweeter to Emma’s ears than any music. They stirred something deep inside her, something primal and raw, a fierce need to protect and nurture and love. It warmed her from the inside out, banishing the chill that threatened at the edges.
The room was safe and warm, a cocoon of safety. She let herself float in the bliss being near her twins brought for a moment longer, let herself believe that it would always be this way, that the world would always fall away, leaving only this, only them. Then she stepped back, her heart full and her soul light, ready for whatever the night held next.
“Good night, my little loves.” She whispered, still unable to believe that even after four months, she was a mother. With one last look, she turned to the door to let them have their peace.
The door clicked shut behind her with a soft click, shutting away the warm, safe bubble of the nursery and releasing her into the cool embrace of the corridor.
Bash was there, waiting. He moved with swift, assertive tenderness, closing the small distance between them and pulling her in for a kiss.
For the first time since birth that she could remember, the contact sent shockwaves from her mouth to her core. Reminded her that she thrived on this connection before her body had been altered and in pain.
Leaning against Bash, Emma made certain Bash understood she did not want just the small kisses she’d been taking since the twins were born. Instead, she tasted him, that familiar heat and urgency, her lips molding to his, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if she might drown without it. His hands were at her waist, strong and sure, grounding her even as her head spun. Her touch was hesitant at first, too many weeks had gone by, but the hesitation melted with the slide of his lips and the press of his body.
It was back, her need, her hunger for the touch of her men. She breathed it in, breathed Bash in, her senses flooded with the scent of him, earthy and sharp and so unmistakably Bash.
Her pulse quickened, matching the rapid staccato of her thoughts, as though every part of her was waking from a long,numb sleep. How had she lasted this long without him, without any pleasure-filled touch from any of her men?
Bash shifted, angling his head to deepen the kiss, and her fingers flexed, holding him tighter. Emma’s body responded with a fervor that nearly made her dizzy, her skin tingling under the familiar pressure of his touch. His lips moved against hers, insistent and possessive, and the coil of desire wound tighter, spreading heat through her limbs. Her knees weakened, her resolve strengthened, and suddenly nothing mattered except the closeness, the heat, the pulse of his want surrounding her, filling her.
His cologne mixed with the lavender still clinging to her skin, becoming a heady combination that spun through her senses, tangling with the thrum of her heart and leaving her breathless. The world telescoped, narrowed down to the brush of Bash’s mouth, the press of his body, the low sound of his breath mingling with hers. She had forgotten how right it felt, the fit of them, the way she responded to his touch as though her very cells were made for it. It pulled at something deep inside her, something that unfurled and expanded until she thought she might burst with it.
They broke apart, gasping, their eyes locking in a moment of silent understanding that spoke louder than any words.
It was as if his gaze spoke to her. “Four months,” his gazes seemed to say, “too fucking long.”
Bash’s fingers tightened at her waist, a wordless promise, and she nodded, a wordless answer. They moved together, a fluid, practiced motion, slipping quietly toward the living room. Her bare feet whispered against the cool wooden floor, his strides long and confident beside hers. They were already there, in that place where urgency and intimacy blurred, where longing and fulfillment intertwined.
Still connected, they slipped into the living room, the dim light casting a warm glow over the worn furniture and familiar faces. Her men were waiting, their bodies languid, their eyes anything but. A rush of heat swept through her, a mix of joy and want so intense it left her breathless.
She pressed against Bash again, but rather than capture her in a steamy kiss, he pulled back and gazed down at her.
Bash looked at her, the question in his gaze not matching the certainty of his hands as they traveled her body. “Are you sure you want this, Emma?” he asked, a growl in his voice.
She didn’t answer with words. Her knees hit the floor, and she tugged at his jeans, the rough fabric giving way to warm skin and hard muscles before she reached inside his boxers. Her fingers wrapping around his length just before she took him to her lips where she could show him how ready she was for this.
With the flick of her tongue, she tasted him—his salt and musk— and the thrill of it sparked a moan from his lips that echoed through her.
“Emma,” Bash groaned, his hands not yet coming to pull her closer, but she knew they soon would.
Four fucking months, she thought, her need consuming her.
The sound of Alex’s laugh, low and amused, pulled her back.
“Already started without us?” Alex called, the words punctuated by Bash’s ragged groans as she continued to suck his cock.
Despite how much of her focus was on Bash, she felt the desire in the room, a living thing that grew from a low hum to a roaring crescendo as the others realized what was happening. It had been too long for all of them, and the electric anticipation was palpable, a crackling charge that built and built until she was sure it filled every inch of space. Emma’s pulse quickened as the familiar primal draw spread from the edges to the verycenter of her, a tight coil of want and need like a spark that could ignite her at any moment.
A needy pulse started between her legs, a rhythmic echo of each one of Bash’s ragged breaths. She knew she was torturing him, but it felt so good to watch him—and all of them—want her with such intense longing. She almost pulled away to insist to Bash that he fuck her, to demand that he take what she knew he wanted. But she didn’t, couldn’t, because for the first time in months, she felt completely in control of herself. The tension stretched between them like a taut wire, so tight and thin it was ready to snap and send them flying into the bright, hot entanglement they all craved.
Her lips dragged slowly to the tip, a teasing brush of tongue, and Bash trembled. She reveled in it, in the way she could still make him fall apart, how she could unravel him with the barest flick of her tongue. Knowing that they all watched, knowing that they all waited, that they too were on the edge, made her relentless, made her want more. She could feel them, feel the heat of their eyes on her, only adding to the pulse building inside her. Emma’s breath came fast now, the heat spreading from her core to the tips of her fingers, fueling the bright, dizzying warmth that surged through her veins.
The others closed in, their presences electric, charged with intent. She could feel them even without seeing them, feel the weight of their eyes, the heat of their anticipation, all focused on her. Her heart raced, her body hummed, every nerve ending lit up, alive, after so long dormant. The fabric of her shirt brushed over her shoulders, even as her jeans tugged to her ankles, the zipper snapping. Bash’s hands were everywhere and nowhere at once, leaving trails of heat and need that Emma swore would break her.
