Page 96 of Things I Overshared
“So do you,” I say, but it comes out as a breathy whisper because I am struggling to breathe. He’s so sure, so possessive, there’s no hesitation, no holding back anymore. My hips rock into his in response. He groans and lifts me up, smashing his mouth back on mine and wrapping my legs around his waist.
In a split second, he’s stalked into the kitchen and set me on the counter. He pulls me into him, standing in between my spread legs. I can feel him right there, through my soaked thin panties, since my dress is all the way up my thighs. He’s hot in front of me, and the countertop is cold behind my legs. It’s so mind-blowingly sexy, I’m almost over the edge already.
I’ve never felt anything remotely like this before. There’s no teasing, no flirty banter, no pressure or nagging worry in the back of my mind. There is a seriousness about Emerson, sure, strong, precise. But there’s raw, honest desire in him too. His hands are shaking, and his breath keeps catching. All of it together makes me feel high with desire but also . . . safe.
One of his hands is firm behind me, and the other has gone back to a featherlight touch along my leg. Every cell in my body tracks the barely there caress of his fingers up my ankle, passing over my knee, up the inside of my thigh,holy yes please yes yes yes!
He pulls away from my mouth to look into my eyes. He raises his eyebrows just barely, and I whimper with an urgent nod. He keeps his eyes on mine as his hand moves up to my core. His fingers move just like his kisses: firm, hard, slow, deliberate. I close my eyes and let my head fall back with a load moan. I hear Emerson grunt out a sigh before moving his mouth down my neck, along my chest, to my shoulder, everywhere my skin is exposed. My body turns into putty in his hands, and he holds me up behind my back, kissing along my neck and jawline.
“Samantha.” It’s a command to open my eyes and meet his stare. At that exact moment, he changes the pressure, adjusts his fingers just so.
“Em. Em! Emerson, I—” That’s all I can say before explosions take over my brain, vision, heartbeat, my entire body. His mouth sucks on mine as if devouring the moans from my throat. “Wow,” I finally whisper. I collapse into him, my forehead falling onto his shoulder. He plants soft kisses on my neck as my trembling subsides.
My brain regains some of its functions, and it’s no surprise that talking comes back first. “I’ve never, um, that—” Emerson pulls away and angles my chin up so he can see my face. His confused and concerned scowl makes me nervous. “I mean,a manhas never done that . . . to me.” Relief and a wide smile take over his features. It’s beautiful. “Like, that’s only ever happened, you know, by mys—” He kisses away the end of my sentence. He pulls me into him again, and I feel rock-hard proof that this is all incredibly hot for him too.
He lifts me and carries me into his room, walking as if my hourglass, five-foot-six frame weighs nothing. He sits down on the bed, scooting back so I can comfortably sit straddled over him. He pulls away suddenly.
“Shit.” He closes his eyes. “I, uh, don’t have any condoms with me.”
“Oh, okay.” I sigh the words, with relief, I suddenly realize. My body relaxes the tiniest bit, and Emerson notices. He takes my face in his hands again, and his eyes search mine, his scowl back in place. “No, I mean, I want to. I do. Yes.Verymuch. But I am not . . . I mean, despite what the tabloids always said, uh, I’m actually not very . . . experienced.” He tenses underneath me. “I’m not a virgin! I just always save that, until I’m sure I’m ready. And I’ve only been with two guys, my college boyfriend and . . . well, one of my, uh, recent mistakes.”
Anger flashes across his face, but only for a second.
“I can wait,” he says softly, with a grit to his voice that makes me think he actually can’t.
I smirk down at the rocket begging to take off from inside his pants. “I thought you didn’t lie.” I squint up at him. He rolls his eyes and begins to lift me off him, but I fight to stay put. “I didn’t say I wasn’t ready for . . . other things.” I reach my hand down toward him, but he stops me.
“No.”
“No?”
“I can wait, Samantha.”
I climb off him. “Challenge accepted, Mr. Clark,” I say as I quickly unzip my dress before he can say anything in response.
And then he can’t, because I’m standing in front of him in just my white lacy push-up bra and matching lace thong. My heels are still on as I step out of the dress to the space between his legs. His hands turn to fists on the mattress on either side of him. His amazing hungry eyes roam all over me, his lips part. And they pause on my giant bruise. He reaches out his hand and covers it softly.
“It doesn’t really hurt anymore,” I whisper. His head shakes a bit, and his jaw clenches. I remove his hand and put it back on the bed, redirecting his focus. His breath is shaky as I drop quickly to my knees in front of him. His eyes grow wide for a second. It makes me feel like a freaking goddess.
He whispers my name in half-hearted protest when I start on his zipper, but the way he says my name isn’t in protest after that. The look on his face, the awe and unabashed longing, I’ll never forget it as long as I live. I will also remember the animal sounds he made when I put one of his hands in my hair. He twisted my thick long locks around his fist and was almost immediately overcome.
The second he recovers, he lifts me back onto his lap and takes my mouth with his. He holds me close and kisses my neck, talking along my skin. “That was . . . I don’t . . . I . . .”
I can’t help but smile. “That good, huh?” He sighs, kissing along my shoulder. “Can’t find the words?” I tease. He pulls away to look at me, and my smile fades at how serious he is. He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, then peers into my eyes again.
“Adequate words don’t exist.”
I can’t.
I mean.
What?
I jump forward and wrap around him, clinging in the spider-monkey hold I’d thought about a million times. He holds me back just as tightly, tracing his fingers in small circles on my skin. I bite my tongue to keep from talking, because I’m afraid of how big and important and too early the words I utter might be.
I don’t know how long we sit there like that, in absolute heaven. Eventually I yawn, and goose bumps cover my arms since my body has finally cooled to a normal human temperature.
“It’s late, Angel.” He pulls back from our embrace. The pet name sends a happy shiver down my body as I nod and stand. I’m completely unsure of what to do. I figure it’s a solid assumption that he needs space and quiet to decompress and go to sleep.
