Page 139 of Things I Overshared
Emerson reaches behind me to undo by bra. “It does,” he says softly. I ask him what he means with my eyes. “Your tan. It does look hot.”
I hold in a squeal.
We get in under the spray, and Emerson just puts his forehead on mine, holding me tight around my back. His breaths are shaky, as are my own, if I’m even breathing. I don’t want to disrupt how sweet it is, how precious his face is looking down on me with one trillion emotions.
“I’m so sorry, Angel,” he whispers.
“I know, Em, I know.” It must have been what he needs to hear, because his mouth meets mine and his hands start to move. We explore each other like most of our showers before this one, but maybe slower, softer. His mouth trails down my body like I hoped it would, quickly bringing me to the brink around his tongue. I was tempted to mount him right then, but without saying so, we both knew we didn’t want our first time to be standing in a small shower. So I take care of him with my hands and mouth as well, kissing away the last few terrible weeks. He barely lasts as long as I did, which sends a thrill through me. After, we stand in the stream again for a while, just kissing and holding each other.
“I just still am not sure I believe you. All those times you sighed and grunted and lookedsoirritated with me.” The thought finally bursts out of me.
“That’s just my face,” he says into my neck. I let out a giggle.
“It is not!” I shove him back. “Seriously, I really, truly thought you hated me.”
“Angel, I don’t know what my face was doing. I just know my brain was trying to keep all the emotion hidden, day after torturous day. Did I not convince you tonight?” His face turns serious as he reaches around me to shut off the water.
“No, you did. I just still can’t quite believe it. Emerson Clark, the world’s biggest romantic.”
He steps out and grabs the huge fluffy towels.
“I don’t know about that. I just listened to you and remembered what you said.”
“That’s romance, Em.” I let my huge goofy smile beam up at him in all its dorky glory.
He beams back at me. “I love it when you call me that.” He kisses me softly. “Let’s get you some snacks.”
That was not what I was expecting him to say. But the romance continues, because after I wrap up in the dreamy hotel robe, I find a giant basket of literally all my favorite snacks on his table, some of which he had to have brought from New York. There’s even a special-order bag of just the pink and red Skittles, which I normally have to pick out. My eyes start to get misty all over again.
He sits and grabs his snack—salted almonds, cue the hardest, most obvious eye roll I can muster—and I sit across with a bag of barbecue baked chips. Shamelessly, I make him tell me everything all over again. He does, without complaint, starting with my first day and telling me heart-pulverizing things he remembers through the years, in as few words as possible. I refrain from pushing him for more, and just listen to his careful, deliberate words.
He went to the OU/TX alumni watch parties each year to make sure I got home okay. He paid such close attention that he could recall multiple favorite outfits of mine from the last four years. Right before our trip, it was him who sent the message that I was a bulb, lighting up every room, adding two exclamation marks so I’d never know it was him.
He shares how he almost asked me to dance at every industry gala but couldn’t gather the nerve. And at the London gala, he had already told the band to play “In My Life,” which he chose specifically so he could ask me to dance and let the words say what he was too scared to utter (swoon!); but then I stole his thunder by asking him to dance first.That explains why the singer looked at me like I was a raging moron.
The ball reminds him of Thomas Gage, and he apologizes again for what he admits was a blinding jealous rage. I laugh, and he looks me in the eye and apologizes again. He ends with telling how he loved catching me when I almost fell at the airport, inhaling my scent because it was the first time he’d ever been so close to me.
His voice cracks when he tells me how terrified he was that I’d been shot into the water unconscious, possibly drowning. It cracks again when he says he almost fainted our first night together, when I got on my knees in front of him, as four years of his fantasies came to life.
I can’t take it anymore. I get up and move to sit in his lap, crying and kissing all over every inch of his face, his neck, even his eyelids. He catches my mouth with his and pushes his tongue into me with desperation. He moans and draws the kisses out, slow and long and hard. He stands effortlessly while cradling me in his arms and moves us to the edge of the bed. He lays me down like I’m made of porcelain, then lies down over me, holding himself up with his forearms. I go to open up my robe, but his voice stops me.
“Samantha.” It’s just louder than a whisper. I look into those deep icy eyes that are boring holes straight to my soul. “I love you. I’ve loved you from afar for four years, and the closer I get, I love you even more.” He chokes on his words at the same time that I can’t hold back a whimper. I say the three precious words back to him just as he leans down and kisses me. I wrap my arms around him as tight as I can. I want his full weight on me, his skin melting into mine. I want to be as close to him as possible. I need to be. Have to be.
My hips push up into him as my body catches up to my emotions. He lets out a low moan in our kisses, which are shifting from loving to frenzied. He opens my robe and pulls back to look at me, tracing his hand from my neck slowly down my entire center. His hand pushes my legs open as he reaches down to kiss and lick and tease me everywhere. He takes his time, letting me writhe under him. Finally, his fingers push into me as his mouth takes mine again, but it’s not enough, and he knows it. “I missed you so much,” he whispers into my lips.
“Em,” I say. It’s a plea as I try to push his robe off him. He smiles into our kiss.
“I know, Angel. I know.” After a few minutes of slow, blissful torture, he finally takes off his own robe and removes the rest of mine. I reach for him, pulling at his shoulders. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, please, Em. I need you.”
He leans back to look over at the nightstand. “If you want, I can still—” I shake my head and squeeze with my hands, trusting him that we don’t need the barrier between us.
“I love you so much.” He lowers himself again. He looks into my eyes as he slides into me, both of us shuddering and letting out a cry of joy.
I feel tears fall from my eyes again, and I see them gather in the corners of his. After a second for me to adjust to him, he finds a rhythm, pushing and kissing and sighing. He doesn’t say any more words, but he tells me he loves me with his eyes, his hands, his thrusts, over and over.
He pulls back, sitting up and pulling me up with him. He holds me there for a minute, just kissing me and staring into my eyes and pushing the hair off my face. It is heaven. I’m in heaven. He lays me back down and quickens his pace, pushing us both to annihilation in just a few final thrusts. Before he collapses on my side, he showers me with another round of featherlight kisses.
