Page 55 of Kellan & Emmett
So I eased deeper, inch by inch, until the heat of him surrounded me, tight and overwhelming. My vision blurred. “Fuck, Kelly—”
He clung to me, forehead pressed to mine, every muscle trembling. Then slowly, so slowly, he loosened. His hips tilted up, searching. “Okay,” he whispered, voice ragged. “Move.”
I did. Careful thrusts at first, checking his face with every stroke. His breath caught, lips parting, then a moan broke free, raw and needy.
“Feels—so full,” he gasped, clinging tighter. “So good, Emmy—don’t stop.”
And I couldn’t have stopped if I tried. The rhythm built, faster, deeper, the sound of our bodies slapping together mingling with his cries, my groans, the squeak of the mattress. Sweat dripped down my spine, his skin hot under my hands.
I kissed him through it, swallowed every broken sound he made, tasted salt and want and the twenty years we’d both been waiting for.
When he came, it was with a shout muffled against my shoulder, his body clenching around me so hard it ripped the orgasm outof me. I buried myself deep, spilling with a groan that shook through my whole chest.
For a long time, there was only breath — his against my throat, mine rough in his ear — and the smell of sex, sharp and sweet.
I stayed inside him, holding him tight, until the trembling faded. When I finally eased out and stripped the condom away, I pressed a kiss to his temple. “You okay?”
His eyes were wet, his mouth curved into the smallest, fiercest smile. “More than okay. You made it good, Emmy. Just like you promised.”
And God help me, I realized I’d never stopped loving him. Not for a single damn day.[27]
We collapsed sideways into the pillows, still slick, my chest heaving against his. His skin stuck to mine, damp and warm, our legs tangled like they’d forgotten how to be separate. For a while, neither of us spoke, the room filled only with the sound of our breathing and the faint whir of the fan above us.
Kellan shifted, pressing his face into the crook of my neck, voice rough and small. “I’ve never felt like that before.”
I tightened my arm around him, kissed the crown of his damp hair. My throat ached, but the words came steady. “That’s because it wasn’t just fucking, Kelly. It was us. It was always supposed to be us.”
He exhaled, shaky, and I felt it against my collarbone. His hand slid over my chest and stayed there, palm spread wide, as if he needed to feel every beat of my heart.
We pulled the sheet over us, the fabric cool against overheated skin. He curled into me without hesitation, heavy and sure, like he’d finally found where he belonged. My hand traced idlecircles on his back, memorizing every ridge of muscle, every tremor as it ebbed into calm.
His breath evened out slowly, lashes brushing my skin as his eyes fluttered shut. I lay there, watching him drift, the weight of his hand still firm against my chest, like he was staking his claim.
It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just release. It was a line crossed, a door opened, and neither of us had tried to close it.
As his breathing slipped into sleep, I whispered into his hair, soft enough that only the night could hear: “You’re here. With me. Where you’ve always belonged.”
And for the first time in twenty years, I let myself believe it could last.
June 30
I thought I knew what sex was. Turns out I didn’t know a damn thing. Not until last night. Not until Emmy.
It wasn’t just my first time with a man — it was the first time I felt wanted in every part of me, even the parts I’ve spent half my life trying to bury. He saw me. He touched me. He took every wall I’d built and kissed them down like they were never there.
I kept waiting to feel wrong, dirty, broken. But all I felt was home.
I love him. Hell, I never stopped. Twenty years didn’t kill it, didn’t dull it, didn’t do anything but make me starve for him. Being in his arms last night wasn’t too fast. It wasn’t nearly fast enough.
Two weeks from now, camp ends, and I’m supposed to get on a plane back to LA. Back to the same empty apartment, the same hollow routine. But for the first time in years, I’m hoping for something different. I don’t want to go back to the man I was before this summer. I want a life that has him in it.
Maybe I can finally stop running from myself. Maybe I can start running toward him.
—K
Chapter 29
Kellan
