Page 56 of Kellan & Emmett
The morning light poured through the curtains in thin golden stripes, warm across my bare shoulders. Emmett was curved against my back, his chest rising steady and sure, his legs tangledwith mine like we’d always slept that way. My muscles ached, my body used in ways it never had before—yet I didn’t feel broken down. I felt held together, like something inside me had finally snapped free of its cage. Grounded. Claimed. Safe.
For a long moment, I just breathed him in. The faint scent of soap and sweat, the way his breath ghosted over the back of my neck. I’d woken up plenty of mornings with someone beside me, but none of them ever felt like this. None of them ever felt like home.
Still, the thought pressed at the edge of it, unwelcome but insistent: two weeks. In two weeks, camp ended, and I was supposed to head back to LA. Back to the empty apartment, the career that no longer fit, the silence I’d been drowning in long before I came back here. My chest tightened, but I shoved it aside. Not now. Not when I had this.
Emmett stirred behind me, shifting, his arm sliding across my waist until his hand rested low on my stomach. His lips brushed my shoulder, soft and unhurried, and I shivered even though the room was already warm. He hummed, the sound vibrating against my skin, then his palm skimmed lower, teasing along my hip.
I rolled onto my back, needing to see him. His hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles, and his eyes were still heavy with sleep. But when his gaze landed on mine, it was clear and steady, like he’d been waiting for me to turn. His mouth curved into the kind of smile that made my chest ache, and he leaned in, catching my lips in a kiss that was more a question than a demand.
I answered with a hand at his jaw, pulling him closer, deepening it. No rush. No panic. Just the slow, certain slide of his tongue against mine, the heat curling low in my stomach. His weightpressed into me, solid and real, and my body responded before my mind could catch up—hips lifting, seeking.
He kissed me like we had all the time in the world, like there wasn’t a clock ticking down on us. And for a little while, I let myself believe it.[28]
The morning light poured through the curtains in thin golden stripes, warm across my bare shoulders. Emmett was curved against my back, his chest rising steady and sure, his legs tangled with mine like we’d always slept that way. My muscles ached, my body used in ways it never had before—yet I didn’t feel broken down. I felt held together, like something inside me had finally snapped free of its cage. Grounded. Claimed. Safe.
For a long moment, I just breathed him in. The faint scent of soap and sweat, the way his breath ghosted over the back of my neck. I’d woken up plenty of mornings with someone beside me, but none of them ever felt like this. None of them ever felt like home.
Still, the thought pressed at the edge of it, unwelcome but insistent: two weeks. In two weeks, camp ended, and I was supposed to head back to LA. Back to the empty apartment, the career that no longer fit, the silence I’d been drowning in long before I came back here. My chest tightened, but I shoved it aside. Not now. Not when I had this.
Emmett stirred behind me, shifting, his arm sliding across my waist until his hand rested low on my stomach. His lips brushed my shoulder, soft and unhurried, and I shivered even though the room was already warm. He hummed, the sound vibrating against my skin, then his palm skimmed lower, teasing along my hip.
I rolled onto my back, needing to see him. His hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles, and his eyes were still heavy with sleep. But when his gaze landed on mine, it was clear and steady, like he’d been waiting for me to turn. His mouth curved into the kind of smile that made my chest ache, and he leaned in, catching my lips in a kiss that was more a question than a demand.
I answered with a hand at his jaw, pulling him closer, deepening it. No rush. No panic. Just the slow, certain slide of his tongue against mine, the heat curling low in my stomach. His weight pressed into me, solid and real, and my body responded before my mind could catch up—hips lifting, seeking.
He chuckled low, the sound rumbling against my lips. “Morning.”
“Morning,” I whispered back, though it came out rough, already thick with want.
The kiss stretched, lazy and wet, until his hand slid down my side, fingers brushing my thigh before pushing between my legs. My breath hitched. I was already hard, aching for him, and when his palm wrapped around me, I groaned into his mouth.
“Slow,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against mine. “Just let me take care of you.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. My own hand moved on instinct, slipping over his hip, finding him just as hard, thick and heavy against my palm. He sighed at the touch, his lips parting, lashes lowering like it felt too good to keep his eyes open.
We stroked each other like that, unhurried, trading kisses between breaths. Every shift of his hand made my stomach clench, every roll of his hips made me want more, but neitherof us rushed. This wasn’t about chasing the edge—it was about sinking into it, about proving we could be this close without fear.
He shifted down, trailing kisses along my throat, my chest, until he wrapped his mouth around me, slow and warm. I gasped, hand tangling in his hair, hips lifting before I could stop them. He hummed low, like he wanted me to know how much he liked it, and heat shot through me sharp enough to make my toes curl.
“Emmy…” My voice cracked on his name, the sound pulling his gaze up to mine. His mouth was wet around me, his lips slick, and the sight almost undid me.
I tugged at his hair gently, urging him back up, and when his mouth met mine again, I could taste myself on his tongue. My body tightened at the thought, need spiking, but it was softer too—an intimacy I’d never known.
He slid between my legs, braced on his elbows, kissing me like he had all the time in the world. When he pushed inside me again—slow, careful—I held onto him, heart hammering but steady. It didn’t feel like last night, frantic and overwhelming. This was different. This was connection.
We moved together lazily, the morning quiet around us, cicadas buzzing faint outside the open window. Every thrust was slow, deep, like he was writing something into me I’d never forget. I clung to him, nails in his back, breath stuttering against his mouth, and for once I didn’t feel like I had to hide how much I wanted.
When I came, it was quieter this time, more a breaking-open than a crash. He followed, a low groan against my throat, and we stayed pressed together, slick with sweat, hearts beating wild but content.
He didn’t roll away. He didn’t make space. He just curled into me, lips brushing my temple, like this was exactly where he wanted to be.
And maybe for the first time in my life, I believed I could stay here.[29]
*****
By the time the sun was fully up, we’d brushed our teeth side by side, bumping shoulders at the sink, and shared a shower that was more about kisses under the spray than actually getting clean. We grabbed something quick in the kitchen—toast, coffee—and then split off. Emmett disappeared into his innkeeper rhythm, and I headed out toward camp with a whistle slung around my neck.
The day blurred in sun and sweat, kids running drills, voices echoing across the field. When I trudged back mid-afternoon, tired and streaked with dust, the scent of something sweet drifted out the kitchen door. Emmett already had flour on his forearms, sleeves shoved up, the counter crowded with vegetables and bowls.
