Page 124 of Face Off
“I’d hate to let her down,” Emerson says from my bed, her legs hanging over the edge of the mattress and her feet almost on the floor. “Guess I’ll be back.”
“We’d like that very much.”
She taps her phone on my bedside table and stands up. “It’s late. I should get going.”
“What if you stay?” I blurt. “It’s cold, and I know you’re right next door, but everyone’s going to be stumbling home drunk and messy. I don’t want something to happen to you.”
“We don’t do sleepovers,” Emerson says slowly. “We never have.”
“What if we did tonight?”
In all the times we’ve fucked, we’ve always gone back to our own rooms after a few minutes of cuddling.
I’ll kiss her forehead. She’ll run her hand up my chest. There’s a moment where we both pull apart, a string cut in two and the natural end to the intimacy.
I don’t want that tonight.
I want her right here.
Emerson bites her bottom lip. Her eyes bounce to the door behind my shoulder then to the stack of pillows next to her.
“Okay,” she says, and I almost pump my fist in the air. “Only if you set an alarm so I can sneak out before June wakes up. I don’t want to be held responsible for having to give a lecture on the birds and the bees.”
“Deal.” I lock the door and pull off my hoodie. “Do you want some clothes to sleep in? You can borrow one of my shirts. I want to see what you look like with my name on your back.”
“When are you going to wear my name onyourback?”
“I’d love to make that happen, Red.” I rifle through my dresser and find an old practice jersey, tossing it to her. “Wear that one.”
“Thanks.”
Emerson pulls her shirt off, and her tits bounce free. I blow out a breath when she stands up and takes off her sweatpants, leaving a pair of boy shorts she’s been hiding all night behind.
“Those are pretty,” I rasp, staring at the pink lace. “I like that pair.”
“You do?” She slips on my shirt and turns in a slow circle so I can admire her backside. The muscles in her hamstrings and calves. Her ass cheeks and smooth skin.My fucking namestretched over her shoulders, and I might come from the sight of that alone. “Is the rest of me pretty?”
“So fucking pretty, baby. I like that you have nice things.” I shimmy out of my pants and switch my briefs for a pair of loose boxers, my eyes never leaving her body. “I like that you spoil yourself and buy what you want. It’s sexy.”
“I don’t have the contract you do, but men have been intimidated by what I make from playing and the few brand partnerships I have. They don’t usually like that I’m tall or that Icould beat them in arm wrestling. They don’t like the blisters on my hands or when I look sweaty and gross.” She tips her head to the side, and our gazes meet. “Not you, though. You like all those things.”
“I love those things.” I swallow and take off my shirt, leaving it in a pile with the rest of our clothes. “I told you that you’ve only been with boys, not men. Men want you to spend your hard-earned money. They want you to wear those heels, Emmy girl, because you look like a goddess in them.”
Emerson sits on the bed and opens her thighs. Her underwear is wet, a small damp spot on the front I want to lick and taste. “You should fuck me in my heels one day.”
I tilt my head back and groan. My cock jumps in my boxers, and my hand flexes at my side.Fuck, I want to feel her shoes around my waist. Pressing into my back as I press into her.
“I’d like that,” I say, feeling dizzy as I watch her lean back on her elbows and offer herself to me. “Next time we’re on the road and you wear that little leather mini skirt. I’ll fuck you in that.”
“Keeping tabs on my outfits, Miller?” Her smile is soft at the corners, and she reaches for me. “Is that one your favorite?”
“Yeah.” I turn off the lamp by the bed and scoop her in my arms, shuffling across the California king until we’re in the middle. “I’m a sucker for your legs. Fuck what the prudes think.”
“Noted.” She rests her cheek on my chest and yawns. As much as I want to pull her on top of me and fuck her, I can tell she’s exhausted. “What’s your question? It’s the first one of the year, so it has to be good.”
“Will you tell me about your family?” I ask, brushing her hair with my fingers. “You didn’t go home for the holidays, did you?”
“Oh.” Emerson is quiet for a minute, and she stiffens in my arms. “No, I didn’t.”
