Page 41 of Bad Reputation

I move my hand down between our bodies, rubbing her clit. I am going to make damn sure that she comes when I do… and I’m going to come pretty damn soon.

“Oh my god,” she says, leaning forward. “Omigod, right there…”

I can feel her tensing and clenching, getting close to the edge.

“Fuck. That’s right. I love the way you ride me, Em. The way that sweet pussy grips my cock so tight—”

That little bit of dirty talk is enough to push her over the edge. She cries out, her pussy spasming wildly, her nails scoring the flesh of my chest.

I let myself go, pumping up into her body with abandon. I can feel the orgasm before it hits, feel it down low in my balls. It tears loose and I thrust upward again and again, her greedy little pussy milking my cock of every drop.

I slow, then stop, trying to catch my breath. She lays sprawled across my chest, her breathing rapid, covered in a layer of sweat. Not just hers, but mine, too.

I close my eyes and hold her close, enjoying the musky smells coming from us both, and the moment of closeness.

It’s not enough, just being with her. It’s not nearly enough.

But I’ll take what I can get, for right now.

15

Emma

Afterward, Jameson drives my Range Rover back to my house. He doesn’t stop touching me the whole way, his right hand traveling from my bare knee to my outer thigh and back down. I lean into the contact, my arm entwined with his. I stroke his muscular biceps through his shirt, biding my time until I can get him naked again.

He looks at me more than he should while he drives, his gaze possessive. And he keeps stroking my knee and my thigh, his fingertips scrawling lazily across my skin. It’s as if he’s been so starved for touch that he can’t help himself; I know that’s the way I feel, at least.

No words pass between us as he drives. There are no questions about what we’re doing, no angry denials of feelings. None of that.

I assume that he feels the same way that I do. I don’t know a hundred percent, but I expect that he isn’t sure why we were ever not together.

Maybe later, we’ll talk about that. But not now.

When we get to my house, he is as eager to get inside as I am. We kiss and embrace on the porch as I hunt down my key. I put the key in the lock, and he runs his tongue along the shell of my ear.

“Someone will see us,” I warn him, gasping as he reaches around to cup my breasts.

“So?”

I turn the key and push the door open, a shiver running down my spine at his response. Is he really so cavalier about it now?

I swallow the question, because now isn’t the time for all of that. There will be infinite amounts of time to discuss it later. I turn in his arms, kissing him. He grabs me and lifts me up, carrying me inside.

I squeak a little as he kicks the door shut. He carries me straight into my bedroom, collapsing on the bed on top of me. We take our time, kissing and exploring. He goes down on me and makes me cum three times before he is ready for sex.

And unsurprisingly, Jameson makes me cum again while he’s deep inside me. When we’re finished, both laying exhaustedly together, he kisses me so slowly and throughly that my eyes mist over.

I bury my head against his neck to hide my tears, but he’s having none of it.

“Hey,” Jameson says softly. He lifts my chin with gentle fingers. “You’re crying again.”

“I know,” I sniff, embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s just… overwhelming.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” His arm tightens around my shoulders, holding me a little closer.

A minute of silence passes between us. I’m wondering where I should begin to broach the topic of the huge change we just made to our relationship. While I’m thinking, though, Jameson speaks.

“I should be the one to apologize,” he says after a minute. “For breaking up with you, first of all. But also for being a complete tool while I was doing it, too.”

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