Page 16 of Down to Puck

6

Yasmín

By the time we reach the door of his place, I’m back in Emerson’s arms.

Not slumped over a shoulder or piggyback. Emerson is holding me in his arms, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist while he drowns me in his sweet kisses.

Emerson’s mouth is as hungry as mine. He devours me with soft kisses and savage bites. My heart is beating an erratic rhythm against him, my heated skin damp with perspiration.

Each time I think it can’t get better, it does.

“You taste so sweet, Angel,” Emerson purrs.

I moan, letting my head fall back, and his mouth traces the line of my throat down to my collarbone. Each kiss ends with a nip of his teeth that makes my entire body erupt in goosebumps.

I don’t think I can take an entire night of this. I’m already on sensory overload, and Emerson isn’t even even touching me yet. Not really touching me. His hands are on my ass again, squeezing and massaging, but it’s not where I want them.

One of his hands leaves for a moment, twisting the knob of the door. He carries us through, his lips greedily staying on my skin.

“Emerson,” I whimper, unable to articulate what I’m feeling.

I’m not even sure of what I want, except for more.

If he keeps going I might explode, but if he stops I know I’ll die.

Whatever he hears in my voice, it doesn’t deter him. He pushes me back against the door to close it behind us. His hands slide up from my cheeks to the hem of my shirt, pulling it up to expose my bra.

“Too fast?” He asks.

Emerson’s voice is low and dangerous, scraping across my skin to send fresh shivers racing down my spine.

I shake my head, unable to form words. It isn’t enough of an answer for him. Emerson pulls away, letting me slide down his body. My shirt is still half on, hanging open.

“No, it’s ok. I’ll tell you if it isn’t,” I shake my head.

The threat of this ending— of Emerson not kissing me anymore— is enough to help me find the words.

“Tell me before it gets to be too much. I told you, we’ll go as slow as you want,” he says, infinite patience in his voice.

I don’t want to keep coming back to this. I can’t take it. So I put my palm flat on his stomach, sliding it up under his shirt to feel the tight muscles of his abs.

Then I slide it down the front of his jeans, wrapping around the base of his cock while I hold his eyes.

“Emerson, I need you,” I let all of my desperate want leach into my voice.

His mouth crashes back into mine with bruising force, but it isn’t enough. I can’t get enough of him, can't get close enough to him. I squeeze him. The angle is wrong to stroke him, but I grip the thick heat there, thrilling at the weight of him. Emerson’s moan against my lips only makes me desperate to get his pants off.

I slip my hand up to work at his fly, but he stops me, ripping the tattered remnants of my shirt up and over my head. His mouth finds an exposed breast a moment later, and my hands fly up to grab his hair, bracing myself.

His lips are fire against my skin, his tongue tracing lines that make me see stars. My bra falls to the floor on top of my shirt as he spins us and moves towards the bed. I feel the edge of the mattress hit the backs of my knees, bending and laying me out on his bed, pulling him on top of me.

I don’t know whether I’m pulling him closer, harder against me, or just hanging on for dear life. I could orgasm just from the sweet attention he’s lavishing on my breasts.

“You’re stunning,” Emerson breathes, his breath on my nipple enough to make me whimper with pleasure. “An actual Angel.”

“I don’t feel very Angelic right now,” I gasp.

“A naughty Angel,” Emerson says, looking up at me as he wraps his mouth around my hard nipple, sucking it gently and rolling it across his tongue.

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