by Ivy Fox
“Em,” he supplicates as I massage his calves up to his thick strapping thighs. It’s when I get to his cock, and wrap my hand around the base of it that he hisses out.
“Jesus Christ, woman, you’re fucking killing me.”
I continue pumping away at his sturdy length, his cock swelling in my grip. The water drips down his body, rinsing the last of the soapsuds and leaving every inch of him smelling like a field of marigolds and yet retaining that masculine scent that is his and his alone. Unable to resist any longer, my tongue teases the crown of his cock, before my mouth fully wraps around it. He mumbles incoherently, his fingers latching onto my wet hair, pushing my throat down his long stiff shaft. I suck at him with all my might, my eyes prickling with tears as the tip of his mushroom head hits the back of my throat.
“Look at me,” he orders.
My eyelids flutter under the pounding water above, doing everything in my power to keep my eyes fixed on his while my tongue licks the angry vein on the side of his cock, before circling my mouth around it once more. My eyes are still on him when he pulls me under my shoulders, turning me over and kicking my feet to spread apart.
“Hold on to the wall.”
“Colt.” I begin to protest since we didn’t bring a condom with us.
“Fuck that, Em,” he growls as if reading my thoughts, grabbing my throat from behind so my back is slammed up against his chest. “Do you want me?”
“Yes.” I squirm.
“Then I’m fuckin you raw. I’m clean. I swear on my life that I am. I won’t cum inside you if you don’t want me to, but this is happening.”
“I’m on the pill,” is my automatic reply because right now, all I want is to have him inside me.
No, not want.
Need.
Like a burning flame that needs oxygen to survive, I need Colt to spark life back into my body in the only way he knows how.
We hold our breaths as his raw length thrusts inside of me.
“Oh, my God!”
“Holy fuck!”
Like this, I won’t be able to keep from cumming much longer.
“Colt!”
“I don’t know what turns me on more. Fucking you like this, skin to skin, or that you’re about to cum just because you’re wet and needy after sucking me off.”
“Oh, God,” is all I say as he pounds into me like he wants to split me open.
I slam my open palms against the tiled wall, frantically trying to contain the explosion that inches closer to unraveling itself. Colt peppers my shoulder and neck with butterfly kisses, a complete contrast to the way his cock is turning me inside out.
“Let go, Em,” he whispers in agony, so close to falling off the precipice himself. “Just let go.”
With his sweet words in my ear, I hand over the reins of my resistance and let him push me off the edge, knowing he’ll be here to catch me.
“So fucking beautiful. I never get tired of seeing this look on your face,” he cajoles before shutting my mouth with one hard kiss. “Now on your knees, Em,” he growls afterward, the feral beast back in his eyes.
I do as he says, licking my lips as he strokes his cock in front of me. It doesn’t take long for jets of cum to find their way onto my chest. With his fingers, he spreads his release over the swell of my breasts and then shoves his thumb through the seal of my mouth so I can lick it clean. Once he can’t handle the sight of me sucking his finger any longer, he pulls me back up, only to deliver a fiery kiss that leaves me weak in the knees. He holds me in close, hugging me to him while kissing every inch of my face. I close my eyes and try not to focus on these tender reactions from him.
They’ll do neither of us any good if I do.
After he’s done washing me for the second time today, Colt turns off the water and wraps a towel around me to dry off. He then picks me up in his arms, walking us to my bedroom, and plants me on my bed. I lie on my side, intent on watching him dry his glorious body off, but my eyes feel heavy after our excursion. I’m almost half asleep when I feel him slide up against me, caressing my face and taking the wet locks of hair off my cheek. I nestle into his warmth, my breathing becoming shallower as I succumb to my slumber.
“No turning back now,” he whispers into my hair, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.
I don’t say a word in reply, too afraid of what his prediction will mean for us both.
Chapter 22
Colt
It’s been two days since I’ve been shacking up with Emma in her cozy little apartment. I have to admit, living so domestically has a certain appeal to it.
We wake up and fuck.
Eat breakfast, then fuck again.
Work on her book for a while, then fuck some more.
All day long, we are either deep in research mode or wrapped around each other.
A man can get accustomed to living like this. Whenever the urge is there, one of us reaches out for the other, which’s enough to get us going. Sometimes all it takes is a searing look, a tentative smile, or a seductive word, and we’re both on the floor fucking each other’s brains out. I’ve never felt so relaxed and content as I have been this past weekend, and it all falls to my naughty professor, who can’t keep her hands off of me—or her mouth.
Guess it goes both ways.
Emma brings out a ravenous side to me, too. I look at her, and the need to own and mark every inch of her body consumes me. For someone who is used to having everything handed out to him on a silver platter, Emma making me work for every touch and caress is just as wondrous and spellbinding as the woman herself.
I pull on the side of my lower lip with my teeth, watching her typing away on her laptop, so focused on the words she’s writing down that she doesn’t even realize I’m already itching to persuade her for another study break.
“Don’t you even think it, Colt. I’m sore as it is, and I got five chapters to hand in this week.”
She’s laid halfway on her couch, a blanket and computer on top of her, and a teasingly amused grin on her lips. I’m sitting just opposite her in the same position with my own work on my lap, but that doesn’t stop me from playing around with her toes.
“I’m sure there are plenty of other places on your body that aren’t sore.”
Her cheeks immediately turn pink, but the fiery light twinkling in her amber eyes tells me she is all up for my proposal.
“There most certainly are, but if you don’t let me finish this chapter today, you won’t be able to enjoy any of them.”
“You’re playing dirty on me, Em?” I growl, thinking of taking a big bite out of her ass.
“I’ve learned that dirty is the only way you like it.” She winks flirtatiously.
“I’ll settle for your mouth, then. One kiss and I promise to be on my best behavior.”
“Liar.” She giggles.
Fucking giggles.
I swear I never get tired of the sound. It does something to my cold arctic insides right along with swelling up my eager cock.
Shit, even I’m smiling, and I rarely do that.
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” I smack my lips not so innocently.
“Just one?” She lifts up a finger indicating one kiss is all I’ll get. For now, anyway.
“Just one.”
“Fine. Do what you will with me then.” She laughs.
“Oh. I intend to.”
I place my laptop on the side table, grabbing hers next and placing it on the floor. I crawl up her body, Emma instantly melting to the couch beneath me, waiting impatiently for my kiss, her big beautiful golden eyes liquefying in feverish anticipation. Her breathing is already shallow by the time she feels my hardness pressed up against her sensitive core and my breath on her face.
“Colt,” she breathes out.
“Just one kiss, Em. Then we can go back to work.”
I lean in and tease her bottom lip with my tongue before she greedily opens up to let me into her mouth.
All of Emma is sweet raptu
re.
Her smell.
Her voice.
Her decadent kiss.
It’s enough to make men foam at the mouth just to get a little slice of heaven that only she can provide. In her kiss, I find both peace and the blinding urgency in pinning her to the ground and fuck her so hard until all she sees and thinks about is me—and no one else.
I’ve always been a selfish prick, never one to share my toys with anyone else. But when it comes to the woman who is currently lying underneath me, offering herself so pliantly, so fucking breathlessly, I fear selfish is the kindest word anyone could say about me. Other words suit me far better.
Possessive.
Maddened.
Obsessed.
Take your pick.
I’ll fully concede to them all.
When I moan into her mouth, needing to possess more of her, Emma places her open palms on my chest to push me away. Even though she’s putting a pin on our make-out session, the way her eyes are half-mast with the same flame of desire that burns inside me silently whispers that I won’t have to wait long to get what I want.
“Only one kiss. You promised,” she gasps for breath.
“I remember.”
I let out a frustrated sigh and plant my head on her chest. She lovingly runs her fingers through my hair as I hug her. When she lets out another sweet laugh, I pick my head up to look at her.
“What’s so funny, Professor?”
She tilts her chin to my duffle bag sitting on the floor.
“I can’t believe you actually had clothes packed in your car. You knew that sooner or later I’d be taking you home with me, didn’t you? I swear I don’t know if I should despise the fact of how cocky you are or be in awe of your self-confidence.”
I shake my head.
“I didn’t know. I might have hoped, but I didn’t know.”
“Is that so?” she questions unbelievingly. “Then why the change of clothes?”
“Let’s just say it’s something I picked up from Walker. Always have a spare change of clothes in your trunk. You never know when you get yourself dirty and need a quick wardrobe change.”
Her brows tighten in confusion, but some things are best left unexplained. Suddenly feeling the weight of The Society’s shadow on my shoulders, along with the memory of the night I learned that little trick, I push myself off her. After I’ve fixed Emma’s blanket and given her back her computer, I sit on the floor, my back leaning against the couch so that I can be close to her a little while longer.
“When do you think you’ll have this all done, Em?”
“Why? Are you counting down the days that you’ll be done with me already?”
I know the comment is made in jest, but what she doesn’t know is that our days truly are numbered.
Before the first snowfall touches Asheville soil.
Once that happens, I’ll have no choice but to send Emma as far away from here as possible. Just the idea that days like these will soon be a thing of the past spurs a pang to my chest, making it hard for me to breathe.
“Colt? I was only kidding. You don’t have to look so serious,” she explains softly, turning my face by the chin to meet hers.
“I know you were. My mind was just elsewhere.”
“Oh. And where did it lead you?”
“To The Society,” I confess.
The worried lines on her forehead deepen as she stares deeply into my eyes.
“You really do believe The Society is real, don’t you?”
She worries her lower lip with her teeth before closing her laptop.
“I wouldn’t be writing about them if I didn’t.”
“You never told me why, though? As far as we know, they really could be just something some college kid made up at a kegger to scare freshmen. You haven’t gotten any real proof to prove the contrary.”
“What makes you think I haven’t?”
My throat closes up, but I school my face to look impassive.
“You don’t have anything, Em. If you did, I would have come across it on your research already.”
“Maybe I kept whatever proof I have purposely out of your hands.”
“And why would you do that? Don’t you trust me?” My tone is accusing, but deep down, I know Emma would be smart in not believing a word I say.
I’ll just end up hurting her anyway.
“Can I trust you?” she asks, pure hope in her question.
“No,” I reply before I have the sense to lie to her.
The soft smile that crests her lips splits my ice-sculptured heart in two.
“I once told you I was an orphan. Do you remember?” she asks, throwing me a somber smile while running the pad of her thumb over my scruffy chin.
“I remember.”
I fucking remember everything you say, Em.
“I was so young when my parents died that I can’t remember how they were or even the sound of their voice or the way they smelled. I have no recollection of my parents whatsoever, save for the few things my grandfather told me through the years. He was the one who raised me.” There is pained nostalgia to her tone as she continues to caress my cheek. “My grandfather was what you would call an eccentric. Like me, he was a college professor, too. He loved his job. Lived for it. But when my parents died, he became obsessed with something else.”
My throat scratched at what she’s insinuating.
“Let me guess? The Society,” I chime in.
“Correct. If you recall, I told you my parents died in a car crash, but they weren’t the only ones who lost their lives that day. Judge O’Keefe—a renowned magistrate in Boston—rammed into my parents’ car on the Longfellow Bridge one night, making both cars drop eight feet into the Charles River. In the dead of winter, neither my parents nor the judge had any chance of survival. Either the fall or the hyperthermia would have killed them.”
“I’m so sorry, Em,” I whisper, holding on to her wrist to kiss it.
“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt me to talk about it as much as it used to. But that’s not why I’m telling you all this.”
“Why are you then?”
“So you can understand why this book isn’t just a book for me. It’s the chance to solve a mystery that has haunted my grandfather and me since I was six years old. You see, when my parents died, the police ruled it a freak accident, caused by some faulty wiring to the brakes in the judge’s car. They chucked it to some malfunction caused by the subzero temperatures Boston had been suffering that winter. My grandfather, however, never believed in accidents or macabre coincidences. He was a very logical, factual individual and didn’t particularly appreciate the Boston police’s sweep-under-the-rug conclusion. So he checked forensic reports and everything else the police would humor him with, but he never got any closer to an explanation that would make sense in his head.”
“Sounds like he was as stubborn as you,” I tease halfheartedly.
“More, if you can fathom it.” She smiles fondly in recollection to the man who raised her. “Since the police weren’t much help, my grandfather decided to do some digging into Judge O’Keefe’s old court cases, thinking that maybe the culprit behind his faulty brakes had to do with someone the judge had put behind bars.”
“Was it?”
She shakes her head, a grave expression tainting her stunning beauty.
“When my grandfather began looking into the judge’s old cases, he did some investigating on the judge himself. He found out that Judge O’Keefe had a disturbing fetish for young girls.”
“How young?”
“As young as eight.”
“Fuck.”
“Sick, I know, but that’s not all. He learned that the judge had been actively distributing child pornography and that his stepdaughter had killed herself the year before his death when some of her photographs were leaked from the dark web to various porn sites. Apparently, some of her classmates had gotten a hold of them and shared them around the school. She was only fourteen at th
e time. But even with all the incriminating evidence that my grandfather found against him, somehow the judge went on impugned. It’s almost as if he had carte blanche around Boston to do whatever he pleased, deeming him untouchable.”
“Do you think whoever messed with his breaks was seeking vengeance against the sick fuck?”
“I don’t think it, Colt. I know it.”
“What do you mean?”
There is a sparkle of excitement in her eye, one that has me worried.
“A year after the accident, the judge’s widow put their family brownstone up for sale. My grandfather used her open house party to his advantage and went to the judge’s home pretending to be a potential buyer. With so many people there, it was easy enough for him to maneuver around the place without anyone being the wiser of his true intentions.”
My hackles continue to rise when Emma gets off the couch to walk over to her bookshelf across the room. Between her Brontë sisters and Jane Austen collections, she picks up an out of place hardcopy of Alexandre Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo. She retrieves a familiar envelope between its pages that sends dread to the very heart of me. She slowly walks back to where I’m still seated on the floor and sits next to me with that wretched thing in her hands. Ever so diligently, she opens it and takes out the sinister black stationery that has tormented my friends and me for the past months.
“My grandfather found this amongst the judge’s things in his study,” she explains, handing it over to me.
I swallow dryly, as if a boulder was pressed up against my ribcage, as I begin reading the letter’s contents out loud.
Emma’s expression remains serious as she takes the letter out of my hands and places it delicately back into the book. Genuine fear like I’ve never felt before prickles my flesh knowing that something so dangerously vile has managed to get its way into her hands. All I want to do is grab the damn thing and burn it so Emma can be rid of it once and for all.
But the damage is done.
Unbeknownst to me, The Society had touched her life way before I came into the picture.
“That letter could mean anything,” I choke out, unable to keep the panic away from my voice.