by Sandy Lowe
She threaded her fingers into Emma’s hair and crushed Emma to her, too far gone to keep thinking or talking or teasing. She needed to fucking come, and more than that, she needed to make Emma come.
Lauren was done holding back.
Chapter Eight
God. Emma was going to be the death of her, but it was a hell of a way to go.
Lauren wasn’t going to deny that she liked being on top, liked to take control. Yeah, okay, sometimes the view was pretty damn amazing from the bottom looking up, but it wasn’t worth the sacrifice in power play. When Emma was pinned under her, the view couldn’t have been better. Emma’s hair fanned out against the pillow, her arms above her head, and the shyest smile on her face. Perfection.
Lauren kissed her again, sweet and slow and sensual. She parted Emma’s lips and languorously explored her mouth. She kissed her the way she intended to explore every inch of Emma’s body. Carefully, and with the detailed precision of a neurosurgeon. She intended to discover exactly what made Emma tick, what turned her on, what made her sigh, what made her wet, what her deepest, most secret, most intimate fantasies were. She had a feeling that the library was only the tip of the iceberg and Emma was hiding a compendium of erotic imaginings in that gorgeous head of hers. Lauren was going to take it slow, to give Emma all the pleasure in the world, but slow had never really been her forte. She tried for slow, but all too soon the warmth of their kisses heated to the boiling point.
Emma broke away, gasping. “If kissing you is this good, I can’t begin to imagine what sex is going to be like.”
Lauren pressed her thigh between Emma’s until she could feel the lace of Emma’s panties. “I thought you’d already imagined it.”
“I’m hoping you exceed even my wildest imagination.”
Lauren laughed. “That’s a tall order.”
Emma squirmed against her thigh, her eyes fluttering closed. “Not really. You’re halfway there already.”
Lauren bit back a groan, giving in to temptation and kissing her way down Emma’s body. Emma needs you to take your time with her. Don’t rush this. She found the curve of Emma’s neck right under her jaw, the delicate hollow of her throat, the perfect outline of her collarbones accenting her unbelievably amazing breasts—heavy enough to be full and perfectly shaped, each topped with a gorgeous pink nipple.
Emma was built.
Lauren rained kisses all over her breasts, relishing the softness against her lips. When she licked one of Emma’s nipples she almost missed Emma’s quiet gasp. She didn’t miss the way Emma’s hips rose or the way her fingers clenched around the sheet she’d grabbed.
That Emma was so damn hot, so damn responsive and on edge from so little contact made Lauren more than a bit crazy. Emma’s receptiveness had Lauren wanting to push her boundaries. She wanted to shove Emma’s knees up to her chest and fuck her, fuck her until she knew just how far, just how fast, she could push until Emma came screaming. She wanted Emma screaming. Emma begging for it. Emma so out of her mind she forgot all about her nerves. Emma’s body melting and electrifying and shattering like a triple-edged blade skittering down her spine.
She wanted all that with Emma, and just how much scared the bejeezus right out of her.
She took a long breath and reined herself in. Now was not the time to be thinking about hardcore fucking. Down and dirty don’t-know-which-way-is-up fucking. No. Now was the time for sweet and gentle. The kind of sex that lead to nice orgasms that were satisfying in that way of a cork popping from a bottle of champagne. Not the kind of orgasms that ravished you like you’d just stepped off Temptation Island. Not the kind that made you deaf and blind and stopped your heart. Lauren was no sexpert, but she knew enough not to just blindly fuck one-night stands. Especially not ones like Emma who insisted on being wined and dined, who wanted an emotional connection, even if it wasn’t the happily ever after kind. Lauren didn’t fault her for it. Some girls just couldn’t do strangers. That didn’t mean they’d be all up in your business wanting to be your girlfriend.
The person she didn’t trust was herself, and that wasn’t something she was used to handling. Emma’s shyness pushed all her buttons in just the right ways. She wanted to be the one to make Emma forget her reticence. She wanted to show Emma the side of herself that would go to a bar like Kink’s, that liked power and dirty sex that was so far from making love they didn’t even exist on the same continent. She wanted to show Emma just what did it for her the most in bed. But Emma was already so jumpy that bringing up kink seemed like a really bad idea. Hey there, pretty lady, I know you were brave to admit to being anxious and shy and nervous, but would you mind terribly if I tied you up and blindfolded you? It gets me hot. Lauren could come just fine without kink, but orgasms existed on a sliding scale of intensity. Passion was a spectrum, not a fixed state, and Kink’s had shown her the outer limits of her hunger.
If by some miracle, Emma did understand, then Lauren would’ve opened Pandora’s box and just once sex wouldn’t be enough. She’d be left wanting. Left wondering what else hid behind Emma Prescott’s facade of the good girl librarian. Lauren wanted to be the one to show that girl just how good bad could feel. Just how good dirty could feel. She’d never be satisfied with just once if she went there, so Lauren kissed Emma’s breasts gently, licking her nipples and tugging with her teeth until they hardened and Emma moaned, her hips rising again.
Lauren’s blood moved like warm honey through her veins, making it hard to think as her slow and sensuous assault on Emma’s breasts echoed in her own body. All Emma had to do was moan and part her knees, and Lauren was wet and ready. She moved down her body, kissing down her stomach before dipping her tongue into Emma’s navel and making her laugh. Laughing was good. No one ever laughed when Lauren took what she really wanted. Laughing made it playful. Casual. Not at all the rip-roaring need that usually caught her during sex. There was nothing funny about losing your mind, and she didn’t have the strength to lose her mind with Emma and then put it safely back into place.
Lauren moved lower until her mouth was level with the waistband on Emma’s panties. “These are very pretty. Did you pick them out for me?”
Emma propped herself up on her elbows. “Of course not. They just happened to be on top of the pile in my closet.”
Lauren snorted. Emma’s panties were as tiny as they were lacy. No way were they not chosen specifically with sex in mind. But if Emma wanted to pretend she wasn’t doing everything possible to be sexy as fuck, that was fine with her. She liked a challenge. She kissed the tiny satin bow on the front. Kissed her way lower until her mouth was directly over Emma’s clit. “Why do women’s panties have bows? Don’t you think that’s weird?”
Emma didn’t respond. Lauren glanced up to find her lying very still, her eyes squeezed shut and her fingers clutching the comforter so hard her knuckles were white. She frowned. Either Emma was three seconds from coming and trying not to, which seemed unlikely. Lauren wasn’t that good. Or she wasn’t having a very good time.
“Emma?”
“Hmm?” Emma murmured, not opening her eyes.
“How’re you doing? Still with me?”
Emma pried her eyes open and looked down at Lauren. Lauren nestled between her legs, her mouth an inch from her pussy. Emma snapped her eyes shut again as every cell in her body screamed yes please at the top of its lungs. “I’m fine, please don’t stop.”
She held her breath, but Lauren didn’t kiss her again, didn’t slide her panties to the side, didn’t peel them off, didn’t drag her fingers or her tongue down the places Emma rather desperately wanted to be touched. No. Of course she didn’t. Lauren wasn’t going to let her get away with an eyes-squeezed-shut orgasm. Not the Lauren who was constantly asking her to reveal all her deepest secrets. Reluctantly, she peeked out through half-closed lids.
Lauren rewarded her with fingertips pressed against her opening, pushing the lace inside just a little. A shudder of pleasure whipped up her spine.
&nbs
p; Ohpleasemore.
She wanted Lauren to fuck her. Or to at least touch her. Stroke her. Taste her. All this teasing had to stop or she’d go insane from need and have to be committed to an asylum for the perverted.
“Please,” was all she could say, just that one word. A string of pleas, of dirty, helpless words built inside her mouth, but she kept them there. One was enough.
Lauren traced up and down Emma’s panties, pressing and stroking and rubbing her through the lace until Emma was sure she’d soaked right through them and Lauren’s fingers were damp. Why didn’t she take them off?
“Mmm. So sexy. You’re so wet,” Lauren said.
Emma wanted to shut her eyes again, to shut Lauren out, to not focus on how wet she was, how badly she needed to come. If she did, Lauren would stop again. She didn’t want her to check out, and Emma couldn’t blame her. But if Lauren didn’t do something other than torture her, she was going to cry.
Taking matters into her own hands, Emma lifted her ass, tucked her thumbs into her panties and slid them down until she could kick them off. Her plan seemed to be working because Lauren stared at her pussy like it was the Hope Diamond. Or was she staring because Emma’s wet and swollen pussy was the kind of bad you couldn’t look away from? A three-car pileup that kept you awake at night praying for the people inside.
Ugh. She really had to get out of her own damn head already, or even her heat seeking missile ability to orgasm would fail her.
“Please,” Emma said again. Two pleases didn’t officially constitute begging, right? No. You needed at least three for begging, four for pleading, and six for beseeching. Two was okay, but she couldn’t be allowed a third.
Lauren swirled between her folds, running fingertips across the sensitive skin. Emma moaned. Her pussy clenched, needing something inside, needing more. She bit her lip and held back every sound on the tip of her tongue. She couldn’t help wanting, but Lauren didn’t need to know just how badly. No one did. Not ever again.
Lauren brushed back and forth against her entrance, dipping and circling and stroking until Emma wanted to wring her beautiful neck. “Isn’t there something in the Geneva Convention that makes this illegal?”
“While I enjoy envisioning a bunch of snooty suits debating the ethics of sexual arousal, why should it be illegal?” Lauren traced a wide circle around her clit, sliding fingers up either side but not nearly close enough.
“The senseless torture of innocents should always be illegal.” Emma wriggled her hips to try to force Lauren’s fingers closer to her clit, but Lauren just moved with her in a way that meant her fingers didn’t move at all.
“You’re hardly an innocent right now, are you,” Lauren said teasingly. “This isn’t torture. Doesn’t it feel good?”
Not just good. Too good. Emma closed her eyes again and focused on the dark landscape behind her eyelids. She was so attuned to Lauren’s touch that she could almost see her. Almost as if someone had scribbled the image of Lauren stroking her pussy on the inside of Emma’s eyelids so she’d never be able to escape it. She didn’t want to forget, but she had to find a way to distract herself from the pleasure sparking in her pussy and churning in her belly. Need and lust twisting and twining and snaking into every pore of her skin. Lauren hadn’t even touched her clit yet, and Emma could already feel the orgasm building.
“Emma,” Lauren said in a playful warning.
“No,” Emma whispered, then, “please…yes…please.”
Emma winced at how pitiful she sounded. Needy and contradictory and definitely, positively, unquestionably in begging territory now.
Lauren’s fingers stilled, and the texture of the air changed, frozen and wary. “Talk to me,” Lauren said, not moving away but not plowing ahead either.
Code yellow. Proceed with caution.
“I just need to focus on…” Not focusing.
Emma couldn’t say that. Lauren would think she was ridiculous. What kind of lifetime member of sexaholics anonymous had to close their eyes and think of their disapproving grandmother to keep from orgasming before a woman even touched their clit? It wasn’t normal, and all Emma wanted in this moment was to be normal. To feel the pleasure without the anxiety. To just get through these first few minutes so that when enough time had passed, she could stop thinking, stop holding back, let go and give herself up to the blinding release of the orgasm she knew would be amazing. An orgasm that would make her scream.
“Emma,” Lauren said again, her fingers on Emma’s cheek now.
Emma opened her eyes. Lauren leaned over her staring into her eyes. Lauren was always staring into her eyes, looking and seeing and observing her in a way no one else ever had. In a way no one else had ever wanted to. Her heart squeezed in her chest, but right now, sweet tender Lauren was the last thing she needed.
“Please. I don’t want to talk.”
Lauren shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to push you, but I’m going to need a little more than that because you don’t look like you want this, even though you’re saying you do. Can you tell me what’s going on?”
Lauren traced the curve of her cheek again and tucked a strand of hair behind Emma’s ear as tears tracked down Emma’s cheeks. Her throat swelled and her bottom lip trembled. She was going to lose it. She had the sexiest, most gorgeous woman in the entire world wanting nothing more than to stroke her pussy, and she was ruining it.
“I’m sorry.” The apology came out as a whisper. So inadequate, so insubstantial a reflection of the giant boulder lodged in her chest. She wasn’t even sure who she was apologizing to—Lauren for ruining their night when she’d had been so open and honest with her, or herself for allowing reality to forever shatter the illusion of what could’ve been between them. She should’ve let it remain a fantasy. Emma was a freak when it came to sex, and just because Lauren made her wish that wasn’t true, didn’t actually make it so.
Lauren made a sound that was impossible to describe, but she scooped Emma into her arms. Holding her tight, she tucked Emma’s head under her chin and pulled Emma half on top of her. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
“You’ll think I’m a freak,” Emma mumbled, ridiculously embarrassed but glad Lauren hadn’t just rolled her eyes, then rolled out of bed and left. Lauren was still here. Lauren was still asking her to reveal all her secrets. Lauren was still doing everything Emma had asked her for and plenty that Emma hadn’t.
“You do remember I’m tabloid fodder, don’t you?” Lauren said. “Trust me, I, of all people, am not going to judge you.”
“That wasn’t your fault.” Emma pressed her mouth to Lauren’s neck.
“And whatever’s going on for you, was that your fault?”
Emma nodded. Shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe I can help you figure it out.” Lauren tilted Emma’s face to hers, kissing her.
Emma wanted to shoot herself. Okay, that was overly dramatic. Not actually shoot herself, she was anti-gun and everything, but she wanted to make a statement. That statement being that she was a freaking dumbass letting some decade old, long forgotten drama interfere with the very sexy here and now. She was alone in her bedroom with her biggest crush, and she was bombing worse than a Survivor contestant voted off the island on the first day. “It’s nothing. More kissing, please.”
Lauren’s mouth moved down her throat, and Emma tried to stop thinking. She sank into the sensation of soft lips against her skin, until Lauren said, “Remember your epiphany? Touch is my language, and everything about this is telling me you’re freaking out and trying not to. I’m going to believe you when you say it’s not because you don’t want me. But I’m also going to need to know why you look so afraid. Non-consent isn’t sexy.”
Lauren was doing her dead-on eye contact thing again, and Emma gulped. “God, Lauren. No. I mean, of course I consent. I told you, I just get nervous.”
Lauren shook her head. “This isn’t nerves. This isn’t shyness. It’s apprehension and worry a
nd just a little bit of fear.”
Why did Lauren have to be so damn perceptive? Emma tried for a smile. “You got all that from me closing my eyes?”
“I got all that from caring about you.” Lauren didn’t return her smile.
Emma’s breath stopped dead somewhere in the no man’s land between her lungs and her mouth. Lauren cared about her. Lauren was stopping, asking, checking, because she cared. Emma’s fingers trembled as she brushed the hair out of her eyes, buying herself three seconds to think past the rush of she likes me that was making her just a bit dizzy. Now was the worst possible time to be getting all misty-eyed over a statement as simple as “I care about you.”
Lauren might’ve somehow landed herself with a shady past, but she was turning out to be exactly the dream girl that Emma had always hoped for. Lauren didn’t know that Emma wasn’t anyone’s idea of a dream girl, though. She was an anti-dream girl. She should have her own action figure: Nightmare Girl.
Chapter Nine
That adage about the thing you most admire being the very thing that drives you insane two decades later was showing up to haunt Emma. Only two decades was more like two hours. She’d never met anyone like Lauren before. Someone who could read a touch, or translate a kiss, like it was a conversation rather than foreplay. Someone who paid so much attention they knew things about her before she did. Hell, she felt fortunate when a woman looked at her during sex. Lauren studied her like she was the most fascinating woman on the planet. Lauren focused.
“I’m not afraid, not really. I’m just…”
“Really worried,” Lauren supplied for her when she trailed off.
Emma nodded. She wasn’t sure what it said about her performance that she had given the impression of “really worried,” but she couldn’t deny the truth.
“I’m developing my skills in bilingual communication. Let’s talk and touch. Tell me what’s going on,” Lauren said. “Why are you so worried?”