by Claire Adams
I almost told him. I opened my mouth and just as he thought the words were going to come out, I slowly raised my wine glass and gulped down what remained in it with a sly grin.
“Oh, that was just wrong,” he grumbled.
I laughed.
Three truths, a dare, and another empty bottle of wine later, it was his turn.
“Okay, Tarzan, what’s it’s going to be? Truth? Or dare?” I asked.
“I think it’s time for another dare.”
We both took sips of our freshly poured wine. I was really starting to feel the effects, its soothing heat moving through my body. I also felt my inhibitions starting to fall away, but I was at a point I really didn’t much care. “Okay, Emerson, I dare you to… strip down to your underwear.” I was more surprised at what I’d dared him to do than he seemed to be.
He didn't even bother to protest or hesitate. He stood up immediately and whipped off his shirt, which he flung across the room stripper-style—a move that got me giggling like a schoolgirl. Then he slowly undid his belt, dropped his jeans around his ankles, and climbed out of them. Next thing I knew, he whirled them around his head like a lasso. I couldn't help but laugh. While I was giggling, he tossed them across the room, as well. He was left standing in his underwear—tight, black boxer briefs, which left almost nothing to the imagination, as the contours of the bulge protruding from them was plain to see. I couldn't stop myself from taking in the whole spectacle of his gloriously hard, defined body. Every muscle seemed to have been chiseled from smooth marble. There didn't seem to be an ounce of fat lurking anywhere on him. I stared for a moment before it hit me that I should say something or do something; I'd been staring at him so long it was becoming a bit embarrassing. “Alright then, well done!” I laughed. “Now it's my turn again, right?”
“That it is,” he replied, and then sat down next to me in his underwear.
“Umm… Emerson, I didn't say you have to stay in your underwear, ya know. You executed the dare, you can get dressed now.”
He smiled, and I’d have sworn there was a hint of something strongly suggestive in his smirk. “I'm comfortable like this,” he said. “Besides, don't you think it's kinda hot in here?”
It was definitely hot, although whether that was from the actual temperature in the room or the fact that Emerson was now basically naked next to me, I couldn't say for sure. “Um, yeah, it's absolutely a little warm in here,” I responded, not quite able to look him in the eye. “So, yeah, let's get on with the game.”
We each drank the last of the wine in our glasses and then topped them off again. I realized how quickly we'd been drinking and how the alcohol was starting to hit me. I was feeling pretty light-headed.
“Alright, truth or dare?” he smirked. “And don’t say truth again, chicken.”
“Okay. Dare.”
A devious smile turned up the corners of his luscious lips. “I dare you to move closer to me.”
I complied, all the while staring him down like I wasn’t fazed. But I was. He was dangerously close. “Your turn,” I half whispered.
“Dare.”
“I dare you to tell me what you’re thinking right now.” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“I’m thinking that I really want to kiss you,” he breathed.
My pulse quickened.
“Your turn,” he reminded me when I didn’t speak.
“Truth.”
Emerson locked his eyes on mine with a smoldering gaze. “If I kissed you, would you like it?”
“Umm, can you ask another question?”
“You can drink if you don't wanna answer, but I'm not gonna change the question.” His focus intensified.
“Alright, I'll answer. Yes. I would.”
He shifted closer to me on the sofa. His hand brushed against mine and, instinctively, I opened my hand to allow him to slip his fingers through mine. Locked in his gaze, blood pounded in my temples, heat rushed through my limbs as he moved in closer.
“Do you really mean that?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Then… I guess…” he slipped his free hand around my neck and tangled his fingers in my hair. “I guess there's only one way to know if you’re telling the truth,” he whispered as he leaned in and covered my lips softly with his.
There was a brief moment of resistance on my part—a fleeting moment, the last brick in my wall coming down and settling in a cloud of dust. I parted my lips and allowed his tongue to explore. The taste of wine rushed over me as our tongues moved in a shifting, gentle dance. He pulled me closer as we kissed, his hand gently moved to cup my face. Possessed of its own will, my hand glided up to caress his magnificently solid chest. It was just as statuesque in feeling as it looked.
He began to run his hands up and down my back, brushing the skin ever so lightly with his fingertips. Every subtle touch sent shivers of pleasure rippling along the surface of my skin.
We parted, both gasping for breath after the intensity of the kiss. He looked as if he was going to say something, to hesitate, but then his expression changed. Instead, he leaned in and kissed the side of my neck. His lips grazed along my throat, nibbling and biting with just enough force to tantalize and set me aflame with want.
His hands began exploring more of me as his tongue trailed kisses back up my neck until his lips found mine once more. I ran my fingers in every direction I could find, caressing his back, which was just as solid as the rest of his body. Every time his lips touched my skin or his hands traced along the outside of my breast, I felt a fresh surge of pleasure shudder through my body.
I gasped softly; his touch had just the right amount of force balanced with gentleness. It was apparent he knew how to touch a woman's body.
I felt my hands slipping down, returning to trickle over his gloriously ripped midsection, mirroring the gentle, yet arousing, touches he was planting on my body.
Moans of pleasure slipped from his mouth as he continued to scatter kisses down my neck and shoulders. As I moved my hands farther south, his mouth began to wander downward. He slipped the strap of my dress down over my shoulder just enough to expose what he was after. His thumb deliberately brushed across my nipple as it hardened, prompting a sharp, drawn-in breath of pleasure from me.
He traced a heated trail down across my belly with his hand and moved his mouth from my shoulder. “I can stop any time you want me to,” he breathed into my ear.
“Never,” I gasped, and his warm mouth made its way down to my breast, replacing his thumb. As his tongue danced playfully around my nipple, I could feel an intense arousal coming on. A heat I had not felt for a long, long time was now pulsing its intensity between my legs. The fire of the alcohol in my blood was working its madness through my veins and amplifying my arousal.
As he began to slip his hand up my inner thigh, he hesitated. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, panting with the force of his own arousal.
“Don't stop,” I hissed. “Whatever you do, don't you dare stop. I want this. I want you, Emerson.”
He stared directly into my eyes with a gaze that could have liquefied steel, and then he kissed me again, deeply and passionately. I had never been kissed with such emotion. His hand slid into my panties and I shuddered. “Oh, my God, you're so wet,” his voice was husky through our kissing.
I gripped his wrist as he started to move his fingers up and down, rubbing and caressing in a slow, even rhythm. A steadily-building tsunami of pleasure began growing with each deft stroke of his fingers. I slid my hand into his underwear and gripped what I found: the full, throbbing hardness of his own arousal. I started to move my hand in rhythm with how he was working my body until he started to gasp and moan as we kissed.
I managed to pull my lips from his for just long enough to speak. “My room, now,” I ordered.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I stood and hurried to my room as he padded along behind me. As soon as he was inside, I pushed the door shut, stripped my dress off, and sto
od before him in only my panties.
“My God, you're gorgeous,” he exhaled. “You're so utterly, utterly beautiful.”
“So are you,” I breathed as I made my way toward him. The wine was pounding its roaring arousal through me with hurricane force. I stood before him and slid my panties to the floor. I traced a line down his abs until I locked a finger in the band of his briefs and helped him out of them.
I fell back on my bed and pulled him on top of me. He immediately resumed trailing kisses over my body. As he did, I fumbled around in my bedside drawer, desperately seeking a certain little item I knew to be there. In a moment of triumph, my fingers found it.
Emerson threw my legs over his broad shoulders, grabbing each of my thighs as he spread my legs wide. His mouth was on me with no hesitation, tongue flicking over every inch of my most private flesh. I arched my back, tossing my head back and forth, moaning with pleasure. My breathing surged violently. My hips bucked up to meet his talented mouth in rhythm with the pulse rushing through me. It had been an eternity since I'd orgasmed so strongly; my whole body was shaking.
Finally, I couldn't wait any more. “Here,” I said, breathing heavily as I pulled his head up from between my legs and thrust the condom into his hands. “I need to feel you inside me. Now.”
He gasped, pausing in his enthusiastic bout of running his mouth up my stomach. He ripped open the wrapper with his teeth and slipped the condom out, rolling it over his cock with expert speed and fluidity. He positioned himself over me and started to slide his hard shaft into me. I was wet and ready, but even so, it had been a long time and I felt a sliver of pain spark through me.
“Oh, oh God, wait, slowly, slowly…”
“Damn, you're tight,” he gasped. Emerson gradually slid inside, causing my eyes to roll back into my head. I was losing my mind with freshly awakened passion, each soft thrust sending bouts of pleasure rippling through me. He kissed me with slow, languid pleasure while, in contrast, he had a firm grip on my hips as he pushed into me in complete control, sinking deep into me over and over, relentlessly.
“Please, Emerson,” I cried into his ear. “More. Please.”
He pressed his body against mine and surged in and out of my wetness, faster and harder, just as I had requested. I could feel the first stirrings of an orgasm as he continued. “Oh God, oh God, yes, yes, yes,” I moaned as the pleasure grew more and more intense. I tried to keep quiet, but it was too much. It felt too good.
He was thrusting madly now--almost with a speed that seemed beyond humanly possible–and that's when my orgasm started to tear through my body, sending convulsions of raw bliss and ecstasy through my every extremity.
A loud moan escaped, and he covered my mouth with his to quell the sounds of my intense, wall-shaking orgasm. He gasped and drove himself into me one last time, shuddering and convulsing with the force of his own orgasm as his rock-hard member throbbed its explosive power within me.
With that, he collapsed, shivering and trembling with pleasure. He slipped his fingers through mine, and we gripped each other's hands as we lay together in a tangle of sweaty, shivering limbs and damp sheets, both breathing as hard as if we'd just sprinted a marathon.
Emerson rolled over on his back and pulled me next to him without saying a word. He caressed my cheek, ever so gently, and looked deeply into my eyes. Then he ran a finger through my hair and kissed me slowly and gently. “You're so beautiful,” he whispered to me. “So, so beautiful.”
He continued to caress and kiss me softly as the last waves of my orgasm died out.
Chapter 22
Emerson
The sun hadn’t even made an appearance when my eyes opened. My head was feeling a bit fuzzy from all the wine I’d consumed the night before. For a moment, I was certain I was dreaming. I had to blink a few times to focus in the darkness of the room, but sure enough, it wasn’t a dream. I was naked, lying next to Brooke.
I stared at her while she slept for a while. God, she was beautiful. Beautiful in a way that plastic girls like Melissa could never be. I ran a finger gently across her cheek, brushing her skin lightly with my fingertips. It was impossible to resist touching her, even though I didn't want to wake her. She stirred in her sleep and the slightest hint of a smile appeared on her lips.
I kissed them lightly, and she half-opened her eyes. “Emerson,” she sighed and smiled at me as she shifted a little, moving closer to snuggle up next to me.
I instinctively wrapped my arms around her. “Good morning,” I whispered as I placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “I've gotta go see my dad now. Go back to sleep.”
“What t-time is it?” she mumbled.
I glanced at the clock on her nightstand. “It's around five in the morning. Shh, go back to sleep,” I coaxed in a quiet tone, not wanting to disrupt her too much.
“Mmm, okay,” she whispered and dozed back off.
I gently disengaged myself from her embrace and reluctantly got out of bed. It wasn’t even remotely what I wanted to do. I wanted to stay. I wanted to have a repeat of last night, only without the influence of too much wine. But I also wanted to see my dad, so, I got dressed as quietly as possible and tiptoed out.
Once back in my apartment, I checked the day’s weather and then packed a backpack with some clothes and a few essentials before I set out on the six-hour ride up to my dad's place. I put my helmet on, thumbed the starter, and prepared to go. On the horizon, the first golden silvers of sunlight were appearing. It was a nice day for a ride and the weather was supposed to stay clear. I'd be off the interstate before most of the morning commuter traffic hit, and from there, it would be backwoods country roads without too many other vehicles.
A few hours later, I pulled into a gas station and parked my bike outside of a meager diner attached to the gas station. I dismounted and stretched my limbs. After riding for almost three hours straight, my wrists and back were a little stiff. An old man dressed in grimy dungarees and a tattered baseball cap stared at me as he chewed on a stalk of long grass. I was out in the sticks, alright. Mountains stretched to the verge of the horizon and old forests stood sentry at the edges of the road. It was picturesque, to say the least.
I reached into my pocket for my phone, intending to take some pictures of the scenery and send them to Brooke who would surely be awake and on her way to class. That's when my heart stopped.
My phone was gone.
In a panic, I patted all of my pockets thinking maybe I'd put it in a different one.
I hadn't. I always kept it in the left front pocket of my jeans.
And then I looked at the jeans I was wearing—the same pair from the previous night—and I cursed myself for my stupidity. These were the jeans that my phone always fell out of when I was on my bike. The design of the pockets meant the phone sat at an angle when I was on the motorcycle which, unfortunately for me, was the perfect slant for it to work its way out of the pocket while I was riding.
It had happened twice before but, luckily, I had noticed the phone falling out and been able to retrieve it. For that reason, I’d always tried to avoid wearing this particular pair of jeans when riding. However, in my haste and early morning grogginess, I had kept them on. And now my phone had fallen out, possibly a hundred miles back or something. It was gone for sure, probably smashed to bits under the wheels of cars and trucks.
I shook my head and cursed. Not that there was anything I could do about it. I'd just have to wait until I got back to talk to Brooke. I headed into the diner for some coffee and a snack, losing my phone just one more thing to add to my feelings of uncertainty about the twenty-four hours ahead of me. Despite my worries about Dad, Brooke was occupying my thoughts, as well. In fact, I found myself replaying the previous night over and over in my head as I drove the final three hours. Thankfully, when I arrived, hanging out with Dad kept my mind off of her for a bit.
Chapter 23
Brooke
I rolled over and brought my hand down on my alarm. My head was
still a little foggy. I definitely wasn't used to drinking that much wine. I rubbed my eyes and tried to make sense of the partial memory of Emerson kissing me and saying he had to leave while it was still dark at five o'clock in the morning. And then all the memories of what had happened the night before came flooding back.
Emerson and me.
His hands, all over me. The warmth of his mouth on mine. Our bodies pressed together, writhing, sweating, moaning with the intensity of it all. A smile grew on my lips and my cheeks warmed at the thought of it. I couldn't wait for it to happen again. I lingered in bed, replaying the events that had led up to the best sex I’d ever had. While I did, it hit me. I was ready. I was finally ready to move on. Everything that had happened with Andrew had finally been consigned to the past. I smiled. Just knowing I had moved on made me happier than anything I could think of with the exception of last night. It was going to be a long two days.
I was eager to see Emerson. In fact, I was positively craving his presence. I had no idea what had come over me. And as selfish as it was to want him with me knowing how serious the situation with his father was, I still wished he hadn’t left.
That didn’t mean we couldn’t at least talk, though. I checked the time and picked up my phone. I'd need to get ready for class. I dialed his number anyway. But it went straight to voicemail. I didn't bother leaving him a message. Instead, I shot him a text message and then put my phone in my bag as I headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day. I figured he was probably on the road and he'd see the message and reply when he stopped.
Still, when I came out of the bathroom, I checked my phone to check if he'd replied. I shook my head at my behavior and looked myself in the mirror. “Stop it, Brooke. Just because the sex was amazing doesn’t mean you should stalk the guy. You know better.”
I nodded at myself as if I understood and walked away. After last night, I needed food.