Sex God
Page 21
He held out a hand. “I’m Emerson,” he said.
“Alex,” I shook.
His hand was warm and rough. I could feel the callouses on his palms. It was unbearably sexy. He was unbearably sexy. And he only got more attractive the closer I got. Sitting next to him, I got a good whiff of his scent and was immediately intoxicated. It was pure masculinity, beer and salt and some kind of good, fresh soap that I wanted to rub over my entire body. Or just rub him over my entire body.
“Short for Alexandra?” he asked.
I blinked, wondering how many times he’d had to ask that because I had completely zoned out, allowed myself to be mesmerized by how good he smelled.
“Yep,” I answered.
Emerson leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms.
“You know, typically in situations like this, I would be asking what you do, if you’re from here, all that kind of stuff.”
“In situations like this?” I countered. “You get stuck in ATMs with women a lot?”
He laughed, and the rich sound vibrated through me.
“Not a lot,” he said.
I gave him a look.
“Ok, not ever.”
“That’s what I thought,” I told him. “This is my first time too.” The suggestive words were out of my mouth before I even realized what I was saying.
“I’ll be gentle,” he teased, and I was close enough to see the corners of his eyes crinkle.
“You know what I mean,” I said, hating that I kept blushing around him.
“What I was trying to say,” he continued. “Was that we could do the whole small talk thing, getting to know each other, and all that. Or-.”
“Or?”
“Or we could do something a little more interesting.”
There was a twinkle in his eye. A naughty twinkle.
“Define interesting,” I said, annoyed that the naughty twinkle had given me a naughty tingle between my thighs.
You don’t have time for this, Alex, I told myself.
Time for what? I countered my mental voice. The voice that was mostly responsibly for my lack of sex recently. The voice that was a big stick in the mud. You’re stuck in an ATM with the hottest guy you’ve ever seen. You don’t have time for anything but this. And you don’t even know what this is.
“We could play a game,” Emerson offered. “Like truth or dare.”
“Like truth or dare?”
“Ok,” Emerson grinned. “Exactly like truth or dare. Basically, we could play truth or dare.”
I thought about it for a moment. The whole thing sounded silly and reckless and fun. When was the last time I’d had fun? I was depressed to realize that I couldn’t really remember. Work had become my life recently, and though I loved it, I also knew that it required sacrifices. Like fun. I hadn’t realized that I missed it until this very moment. Until the potential for fun was sitting right in front of me and my first instinct was to think of excuses to get out of it.
“Ok,” I said, making the decision quickly before I could second guess myself. “But we need rules.”
Emerson raised an eyebrow.
“I think you’ll like these rules,” I told him.
His look went from skeptical to intrigued.
“No sharing of personal details,” I ticked off on my finger. “I don’t want to talk about our jobs or family members or anything like that. No small talk.”
“I do like that rule,” Emerson quickly agreed.
“You can decline to answer a question or complete a dare, but if you do, you have to drink,” I pointed at the six pack of beer that was now laid out on floor with the rest of Emerson’s purchases. “Unless you mind sharing.”
“I don’t mind sharing at all,” he said, that naughty twinkle returning. “Do you mind sharing?”
I reached into my bag, making sure to avoid the tampons and pads, and pulled out the wide variety of snacks I had purchased, including the ice cream.
“Too bad we don’t have a spoon,” I said. It was early spring so it wasn’t hot out, but still, who knew how long the ice cream would last outside of a freezer.
“That’s what you think,” Emerson reached into his back pocket. In order to do so, he had to roll onto on hip, and his arm bumped up against mine.
He was wearing a shirt, and I was wearing a blouse and a jacket, but I still felt the spark. Felt it like a jolt of lightning. If Emerson felt the same way, he recovered quickly, pulling what looked a Swiss army knife out of his pocket. He flipped it open, revealing a spoon attachment.
“Were you a boy scout?” I asked as he opened the ice cream.
“Maybe,” he said, giving me a look. “I thought we weren’t going to do small talk?”
“Is that small talk?” I wanted to know.
“No personal details,” he reminded me.
I held up my hands as if surrendering. He grinned at me, and used his Swiss army knife-spoon-thing to scoop out a fair sized portion of Chunky Monkey. I completely expected him to eat it, but instead, he offered it to me. I took the spoon and the bite gratefully.
Somehow, Chunky Monkey tasted better when I was locked in a dark ATM with a handsome stranger. I barely managed to contain my moan of pleasure. Barely. The sound that escaped echoed in the quiet of the small room.
“That good, huh?” Emerson asked, but I could hear the added huskiness in his voice.
I swallowed and passed over the spoon.
“What can I say?” I lifted my chin, hoping to hide what seemed to be an ever present blush around him. “I like my ice cream.”
“I like your ice cream too,” he murmured, before he had even taken a bite.
Somehow, the vestibule seemed to get smaller and warmer. I didn’t mind one bit.
“I hope that thingamabob of yours has a bottle opener on it,” I noted, finding that the beer bottles did not have twist off tops.
“What kind of boy scout would I be if it didn’t?” he asked, flipping the Swiss army knife around to reveal a bottle opener.
“I guess not that kind that won’t admit he was a boy scout,” I teased.
“This is your game,” he reminded me. “I’m just a mere player.”
“I’m not surprised,” I murmured, thinking that he was probably very likely another kind of player. Guys who looked like that always were.
Emerson gave me a look, but didn’t respond to my comment. Instead he gave me another once over, but this time, I could sense that he was looking for answers to questions he hadn’t even asked yet.
“Let me guess,” he said, cocking his head. “You do something important. High powered.”
“I thought we weren’t sharing personal details,” I said, uncapping a bottle of beer.
I peered at the label – I didn’t recognize it, but it looked like some fancy small batch brewery. Something a beer snob might drink. That surprised me. From the look of Emerson, I would have taken him for a Budweiser kind of guy. Simple and easy.
“I think we should play another game,” Emerson suggested.
“But truth or dare was your idea,” I reminded him.
“This game will be more fun,” he told me. “Trust me.”
I had no reason to trust him. None at all. He was a complete stranger. Yet, when he smiled at me like that, I couldn’t help it.
“Ok,” I said. “What’s this alternative game.”
“I tell you what kind of person you are,” he opened his own bottle of beer. “Just by looking at you. And you tell me if I’m right, or if I’m wrong.”
“Hmm,” I took a drink of beer. “And what do I get if you’re wrong?”
His gaze went hot. “What do you want?”
Wasn’t that the million-dollar question?
“I’ll take your beef jerky,” I said, deliberately misinterpreting his intent. Because what I really wanted wasn’t something that could happen. Because I wasn’t that kind of girl. Not even on my best – or worst – days.
“Deal,” Emerson said and we sho
ok on it.
He gave me a gleeful look as he rubbed his hands together. “Ok,” he said. “So you work in a high powered position.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s a very vague statement,” I told him. “Don’t expect to get any hints that way.”
He grinned. “Fair enough,” he said, crossing his arms. “Well, from the way you’re dressed, I can tell that you don’t work from home.”
“True,” I scooped out a spoonful of ice cream and licked at it.
“I’m guessing you work in an office with a strict dress code,” he observed.
“Also true,” I responded.
“You’re not an assistant,” he told me.
“No?”
“No,” he shook his head. “You’re dressed like someone in charge.” He paused. “Or someone who wants to be.”
I was struck by the unexpected truth of his observations.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” he asked, looking pleased with himself.
“Maybe,” I admitted. “Though it’s more the later than the former.”
“You’re not supposed to help me,” he argued, but wore a smile. It was such a nice smile. “So you want to be in charge, then?”
I shrugged, feeling self-conscious.
“I bet you’re great at what you do,” he said.
I let out a laugh, and it was a little harsher than I intended.
“I feel like I’m in over my head ninety percent of the time,” I confessed.
I wasn’t sure why I did. I hadn’t told anyone that I felt that way – not even Kelsey. It had always been important for me to project complete confidence, even when I didn’t feel it, so why was I telling a complete stranger that I wasn’t sure I knew what I was doing.
“I feel that way all the time,” Emerson admitted.
I looked at him, surprised. Everything about him screamed confidence. How could he feel the way that I did? How could he doubt himself?
“It’s not easy being in charge,” he told me. “There’s a reason people say fake it until you make it.”
“I guess so,” I said, not sure how to feel about the whole thing. “I guess I’m just waiting to make it.”
“I have no doubt that you will,” he offered.
I laughed, not as harshly this time. “You barely know me,” I reminded him.
“I know enough,” he said. “I know you’ve got excellent taste in snacks – especially in ice cream. I know you don’t panic in unexpected situations. I know you take pride in your appearance and yourself. I know you’re creative and clever.”
With every word, I felt my blush grow stronger and stronger. It didn’t help that Emerson was watching me the whole time, his eyes focused and intense.
“And I also know that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever been trapped in an ATM with,” he finished.
My breath left me for a moment. We were sitting close together. I hadn’t even noticed us getting close, hadn’t even noticed how his thigh was now pressed up against mine, his arm against mine.
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” I somehow managed.
He shook his head. “Just you.”
I knew he was going to kiss me. I also knew that I was going to let him.
Emerson put a hand on my face, his thumb stroking the underside of my jaw. The sensation made me shiver. He tilted my face up towards his, and then lowered his head. His lips touched mine softly at first, but we were perfectly aligned. He moved slowly, languidly, his touch light enough that I could move away at any moment, but his kiss confident enough that I had no desire to do so.
He kissed me, his tongue dragging across my bottom lip, making me gasp, giving him access. Immediately, the kiss changed. It went from soft and slow, to hot and hard. His hand slid from my jaw to the back of my head, making a mess of the tight bun I always wore at the base of my neck. Somehow he managed to unpin it without pulling away from me and I felt my hair come undone and tumble down my back. He let out an approving groan and thrust his fingers into my hair, angling my mouth so he could deepen the kiss further.
My own hands had his shirt in a death grip, holding him tightly to me, not wanting to let go. Our tongues tangled and he tasted like chocolate and beer. I couldn’t get enough. My entire body tingled from just one kiss and desperately wanted to know how it would feel to have him kiss me all over.
Suddenly, I heard a humming noise and a bright light exploded from behind my closed eyelids. Confused, I pulled back, blinking against the unexpected illumination. It took a few moments, but I realized that the power had come back on. And with the power, came light, and with the light came the realization that I was kissing someone who was essentially a stranger. An extremely handsome stranger, but a stranger none the less.
Emerson looked about as dazed as I felt, so I took that opportunity to scramble to my feet, gathering my things as I did.
“I should go,” I managed, my lips still swollen from his amazing kiss.
“Wait,” he stood, putting a hand on my arm. “We should at least exchange numbers. Last names?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I told him.
His surprise was evident.
I didn’t wait for him to respond. I grabbed my bag and pushed past him, leaving him alone in an ATM with two less beers.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Alex and Emerson’s story is just getting started. RASCAL is available to order now!
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Katie loves rom-coms, hot sportsmen, and love that breaks the rules. You can find her spending all day on Pinterest (for research!) and watching HGTV.
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Also by Katie McCoy
The All-Stars Series:
1. ROYAL PLAYER
2. HOT BACHELOR
3. HEARTTHROB
4. SEX GOD
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The Rascals Series:
1. RASCAL (April 30th)
2. WINGMAN (June 25th)
3. HEARTBREAKER (Aug 20th)
4. SOULMATE (Oct 15th)
5. TROUBLEMAKER (Dec 10th)
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The Players Series:
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