Make Me Believe

by Karen Ferry

  I’m not ready . . . Or am I?

  Katherine leans forward in her seat and says, "It's important that you give me as many details as possible, Emma. Without them, I won't be able to help you."

  I force my hands gripping the armrest to relax, because I know she's right. Logically, that is. Emotionally, though? Well, that's a completely other matter.

  I exhale slowly, actually praying for strength, and answer wobbly, "I'll try . . . “

  Katherine sits back and hands me some Kleenexes which, quite unexpectedly, makes me smirk. She winks at me.

  "Good. Please begin," she urges me, and I sit back in my chair.

  "I was ten years old when my parents and I went on a small trip . . . ,” I begin, and the next hour is spent telling my tale.

  Chapter 30

  Friday morning, and I'm back in Copenhagen at last. This week has been hell. There's no other word for it, really, and not a day has gone by when I didn't pick up my phone and came close to phoning Emma.

  Close . . . yet I never went through with it. Not even when I could tell that she was getting concerned about my silence, even if her texts didn’t outright say so.

  I'm such a bloody coward.

  What must she think of me, disappearing like that?

  When my mum rang me, I didn't pick up on her mood right away. I was just pleased to hear from her -- and still flying high on my day with Emma -- but once she started talking, I knew something was off. It didn't take much probing from my part to get her to open up, and then I knew I had to go home.

  I love my mum, of course I do, but I also resent her. Why am I always forced to be the grownup when it's, in reality, her role to play?

  I sink down on my bed and rub my face after having just taken a quick shower. My jaw is covered with stubble, but shaving is so far from my thoughts right now, and I feel so tired that I just can't be bothered with it. I haven't been able to breathe properly for the past few days, and now that I'm back, I just want to forget they've ever taken place. I wish I could erase the stench of my mother's house from my memory, but I know it'll take forever for that to happen.

  I want Emma to help me forget about the dumpster I grew up in, but will she forgive me if I knock on her door now?

  Only one way to find out.

  I grab one of the black t-shirts and a pair of blue, loose fitted jeans I bought on our shopping spree, quickly pull on a pair of sandals and grab my keys. I lock my front door and turn to hers, taking a few fortifying deep breaths, and before I lose my courage, I knock lightly, praying that she's home. When I hear the faint tones of Clair De Lune by Claude Debussy sounding from behind the door, I take a step closer, and relief fills my body.

  Thank God.

  Footfalls draw nearer, and I hold my breath, nervousness and desire raging war within me, and, soon after, my wish of being near Emma is granted when she opens her door. When she sees me, she blinks a few times and quickly takes a step back, motioning for me to come in, and I swallow audibly from the sight of her, rooted to my spot. She's wearing a grey, form fitted dress covered with lace, black stilettos on her feet, and the light shining from the window in her kitchen behind her makes her dress almost see-through.

  Suddenly, my throat is parched, and I still haven't moved at all.

  Instead of apologising to her like I had originally planned, I blurt out, "My mum's a drunk. I had to go back home to try . . . just try again to make her see reason and get help."

  I have to admire Emma for her quick thinking, because she simply answers, "Did she?" I’m grateful for the lack of pity in her eyes. I don’t want pity from anybody.

  Feeling a lump in my throat, I only shake my head.

  She never does.

  Emma takes my hand in hers and pulls me inside her flat, shutting the door quietly. I wait in her small hallway, unsure of what to do, and I'm completely taken aback when I feel her arms surrounding me from behind, her body pressed flush to mine.

  For the first time since I last saw her, I can breathe freely again.

  Shite . . . I'm going to bawl like a baby soon!

  Emma's lips press against me, and although I can't feel them on my skin, they're burning me.

  "I'm sorry, Daniel . . . ,” she whispers softly, and I'm grateful when she leaves it at that. Reaching my hand upwards, I place it on top of hers briefly before turning in her arms to wrap my own around her.

  I need her so fucking bad right now.

  I squeeze tightly, wishing more than ever that she would allow me to kiss her. But if she won't let me pour out how much she means to me with my mouth, at least I am able to use my hands, mouth, and my tongue on her body. Maybe it'll even force her to open her eyes and truly see how I need her so much.

  It would seem that Emma has another plan in mind, though, because she wriggles gently out of my grasp, takes my hand again and leads me inside her living room. She stops next to her CD player hanging on the wall to the right just above her small TV and turns up the volume a bit. Smiling shyly at me, looking cute as hell, she backs away from me, and I have no other choice but to follow her. The next song starts, and I’m surprised when I hear a French woman sing a cover of “Someone Like Yo”’ by Adele. I like it, and I like to see yet another side to Emma.

  “I thought you weren’t a romantic,” I murmur, keeping my voice low for fear of breaking this strange spell she has me under, and she shrugs.

  “Dancing isn’t necessarily a romantic act,” she mutters.

  Bloody hell, she’s stubborn.

  I want to disagree with her but I don’t want to lose this moment we’re having right now. Because this feels significant, somehow . . . The air is charged with electricity, my stomach is wrapped up in knots, and I honestly don’t know where this is going.

  But I know I’ll follow this girl everywhere she goes.

  It’s as if she has woven a web around my entire being . . . She’s never far from my thoughts, my attraction to her has not died down while I was away these past few days -- quite the contrary, in fact -- and even though I don’t believe in some higher deity, I thank them for bringing this girl into my life.

  Emma accepts me for who I am, no matter where I come from.

  I’d be lying if I said I’d want to break free of the bonds she has wrapped tightly around my heart.

  I don’t. Not now. Not ever.

  This is it: the moment I hand over my heart to her, unafraid of what the consequences might be.

  And she seems to want to dance with me. Well, then . . . who am I to deny her? I just hope I don’t step on her toes too much.

  I place my hands on her waist and practically yank her to me, causing her to stumble into my chest.

  “I don’t dance,” I warn her as she puts her arms around my neck, my eyes never leaving hers.

  A small, contented sigh leaves her lips. “Don’t worry, I won’t break.”

  I chuckle. “Maybe not, but your feet might.”

  She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at me, clearly not believing me, before placing her head just above my heart. Can she hear how loudly it beats? Can she feel the tremors coursing through my body from feeling her soft curves moulding around the hard planes of my own?

  We start swaying gently to the music, and my tense muscles loosen up after a few moments when I feel confident that I won’t accidentally step on her feet. I kind of wish we’d never stop dancing, but my cock clearly disagrees with me. From the minute I stepped over the threshold, I’ve been raging one hell of a hard-on, and I’m sure she can feel it pushing against her stomach. I don’t care, though. She ought to know by now that I only have to see her, not even touch her, and I become turned on instantly.

  I’m a guy. That’s just how it is.

  Emma moves her head a fraction of an inch and places her lips over my nipple, and when she starts to suck it through my T-shirt, I can feel the tight leash on my control slipping away. Her mouth is warm, wet . . . and hungry.

  A low growl rumbles through me, and my alre
ady pounding heart beats faster.

  Shite, this feels amazing.

  Wrapping my arms even more tightly around her, I bend down in my knees and lift her up, walking backwards until I’m stopped by her closet. She moans, her legs holding on like a vice around my hips, and I do my best to support her weight by grabbing her arse firmly with my hands.

  “Off,” Emma demands huskily, panting, and pulls up my T-shirt. I turn around, reversing our position, and yank it off. Once I throw it on the floor, Emma’s lips return to explore my chest, and my abs contract from feeling her mouth on me again.

  It’s as if I’ve been away for five years instead of merely five days -- I’m that desperate to become close to her, even if it’s only on a physical level. Momentarily forgetting about her rules, I cup her cheeks, and lean down to kiss her. I pretend to not let it show how it pierces through my heart when she turns her head at the very last moment, pressing her lips to my neck, so I continue to pepper her face with hot kisses instead. I’m not even listening to the music anymore, there’s only this tormenting need inside me to make her become wild for me. I trail the curve of her shoulder with my mouth, stopping when I reach the fabric covering her shoulder, and I don’t know what kind of beast takes over me but before I know it, I’ve grabbed the front of it and pull hard, tearing it in two.

  “Sorry,” I growl, even though I’m not.

  “Fuck my dress,” she moans, getting rid of the remains of it until it pools at her waist.

  “I need you,” I pant out, my eyes raking over her gorgeous breasts now visible before me, barely concealed by another lacy bra, and my mouth latches hard onto the nipple once I’ve yanked down her bra, causing her tits to perk up at me. “I ache for you, sweetheart . . . “

  “Oh, god,” Emma moans loudly and grabs my head, pulling hard on my hair. The pain doesn’t matter, though, as I’m too busy focusing on sucking her hard nipple into my mouth, biting down before soothing the sting from my teeth with my tongue.

  I pull impatiently at her dress covering her crotch, and I don’t know how I’ll be able to stand up for much longer. My knees are shaking so badly, my brow is covered with sweat from the amount of need I have for her right now.

  “Are you wet for me, Em?” I groan out, longing to hear her answer. “Does your pussy want my mouth?”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” she chants, and she reaches down to rub her clit with a finger.

  “Fuck, you’re hot . . . Perfect,” I gasp, mesmerised by watching her teasing herself, but I tear my gaze away and look up to find her eyes. The pupils are dilated, only affirming that her need for me is as powerful as mine. Her fingers thread through my hair, caressing me softly, and the scent of her arousal fills my nostrils. I crave the taste of her on my tongue. Now.

  Grabbing the back of her knees, I pull them gently, but firmly, away from around my waist. Emma moves her right arm and places it on my shoulder as she glides down my body achingly slow. She stops, and I wonder why until her pussy rubs against my cock, the friction sending thrills down my spine, and I hurry to unbutton my pants once she’s standing before me.

  “You’re a tease, Em,” I ground out as I free my cock from my boxers, stroking it up and down slowly. I need to make this last for a long time.

  She puts her chin out and places her hands on her hips, watching me with a lust filled gaze.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t love it,” she purrs and licks her lips before her eyes lock on my hand jacking off.

  “Oh, I love it, that’s for sure,” I grit out and drop to my knees before her. “Spread your legs for me, baby,” I demand harshly, and satisfaction seeps through me when she hurries to obey me. Her arms fall limply to her sides, and I can’t help but wonder if she, despite her precious control, secretly revels in submitting to me.

  “Pull down your panties,” I continue, my voice hoarse, my chest heaving with anticipation, and sweat gathers on my spine. When she, once again, does as I ask, I lick my lips and grin up at her.

  “Don’t forget to tell me how you like it, sweetheart,” I tell her, a bit nervous if I’ll be able to bring her to ecstasy like I hope.

  She smiles widely, settling my nerves, and whispers, “I won’t forget.” Gently, she removes my glasses, and I squint automatically when I can no longer see her clearly.

  I really need to get contacts.

  “Best be careful with these.” Emma’s voice breaks through, and I straighten my back, bringing my face closer to her crotch. I grab her right leg and place it over my shoulder, baring her pussy before me completely, and inhale deeply.

  Heaven.

  Meeting her eyes one last time, I smile at her.

  “Hold on to something, baby. I want you to unravel completely on my mouth,” I say and, finally, my tongue meets her clit for the first time.

  If ever there was a thing such as heaven, I believe this is it: her, me, our desire for each other palpable, and her scent permeating her flat. As I listen to Emma’s instructions, I revel in the scent and feel of her taste wetting my chin, proud that I can make her so hungry for me. I lick gently at first, my tongue flat, holding her up by grabbing her hips, and her whimpers only push me to take my time with her. I force myself to hold back, focusing solely on making her abandon the precious control she wears like armour.

  “Daniel . . . ,” Emma repeats my name over and over, completely forgetting to guide me, but it only makes me bolder, hearing how my pleasuring her affects her. I suck on her clit while putting a finger inside her wetness, finding the spot that’ll drive her over the edge. She puts a hand on my head, and I press my mouth closer, lapping her flowing juices up, and the taste . . . fuck me, it’s sweet, hot, and I never want to stop.

  Feeling the ache in my cock, I reach down to jack off, smearing the pre come over the tip, but Emma’s voice penetrates and makes me slow down again.

  “Don’t. I want to suck you off,” she pants, and I pull away from her pussy and shake my head.

  “No. Not until you’ve come all over my mouth, Em. You taste unbelievably fucking good.” Denying her wish I move back to finish her off, stroking my cock in earnest now. I blow on her clit first, though, registering how that seems to please her when she whimpers incomprehensible words at me, and then start to lick her again, all the way from her clit to her slit. Putting another finger inside her pussy, I finger fuck her, faster and faster until she comes all over me, just like I wanted. Flattening my tongue again, my licks become slower, gentler, and I focus on holding her limp body up before removing my fingers from inside her.

  When she seems able to stand on her own again, I release my hold on her arse, but not without stroking a wet finger gently over her puckered hole. I’m not embarrassed to admit that I’d like to explore that area of her body as well, but that’s something to leave for another day.

  Licking my lips, I wipe my chin and grin up at her. “I take it you liked it?” It’s not really a question, and Emma knows it as well as me.

  Without answering me, she gets down on her knees and straddles me. Feeling her pussy just above my cock causes me to lose my breath entirely. I look down to watch her as she takes a firm hold on the root of it, and the pleasure when she rubs the head over her clit, still wet and glistening from her orgasm, becomes almost too much for me to handle.

  “Fuck . . . me,” I growl loudly, and at last admit defeat by closing my eyes, taking in the fire raging through me by her torment.

  “No . . . But I will fuck you with my mouth,” she chuckles, and I open one eye to glare at her. I don’t think it possesses that much power, though, because she simply smirks at me and puts a palm to my sweaty chest, pushing slightly.

  “Just lie back and enjoy it . . . ,” she whispers, her eyes twinkling with mischief and she removes her bra. She’s keeping her black stilettos on, though, and my cock hardens further from the sight -- it’s such a turn-on.

  What am I to do, really? Refuse?

  Definitely not an option.

  So I lie down on the
hard floor and let Emma finish me off, still tasting her pussy on my tongue.

  Chapter 31

  Nighttime has fallen, and we’re lying in my bed. Again. And we’re spooning. Again. I can’t believe I let Daniel talk me into this, but when he asked me if he could stay over, I didn’t have the heart to tell him no.

  “I need you,” he said. “Please let me hold you tonight.”

  What kind of heartless cow would he take me for if I’d said no?

  It’s not as if I truly wanted him to go after our hot and heavy sexcapade, but the walls I’ve spent more than a decade building up around my heart are being torn down, little by little, and so much faster than I ever thought would be possible. I’m so frightened that he’s going to despise me if I ever tell him everything that’s happened before I came here. What if he finds me weak, unhinged even?

  What kind of girl allows her assailant to go free like I did?

  I can’t relax at all now, but it almost feels as if the man behind me is an octopus because he has me wrapped up tightly in his embrace, his arms and legs curling around mine. It’s as if he’s a cocoon, my own personal safe haven . . . And he wants me to feel comfortable with relying on him.

  Can he feel that I’m wound up so much that I’m about to burst from the bed, untangling myself from within his grasp?

  “Shhh, relax, Em. I’m not going to attack you in your sleep,” Daniel whispers sleepily, hugging me closer to him.

  Well, there you have it: he can read my mind. I’ve officially gone off the deep end now.

  I sigh and try to will my tense body to do as he says, and once I hear the faint snoring from my sexy prep boy, it becomes easier for me to finally let go. Yawning widely, sleep overtakes me, allowing my mind respite.

  At least for a little while

  I bolt upright, gasping for air, a scream lodged in my throat. Despair, anger, and hurt overwhelm me, and a torrent of tears start pouring down my face.

  Not again! Not tonight of all nights!