by Kendall Ryan
“What is it?” Emmett asks, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress.
I shrug and gather my blouse, jeans, and underthings from where I dropped them on the floor in the dark. “It’s nothing. Just a little sore from the shot I gave myself.”
“Damn. I didn’t know you had to do that.” The tenderness in his voice is so uncharacteristically sweet that it makes my heart squeeze. “Can I see?”
Stepping closer to where he’s seated on the bed, I untie the robe and stand before him.
Emmett places his large hands on my hips and leans in to press a soft kiss right over the little red mark.
“All better,” I murmur, my voice soft.
After that, Emmett gets up and retrieves his clothes too, though with clear reluctance.
It’s obvious he’s accepted that he has to leave. I’m relieved—I was a little worried he might make this difficult—while also strangely disappointed that he’s so blasé about me pushing him out of here.
But I can’t have any of that nonsense. It’s good he knows the game plan, I tell myself. It doesn’t take a psychologist to figure out that my fear of starting a real relationship is deeply rooted in the trauma of my father leaving when I was a child. It’s also not something I want to deal with now. I have my life, and my goals, and I’m perfectly content with that.
After a minute of silent dressing, he asks, “When will you know?”
Now that I’m halfway decent again, I turn to face him. “I’ll take a pregnancy test in two weeks. But, uh . . . it’ll increase the odds if we do it again. Are you free tomorrow, by any chance?”
That puts a smile back on his handsome face right away. “I’ll make time. Okay if we meet at my place? I can get there from the office faster.”
I hesitate, then nod slowly. “I don’t see why not.”
Once he’s hidden away his distracting nudity, I escort him back to the front door and hand him his coat. “See you after work,” I say, then an uneasy thought occurs to me. “Will you be okay getting home? Should I call you a cab?” I don’t want him to sleep over, but it is awfully late, after all, and I’d feel horrible if something happened.
“Isn’t it typically the man who offers that?” Smirking, he sees my look of surprise. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” He pauses, his hand on the knob. His smile is off somehow. Not like the strained smile of an awkward situation, but . . . reluctant?
Whatever it is, something about it makes me lean forward. I peck him gently, chastely, on the cheek. “Okay, then. Good night.”
The crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepen. “Good night to you too.”
He shuts the door behind him. I lock it . . . then, for a moment, I linger there in my bathrobe before going to brush my teeth.
I still don’t know why I gave him that one last kiss, but it felt right. Like it was the least I could do.
I mean, what was I supposed to do, shake his hand? Thank him for his above-and-beyond performance and promise to leave him a good review on Yelp? Come on. After he’s put up with all my weird requirements so gracefully—not to mention blowing my mind for hours—a kiss is only appropriate.
Never mind. I’m overthinking things again. Time to get back in bed, and this time, use it for its intended purpose.
• • •
My sleep is deep and dreamless. The next morning, I drift awake half an hour before my alarm. I shut it off, then sit up and stretch luxuriously, smiling almost without realizing it. I can’t remember the last time I slept so soundly or woke up feeling so peppy.
I swing my legs out of bed and hop right into the shower. My hip and thigh muscles twinge and my core is still sore, but I don’t mind too much—those little aches and pains are souvenirs of the incredible workout Emmett gave me. I hum a cheerful tune as I shampoo and blow-dry my hair.
While getting dressed, I glance at the clock and am pleasantly surprised. Waking up early and bouncing around with such energy has put me ahead of schedule. Normally, I just have a bowl of cereal or grab something from the coffee shop on the corner, but today I think I have time to cook breakfast. My stomach growls its enthusiasm at the idea. Guess I worked up an appetite last night.
I brew a cup of coffee, scramble a couple of eggs, and eat them on toast. After the dirty dishes are in the dishwasher, I start to put on makeup, then pause. For some reason, I feel like primping a little more today. I swap my usual nude palette for dark green eyeshadow, shades of pink on my cheeks, and a swipe of my favorite lipstick over my mouth.
The results make me smile. Maybe I should do this more often.
Unbidden, the thought of whether Emmett would like it jumps into my mind. I shake my head—who cares what he thinks of my face?—and leave for work.
The store is still dark when I pull into the parking lot. I unlock the doors, flick on the lights, turn the sign around, and open the shop. I check the cash register, even though I know there’s enough change in the drawer since we only had one customer yesterday, and I counted the money at closing. It’s been a while since we accumulated enough cash to squirrel away in the office safe.
The door jingles, and without bothering to look up from my meager handful of bills, I call out, “Good morning, Britt.”
“Hello, Jenna,” she calls back.
Yep, I knew it was her. The odds of a customer coming in are practically zero at any time, let alone first thing in the morning. But that fact doesn’t depress me quite as much as usual. My spot of morning sunshine hasn’t worn off yet, I guess.
Britt joins me behind the counter. “You seem like you’re in a good mood today,” she comments way too innocently. “Anything nice happen?”
I raise an eyebrow at her slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” she says in a tone that suggests she means everything.
I replace the money in the register drawer and shove it back in with a ching. “Is it really so unusual for me to be in a good mood?”
She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “Well . . . uh, no offense, but it actually kind of is.” When I blink at her, she rushes to explain. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, I just—”
I chuckle. “It’s okay, I’m not offended. I was just surprised.”
She huffs a sheepish little titter. “What I meant was, it seems like you’re always so stressed out, worrying about the shop and everything. So it’s nice to see you happy for once.”
“That’s sweet. Thanks.” I beam at her. “If you must know, last night . . .” I drop my gaze for a moment, still smiling in a slightly silly way. “I went on a date. Sort of.” By which, I mean a living sex god flew down from heaven and fucked me seven ways to Sunday.
Britt’s face breaks out in a huge grin. “I knew it! Whoo, get it, girl!” Then her brow furrows. “Wait, what do you mean, sort of?”
I shrug helplessly. “It’s complicated.” The understatement of the century.
“Why? Is he married or something?”
“Oh, come on,” I say with a snort.
“I know you wouldn’t do that. I’m just curious.”
I fiddle with my pen. “I guess it’s the opposite, actually—it can’t get complicated.”
Britt squints at me. “Huh?”
“I don’t have room in my life for a relationship right now. My goals are to get pregnant and dig this shop out of the grave, nothing else.”
Comprehension dawns over her face. “Oh. Ohhh. Oh.”
Oops . . . I said the P-word. That may have been slightly more information than I wanted to let slip. Oh well, too late now. Britt already knew I’ve been wanting to have a baby anyway. So, I just shrug and leave it at, “Yeah.”
“So, you’re . . . okay, I get it now. It’s a no-strings-attached kinda thing.” She looks aside for a moment. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
I wave my hand. “No, it’s fine. Pry away.”
Five months ago, Britt told me she’d finally mana
“Really? In that case . . .” The grin flashes back. “Do you like him? Is he cute? Is he nice?”
I should be a little embarrassed to be squealing over boys like we’re at a high-school slumber party. Instead, I laugh. “Yes to all, so far.”
She follows me to my office in the rear of the store. “Then why not hang on to him?”
“Britt . . .” I sigh as I sit down at my desk.
She holds up her hands, still not understanding but accepting. “Well, whatever’s going on, I’m glad you met someone. And I hope he keeps acting like a good guy, because I like seeing you this way.”
“Thanks, but he’s only sticking around until I’m pregnant. It’s nothing more than a barter arrangement, a trading-goods-for-services kind of thing.”
Britt chuckles. “If you say so.”
I boot up our store computer, open its email—and my positive attitude goes down in flames. Squatting right at the top of my in-box like an ugly toad is another offer letter from Baxter Books.
“Jesus,” I mutter.
Britt leans forward to read over my shoulder and growls in dismay at the number visible in the email’s preview line. “These assholes can’t even come up with a decent price,” she huffs. “They’re offering pennies on the dollar! How rude . . . they have some serious balls even proposing a figure that low. If they think we’re so worthless, why have they been crawling up our ass constantly for months?”
I delete the email, and if I’d clicked any harder, I would have broken the poor mouse. “Even if they were offering ten times my startup costs, I still wouldn’t sell. Those Baxter pricks don’t have a clue what we’re doing here. They don’t understand the value of antique books. We’re trying to preserve and celebrate real art, the living history of literature, but all they care about is profits.” I shake my head in frustration. “Ugh, they’re just heartless. Corporate robots. They would gut this place. Turn it into yet another cookie-cutter, mega-chain, big-box mausoleum—” I punctuate every word by jabbing my finger at the computer screen. “And ruin everything it stands for.”
Britt is nodding along emphatically. “Damn right. Maybe you should write that speech down and send it to them.”
“No, I don’t want to dignify this crap with a response.” I push out my chair and stand up. “Even if it would be really satisfying. Come on, let’s finish opening this place.”
Before I can follow Britt out to the sales floor, my phone pings and I grab it from my purse to find a text from Emmett.
Can’t wait to have you in my bed tonight.
Suddenly, my mood is a little brighter.
• • •
As the day goes on, my good mood revives. Partly because we get an unprecedented three whole customers . . . but mostly, I realize, because of the prospect of seeing Emmett again tonight. By four thirty, I catch myself drumming my fingers on my desk. At five sharp, I reapply my lipstick and flip the sign around and lock the door, and then I’m off like a bat out of hell.
My heart beats faster as I drive to the address he gave me earlier. Why am I so hyped up? Am I nervous? I can’t be nervous. He’s already seen every inch of my naked, writhing body—now is an odd time to suddenly get shy. Or am I just that excited to fuck him again? I never thought of myself as such a horndog, but even after three earth-shattering orgasms not even twenty-four hours ago, I’m still eager for more.
I find a spot in the parking garage under the building and ride the elevator to the penthouse suite. Emmett opens the door at my first knock. He flashes me one of his trademark grins and my stomach gives a little flip.
“Hi, I’m here,” I say, unable to think of anything wittier.
“I’m glad.” His gaze lingers on my mouth, and I see the hint of a smile on his lips. “Come on in.”
Emmett leads me through the entry hall to the main living area. I try not to gawk too much, but damn, this place is unbelievable. Intricately patterned parquet floors, bay windows with a breathtaking view of the city skyline, furnished in a classy modern style. The rooms are so cavernous, the ceilings so high, the click of my heels on the hardwood actually echoes.
I suddenly feel a tiny bit intimidated.
He pauses in front of an elegant black-and-white leather couch that looks like it cost more than my first car. “You want to go get some dinner first?” He glances across the living room into the kitchen. “I don’t think I have anything here to eat, but there’s some amazing restaurants nearby. Just about every kind of cuisine under the sun.”
I shake my head. Even if my stomach wasn’t jumping around like crazy, I don’t want to get too familiar with him. We’ve already had two dates, and that’s two more than necessary. “No thanks, I’m not hungry right now. I can grab a bite on my way home.”
A line appears between his eyebrows. He looks like he wants to argue, but instead he just says, “If you insist. Then, please, make yourself at home.”
Everything looks so expensive, I’m almost scared to touch it. But I obey and sit on the couch, running my fingers over the buttery-soft leather in appreciation.
He sits down beside me, barely a breath away, and rests his hand on mine. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
I can feel his body heat. My mouth has gone dry, and a drink isn’t what I want. “No thanks,” I repeat. I want him.
There’s a slight frown on his face. But his displeasure evaporates when I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his. I let the kiss linger, openmouthed, tantalizing. An invitation, a promise.
“I see,” he murmurs. “You want to get straight to the main event.”
“Is that okay?” I reply, my lips brushing against his.
“I can get on board with that.” He kisses me back, hard and hungry. Then he takes my hand and leads me down the hall to the master bedroom.
Chapter Ten
Emmett
As soon as we’re inside my bedroom, I devour Jenna’s mouth. She moans and starts tearing at my clothes.
I can’t get her naked fast enough. I kiss and suck and nip at her breasts, laving her pebbled nipples with my tongue. She arches into me like she’s been waiting for this all day, just like I have, then pulls me backward onto the bed, on top of her. Kissing her deeply, I caress the soft skin of her inner thighs, teasing as I get closer to the lovely place between them, doing my best to melt her into a pliant mess.
When her sighs turn shaky, I spread her legs, putting her on full display. Wet and ready . . . gorgeous. I take a moment to admire the view before pushing her knees up to her chest.
I press my hips forward and let out a broken moan as I press the head of my cock into her tight, slick heat. Fuck, I hope I never get used to the sensation of bareback fucking . . . Jenna has spoiled me for condoms. She answers with a throaty, lilting noise, her toes curling. I sink in deeper, loving every new sensation.
At last, the back of her thighs touch my stomach and I’m buried to the hilt. With every thrust, she arches up to meet me, her red-painted lips parting in bliss, and I’ve never seen anything so hot in my life. Her sultry moans hit me like whiskey. I love the heady, desperate noises she makes when I stroke her clit. I drink in every delicious shudder of her prone body.
“That’s it,” I say, peppering her neck with kisses and bites. “Let me hear your voice. Tell me how good you’re feeling.”
She wails out a shapeless sound that could be “more.”
I obey and push my hips harder, giving her everything I have. She moans, louder this time, and rakes her nails down my back. The slight pain only enhances my pleasure by contrast. Jenna under me, around me, is the best part of this week. Just to see her so passionately unhinged, our breaths panting and mingling. My blood is so hot for her, this woman who crawled into bed yesterday so quiet and resigned, but now is completely reckless with want.
“You’re so sexy like this,” I growl into her ear. “So . . . good.” I can’t resist the urge to suck a bruise into that soft, tender skin on her neck.
God, she feels so incredible it almost hurts, her pussy muscles fluttering around my cock, drawing me deeper in, and then, oh fuck, she’s clamping down hard in rhythmic waves and I’m past the point of no return. A ragged groan rises from deep in my chest. I bury myself even deeper inside as I plunge headlong after her into orgasm.
Still panting, I pull out and see the evidence of our lovemaking on her pink flesh. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My chest fills with animalistic pride. My seed in my woman. I like that thought way too much, and I’m too lost in lust to push it away.
The sight of her, the sounds she makes, the way she feels, it’s like a fever that engulfs me. Visceral, irresistible. I need to make her come again . . . come so hard, so many times, no one else will ever be good enough for her.
She drags me up and kisses me hungrily. A primal light flashes in her half-lidded eyes. I can tell she doesn’t need a moment of rest, and fortunately, neither do I. Our bodies demand more of each other . . . more pleasure, more sweat, and more of my seed. And I give it to her.
Jenna’s orgasms always seem to overwhelm her. Her eyes flutter shut, then fly open, and she gasps wow or oh my God, like she’s shocked by how good it feels. Like she didn’t know sex could be so enjoyable.
What kind of crappy lovers has she put up with? I’m almost angry at every man who’s ever touched her—not because they came before me, but because they clearly didn’t give her what she deserved. It’s a crime that such an amazing woman has been deprived of good sex for so long. So, every time she comes, I take it as a personal challenge to push her to even more orgasms, even greater heights of pleasure.
When our passion finally simmers down from a boil to quiet completion, I take the chance to gather her into my arms. Now she looks warm and hazy, softened in the afterglow. She strikes me as a woman who doesn’t often let herself slow down, let alone stop and be lazy and content—something else we have in common. She offers me a sated little half smile, and I return it.
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