by Izzy Sweet
Can’t get enough of her taste.
Can’t get enough of her hands tugging at my hair.
Can’t get enough of her juices as she finally shudders and comes against my mouth.
She cries out, “Fuck,” as my mouth locks down on her clit and sucks up every drop.
Half-crazed with my need of her, I can’t stop until she begs me to stop.
I have to physically pry myself away from her in order to get to my feet.
Eyes closed, Bree is spread out on the bed. Her breasts rising and falling with her pants.
Staring down at her, I’m nearly overwhelmed with the urge to feel those breasts crushed against my chest.
As I climb over her soft, limp body, her eyes finally pop open. “That... That was fucking amazing,” she croaks.
I grin down at her as I nudge my way between her open thighs. “We’re not even done yet.”
I grab her thigh with one hand, yanking her leg up, while my other hand grabs my slick cock and positions it at her entrance.
My cock is wet as fuck. It started leaking all over the damn place when she came against my mouth.
“Emmett,” Bree gasps up at me as I sink myself into her warmth.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She’s way too fucking tight. Way too fucking perfect.
I’m way too fucking close to blowing my load.
Knowing I’m losing the last shreds of my control, I grab her other leg and yank it up, positioning her until both of her ankles are over my shoulders.
“Oh my god… Oh my fucking god, it’s too much. I can’t…” Bree moans and squirms.
Dipping my head down, I pull a quick kiss from her lips and tell her to, “Hold on tight, baby girl.”
I give her two seconds, two fucking long ass seconds to grab onto my forearms before I give into my inner beast again and start pounding her with my cock.
Eyes rolling into the back of her head, I have to smother her screams with my mouth.
With each deep thrust, with each slap of my hips, I know without a doubt I’m hitting her fucking g-spot.
Slamming everything I have to offer, everything I have give, into her, it only takes a couple of minutes for her to reach her peak.
Her tight, warm pussy clamps down in a death grip on my cock.
Finally free to let go, I drop the last remaining shreds of my self-control and explode.
Roaring my fucking victory into her mouth.
Bree whimpers and twitches beneath me as I pump her full of my cum.
And when my dick is empty, I can’t find any desire to stop.
No, I want to keep going. I want to stay inside her for the rest of the night. I want to stay inside of her for the rest of my fucking my life.
“I’m fucking dead. You fucking killed me,” Bree groans when I finally release her mouth.
Grinning because she thinks this over, and it’s so not fucking over, I let her legs slide back down to the bed and give her moment to catch her breath.
“What the fuck, Emmett?” she squeals when I get tired of waiting and flip her over to her stomach.
“Are you ready to tap out?” I growl. “Because I’m not fucking ready to tap out.”
Grabbing her by the hips, I get to my knees and pull her ass up into the air.
Fuck, her ass is juicy and beautiful.
“Oh my fucking god,” she groans but doesn’t fight me. “I don’t know if I love you or hate you right now.”
“Love,” I grunt as I bend over her, ready for round two. “Don’t even try to deny it because I fucking love you, baby girl.”
Chapter Sixteen
Bree
The last two weeks have been hands down both the best and worst two weeks of my life.
Spending my days at the gym and my nights in Emmett’s bed…
I’ve never been happier.
So happy, I almost feel content.
But I know from personal experience, nothing good ever lasts.
In Emmett’s arms, with his kisses pressed against my skin and his whispered words of sweet devotions echoing in my ears, I can push it all away. I can shut out the rest of the world, focusing on only us and where all our broken pieces connect.
I can completely immerse myself in the fantasy and pretend that what we’re doing can go on forever… that this is our love story and we’re guaranteed a happy ending.
But real life doesn’t work like that.
Fuck, my life never works like that.
I feel it every time I’m away from him and remember all the shit I still have waiting on my plate for me. Problems that don’t go away when left unattended. Problems that only fester and mold the longer they’re left sitting there.
It’s been three days since my father has sent me a text. I haven’t had the balls to speak to him since I gave him a flimsy excuse for standing him up for that dinner at the Bellagio. He’s tried to schedule five more dinners since, and I’ve ignored every single one of them, knowing full well that it would eventually come to back to bite me in the ass.
So, when I drive up the driveway to my mom’s house to pick up some clothes for the week, I’m not surprised to see his limo parked out front. Not surprised, but devastated nonetheless.
I thought we’d have more time…
God, I just need a little more time with Emmett and Casey. A little more time to feel like a normal human being. A little more time to bottle up some of this happiness. To preserve it and cherish it.
I haven’t even been able to work up the courage to tell Emmett the truth yet. Fuck. He has no clue.
My foot eases down on the gas, my body carrying out the impulse to speed away before I even comprehend what I’m doing.
But then my father’s driver pops out of the limo, waving his arms frantically to flag me down. Before I can swerve past the limo, the crazy bastard actually jumps in front of my car, forcing me to slam on my brakes.
Jerking forward, I let out a scream and my arms tighten to keep me from going into the steering wheel. Bouncing back against my seat, I blink stupidly out of the windshield, my heart and breathing racing with a rush of adrenaline.
Shock still buzzes through my brain as the driver, palms planted on my hood, calls out, “Ms. Madison, your father would like a word with you.”
The door beside me suddenly pops open and my father’s personal bodyguard, Aaron, reaches across me and pushes my gear stick into park.
“What the hell, Aaron?” I snap out, still struggling to accept the shit that’s happening as he reaches down and expertly and efficiently unbuckles my seatbelt.
Jaw tightening, he grits out, “You heard him, your father wants to speak with you.”
Then he grabs me by the arm and hauls me out of the car.
Never, never in my life have I ever been treated like this. Treated like I’m not a person, but an object to be moved.
I try to jerk my arm out of Aaron’s hand, but his grip only tightens painfully around me as he drags me across the driveway.
What the fuck is happening. Seriously, what the fuck is happening?
The driver, now standing at the back of the limo, sniffs and gives me a contemptuous look as he pulls the door open.
I only have a split-second to gawk at him before Aaron shoves me roughly into the limo and closes the door behind me.
Hands and knees landing on the backseat, my father’s cool voice hits me just as I push myself up. “Hello, Aubrey. So glad you could finally make time for me.”
So many foul words want to scream out of me. Words asking what the fuck he thinks he’s doing… words that want to tell him we’re not living in some kind of messed up mafia movie…
But I manage to find the strength to swallow them back down as I sit up and push my hair out of my face.
Giving myself a moment to get my anger and breathing in check, knowing full well if I start screaming at him this fucked up situation could get even worse, I stare at him before I start to say, “That was completely unnecessary—�
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Only to cut myself off when the car starts moving.
I glance at the window in numb horror. Is my own father kidnapping me?
“I’m afraid you gave me no choice,” my father says calmly, almost as if he’s bored.
I jerk my attention back to him and meet his eyes.
His mask of composure breaks as his top lip quivers like he’s fighting back a snarl. “You’ve been ignoring me for the past two weeks.”
I’m completely in uncharted waters right now and I have no idea how to navigate my way out of this.
I always knew my father could use his money and power against me at any time, but I never dreamed he’d do it in such a way.
Staring at his cold, handsome face and wondering why he doesn’t look as awful on the outside as he is on the inside, I say as meekly as I can manage, “I’m sorry, I’ve been busy.”
Maybe if I’m meek and contrite, I can cool his anger and convince him I won’t do what I did again. Maybe he’ll let me go, and then I can grab Emmett and Casey and we can run away…
“Yes, I know,” he says, his voice dripping with disgust. Reaching beside him, he grabs a folder off the seat beside him and throws it at me. “Busy in the gutters, fraternizing with the rats.”
The folder hits my chest and papers flutter around me before I manage to catch a couple of out of the air. Gripping the one in my right hand, I pull it up to my face, and feel the bottom fall right out of me.
There, on glossy paper, is a picture of Emmett, Casey, and me outside Emmett’s house. The picture is candid, taken as we’re smiling and walking up to the front door.
I stare at it for a long time, mentally pinpointing the time it was taken, and feel the hairs on the back of neck rise.
Forcing myself to tear my gaze away, I lift up the one in my left hand to see a picture of just Emmett and me. We’re sneaking a kiss behind the gym, away from prying eyes.
“You’ve been spying on me,” I say so softly it’s almost a whisper full of horror and accusation.
“Spying?” my father says then makes a dismissive noise. “Hardly. I’ve been keeping an eye on you for your protection.”
Shaking my head, I slip the left picture over the right then look to the others around me. So many moments of the past two weeks surround me. Moments of happiness, moments mostly involving Emmett and Casey.
They’re scattered on the floor and seat like they’re trash, like they’re nothing…
Anger rising inside me, I finally lift my eyes to my father and ask, straight to the point, “What do you want?”
My father, being the established politician that he is, doesn’t give me the direct answer I desire.
Reaching to his side, he grabs a glass full of what I have no doubt is his favorite gin and takes his time sipping from it before he decides to speak.
“I should disown you,” he states and watches for my reaction.
Unfortunately for him that threat doesn’t pack quite the punch it used to, and I just look back at him calmly.
When I show no signs of distress or worry, his eyes harden and he takes another sip from his glass, drinking deeper this time.
Lowering the glass, a strange glint enters his eyes as he says, “I should, but I won’t. I won’t, not because you don’t deserve it, you certainly deserve it, but because I understand.”
This, unlike the threat, surprises me. And when the surprise makes its appearance on my face, his lips finally give into the snarl he’s been suppressing.
“I know what it’s like to go, as they say, slumming. To see how the other side lives. After all, I did it myself. In fact, if I didn’t do it with your mother, you wouldn’t even exist.”
His words hit me like a slap in the face and I feel myself rear back.
“What did you say about my mother?” I hiss.
He completely ignores my question. Instead, his face lights up with this sick kind of glee as he goes on as if I didn’t speak. “And given that half of you is white trash like your mother… It was probably even harder for you to resist that sweaty gym rat. Like attracts like, doesn’t it?”
I shake my head in dismay. I’m so angry, so damn angry, tears sting my eyes. My father has said some pretty nasty things to me over the years, but they’re usually barbs that are cleverly disguised to hide the intent.
This… this is just outright nastiness.
“Wouldn’t that make you trash as well?” I snap, throwing his stupid, messed up logic back at him.
For a second, his eyes flash with anger, but it quickly fades away. He takes the time to drain the rest of his glass and then carefully sits it beside him. “No, because as I said, I was simply experimenting. Sowing my wild oats. I come from good stock, so it was only curiosity on my part. Once I realized my mistake, I quickly rectified it, and I’ve been happy ever since.”
As far as I’m concerned, the gloves came completely off when he insulted not only me but also my mother, and I don’t even try to stop myself now from speaking what I truly think.
“Are you?” I ask skeptically, narrowing my eyes at him. “Are you truly happy? You look like a miserable old bastard to me…”
My father flinches, actually flinches as if my words hurt him, then his jaw ticks. Reaching over, he picks up his empty glass, and without looking at it, tries to take a drink. When only ice clinks against his lips, his expression grows darker and he tosses the glass to the side.
I jump a little when the glass hits the door, making a loud noise but not shattering.
My father gives the ice rolling onto the carpet a look of disgust, as if he wasn’t the one who just threw his glass, then turns his attention back to me.
“As I said,” he says roughly then clears his throat. “I understand what it’s like, Aubrey. I do. I understand because you’re still half me. And for that reason, and that reason alone, I’m willing to forgive you.”
After all the nastiness he just spewed, I’m pretty sure his idea of forgiveness isn’t a good thing. I don’t say that out loud though. Not when he no longer has a glass to throw.
When I don’t respond in any way, he sighs heavily. “I forgive you, Aubrey, but it stops now. It all stops now. I’ve let you have your fun, I’ve let you have your little fling. Now it’s time for you to step up and fulfill your responsibilities.”
Trying not to focus on the whole let me crap he’s spewing, I have to clear my own throat, the damn thing trying to close up on me. “And what exactly are my responsibilities?”
My father’s eyes and voice sharpen as he glares at me. “Don’t play stupid, you know very well your responsibilities. You will marry Tristan Yates, play the good wife, and produce a couple of children, uniting our two families.”
God, what is this? Have I accidentally stepped into an alternate reality?
“Don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady,” he says, his face flushing with anger. “You’re lucky to have this opportunity. There are dozens of other families that would give everything they possess for their daughters to be in your position.”
When my eyes roll again, he growls in frustration then adds as if it’s some kind of consolation that will convince me to submit, “If you do as your told, after you produce a couple of children, perhaps you’ll be permitted to do as you wish.”
“And if I don’t?” I challenge as I cross my arms over my chest.
There’s nothing, nothing in this world he could threaten me with at this point to make me agree to any of this craziness.
A slow smile starts to creep over my father’s mouth as he leans back in his seat, and I realize too late that I’ve walked myself into his trap.
Shit.
“I wanted to do this the nice way, Aubrey…” he says ominously as he reaches over and grabs another folder I didn’t notice until now.
Just like the other, he tosses the folder at me. “But you give me no choice.”
Quickly uncrossing my arms, I scramble to catch the folder before its contents join what’s alread
y scattered around me. When I do finally have it safely in my hands, I realize I had no reason to worry. The stack of papers inside have been clipped securely to the folder to keep them from spilling.
“What’s this?” I ask as my eyes scan over the top paper.
It looks like some kind of legal document. A court case or something like it.
“All the background information I dug up on your gym rat and that little boy he’s taking care of,” my father says smugly.
Icy cold dread washes over me, and I quickly scroll through all the text on the paper I’m staring at until I find Casey’s name. After reading a couple of sentences, it quickly becomes obvious that I’m reading a custody agreement.
There’s nothing shocking in the agreement, custody awarded to both of his grandparents after his father’s death, so I flip past it and move on to the next paper. The next paper, however, isn’t a paper at all but another glossy picture.
A picture of Emmett clearly trashed. He’s passed out on his back porch, surrounded by empty liquor bottles and beer cans.
I suck in a breath and my father chuckles.
“That photo is only a few weeks old, and given his upcoming match, the photographer was hesitant to sell it to me before it’s printed, but I managed to convince him.”
I slant a dark look at my father over the folder and he chuckles again as I flip to the next paper. Great, another picture, but this time Emmett is passed out in his front yard.
“Tell me, did you know he’s a drunk before you hooked up with him? Was that half of the appeal?” my father taunts, and the folder begins to crumple in my hands as my anger starts to get the best of me.
I flip to the next picture, then the next. It’s just picture after picture of Emmett trashed in some fashion.
Utterly disgusted, I only make it halfway through the stack before I snap the folder shut. I’ve seen enough.
“So what?” I ask as I lower the folder. “So what if he used to drink?”
It’s not news to me. And despite how disturbed and heartbroken I am by what I’ve seen, I’m determined not to let my father get to me.
