“First of all, what’s so bad about getting a book as a present? That’s, like, the best present on the planet,” I reply, and before he can protest I add, “Secondly, it’s not a book. It’s just in a book. Here...”
He watches as I peel open the well-loved pages. Somehow, this feels nearly as intimate as what just went down between us on the bed. I hardly ever show my sketchbook to anyone, yet here I am, flipping through the pages as Emerson looks on. Sharing my art with someone has always felt impossible, something that required far too much trust for me to be able to do. But Emerson’s teaching me that trust isn’t something that’s off-limits to me just because of my history. And I’m even starting to believe him.
“Are those all yours?” he asks, his eyes glued to the pages.
“Yep,” I reply, “All of them.”
“They’re amazing,” he says reverently, as I linger on a drawing of a stylized, distorted landscape. “Please tell me you’re going to major in art when you go to school in the fall.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I demur, “I might try and focus on something a little more practical.”
“Fuck practical. These are incredible drawings,” he exclaims.
“Well...who knows?” I allow, “It’s not like there are any real jobs out there anyway, right? Might as well major in something I actually like.”
“That’s the spirit. I think,” Emerson replies.
Finally, I come to the sketch I’ve been looking for. It’s right at the end of the book, my most recent finished piece. Drawing a steadying breath, I turn the sketchbook around and pass it to Emerson. His eyes fall on the elaborate sketch and go wide. He drinks in the image for a long moment before finally looking up at me.
“Is this...?” he asks.
“It is,” I assure him, smiling at his amazement. “It’s you.”
We study the drawing together. It’s a portrait of Emerson I’ve been working on for weeks, since our first heated exchange at that party. The drawing shows him in half-profile, staring with determined purpose from the page. I’m really proud of how I was able to capture him, and I can tell he’s impressed with the effort.
“This is how you see me?” he asks, his voice surprisingly soft.
“Absolutely,” I tell him. “To me, that’s the essence of who you are. Intelligent, strong, unwilling to back down from what you know is right. From the things you want out of life.”
“Can I...Can I keep this?” he asks, looking up at me imploringly.
“Of course!” I tell him, “It’s for you, Emerson. I want you to have it, always.”
Placing the sketchbook down with great reverence, Emerson leans forward and catches my lips in his.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, running a hand through my hair. “It’s the best gift anyone’s ever given me.”
I smile and lower myself onto my knees in front of him. “Then you’re going to love this…” I say with my best seductive grin. I slowly undo his belt and unzip his pants as he leans back, a look of utter disbelief on his face. I can see the hardening outline of his staggering cock growing down the inside of his jeans and my mouth begins to water instinctively. Oh how I’ve dreamed of this moment.
My heart feels like its going to beat out of my chest as he lifts his hips and I pull down his jeans and boxers, unleashing his throbbing dick. It’s beautiful, I’ve never seen one up close before, and his is absolutely amazing. I grab it reverently, without thinking, and lower my mouth onto him, taking as much of Emerson into my throat as possible…
Chapter Eight
* * *
When the early morning light draws me back up from the depths of slumber, I’m surprised to find that the bed beside me is empty. I roll onto my side, peering around the hotel room for my missing companion. Even after one night, the feel of waking up without him doesn’t suit me. I’m just about to roll out of bed and go searching for him when the motel room door eases open. Emerson appears on the threshold, carrying two cups of takeout coffee and a paper bag. He sees me sitting up in bed and freezes.
“Shit,” he mutters.
“Good morning to you too,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“No, it’s just...I was going to surprise you,” he says, closing the door behind him. “Here—just pretend to be asleep.”
“Emerson...” I moan.
“Come on,” he pleads, turning his back to dump the contents of the bag onto the dresser. “For me. Please.”
I flop back onto the bed and pull the covers over my head as Emerson futzes with something across the room. I hear the click of a lighter, the crinkling of the bag, and finally Emerson saying, “OK. Open your eyes.”
Pulling the covers down ever-so-slightly, I feel my heart melt into a puddle of goo in my chest. Emerson is walking toward me with a little makeshift breakfast in bed. There’s my coffee, some creamers, and a blueberry muffin with a couple candles in the shape of a 1 and 8. He places the tray in my lap with great ceremony, humming the Happy Birthday song.
“Go on. Make a wish before it gets all waxy,” he instructs me.
I glance up at him, wondering what on earth else I can wish for now that he’s barreled into my life.
I wish that this all works out...I think to myself. Somehow. I blow out the candles, and Emerson sits down next to me on the bed, his own coffee and muffin in hand.
“What did you wish for?” he asks.
“I’ll tell you...if it ever comes true,” I smile.
“Fair enough,” he says. “Happy birthday, Abby.”
“Thank you,” I say, peeling the wrapper off my muffin. “Adulthood is off to a pretty great start, don’t you think?”
The day only gets better from there. After I treat myself to a long, hot bath and get dressed for the afternoon, Emerson and I head down to the beach for a long walk. We take our time, talking all the while about our pasts, our ideas, our notions about the future. Emerson’s planning on going to college, eventually. But probably not this year. I’ll be starting school in the fall, of course, but we don’t talk too much about that part—the never-seeing-each-other again part. Maybe we can find some way around the distance, if this whole thing doesn’t go up in flames. But we’ll be step-siblings tomorrow, so maybe it will be better to stay away after all.
We don’t talk about that too much, either.
There’s a little town center with shops and cafes down the shore a little ways, and Emerson lets me take my time window shopping. I’m not much for designers or labels, but I love vintage and handmade things. There’s one store in particular that I go nuts for—a local artist’s shop that’s chock full of gorgeous, eclectic jewelry and handicrafts. I fall in love with one piece especially—a slender silver ring the bears a single pearl. It’s so elegant, so simple...and unfortunately out of my price range. But still, a girl can dream.
We spend the day wandering around the sleepy beach town, grabbing ice cream and coffee later on, sitting on the sand together, daring to dunk our toes in the still-icy water. I field a few texts from Riley, who claims “I told you so” right when I let her in on the real nature of my and Emerson’s beach escape.
“Remember protection,” she texts me, “And call IMMEDIATELY AFTER, THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”
“I promise to call you the second I get off,” I reply, “Maybe even during, if you’re lucky.”
“Do not play with my emotions, lady,” Riley warns me.
Though I’m more than excited for the night to finally arrive, I do feel a slight nervousness starting to trip me up. I haven’t really been with a guy since what happened with Tucker all those years ago. Even though my memories of that night with him are hazy, I start to worry about flashbacks, or even just bad vibes. Obviously, Emerson is nothing like Tucker, and tonight will be nothing like the night of my assault. But still, I can’t help but be a tiny bit anxious.
Tonight’s dinner is even more delectable than the last. Emerson takes me to a little Italian place in town with the best pesto I’ve tasted...maybe e
ver. After we’ve polished off the last bites of birthday tiramisu, it’s time at last to head back to our room. As if sensing the hush of anticipation, Emerson cranks up the tunes on the way to the motel. The Postal Service serenades us all the way back, and I hurry to throw on some Iron and Wine from my laptop the second we’re back in the room. Awkward silences aren’t so terrible when Sam Beam croons over them, it turns out. Emerson and I both shuck off our outer layers, and he moves to open up a second bottle of champagne.
“Thanks,” I tell him, accepting a cup of champagne and taking a generous swig. “Just let me freshen up a little, I’ll be right out.”
“Take your time,” he tells me, his eyes lingering on my face. He can tell something is a little off, but is nice enough not to say anything outright.
I duck into the bathroom, drinking down the rest of my champagne and studying myself in the mirror.
“You can do this,” I whisper, coaching myself through my nerves, “You’ve wanted this for years. Since before anything even happened with Tucker. Emerson is amazing, and he cares about you, and...and...”
“Everything OK in there?” Emerson asks at the door.
“Yep!” I reply, my voice an octave higher than it usually is, “Totally fine!”
“Abby,” he says, in a voice that tells me he knows the truth, “Do you want to talk?”
Sighing, I turn and gently pull open the bathroom door. “Come on in,” I say, trying to play off my embarrassment as I turn and sit on the edge of the tub.
“So. What’s going on up there?” he asks, glancing up at my head. “Tell me.”
“I’m just...It’s...” I stammer, blushing as I try to string the words together. “We’ve been talking about this all week. You know. The thing we decided to do today...”
“Oh, I know all about the thing,” Emerson smiles.
“And I still really want...the thing to happen,” I stumble ahead, “But I’m sort of out of practice. I’ve only ever done this once before, and that wasn’t such a great experience. And I know it won’t always be like that, but you actually know what you’re doing, and—”
“Hey, hey,” Emerson says, wrapping an arm around me. “It’s OK, Abby. I understand completely. You don’t have to keep anything from me, you know that.”
“I guess I do,” I say quietly.
“Look,” Emerson says, taking my face in his hand, “I’m crazy about you, Abby. And I always will be. Now, because this world is a shitty, unfair place, we don’t have always. Because tomorrow, our parents are swooping in to fuck everything up. We only have tonight. But I would rather miss out entirely on having you than force you into anything you don’t want to do. OK? I want you to want this as much as I do. And if any part of you isn’t interested, or is uncomfortable, then we don’t have to do anything. Just tell me what you want.”
I bring my hazel eyes to Emerson’s, amazed by his level-headedness. He’d pass up on having sex on the only night we actually can out of respect for me. I know, in this moment, that I can trust him. And to be honest, I think I knew that all along. I’m ready for this.
“What I want,” I tell him, my voice dipping low once more, “Is for you to kiss me now.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice.
Emerson’s lips brush against mine, softly at first. We warm to each other in an instant, leaving our cups of champagne by the wayside as our kiss becomes more earnest, more searching. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, digging my hands into his chestnut hair. He slips an arm around my waist, pulling me to him. Emerson lifts me into his lap, cradling me against his hard chest as our tongues glide and glance against each other. The taste of him is more intoxicating than any champagne I’ve ever tasted.
“Take me to the bed,” I whisper, kissing down along his throat.
I feel Emerson slip an arm under my knees and effortlessly pick me up. He’s a solid foot taller than me, and probably about 75 pounds heavier, so I might as well be a feather in his arms—or so he makes me feel. In a few quick strides, he’s carried me out of the bathroom and over to the queen sized bed. Just as I’ve imagined it a thousand times, he lays me out across the bedspread, drinking in the sight of me with his blue eyes. Only this time, it’s better than what I’ve imagined.
Because this time, it’s real.
“Undress me,” I tell him, “I want you to.”
Emerson kneels before me on the bed, his gaze burning with lust. “That’s right,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse, “I love it when you tell me what you want.”
He lifts the black cotton tee shirt up over my head, and shucks off his own flannel. Catching my wrists in his hands, he pins them up over my head and lowers his body on top of mine, kissing me from the neck to the space between my breasts. He flicks open the clasp of my bra and closes his teeth around the edge of one cup, glancing up at me with a devilish wink. I feel a deep throb of need between my legs as he tugs my bra away with his teeth, then pulls the white tank top up over his head and immediately lowers his full lips to my chest.
I suck in a huge breath as he wraps his lips around my taut nipple, his hands roving down my torso all the while. The tip of his tongue flicks against the hard peak, sending a rush of sensation to the tips of my fingers and toes. My head falls back against the bed as he sucks on my breasts, and I’m so distracted that I almost don’t notice as he eases the skinny jeans down off my legs.
“You wore them,” he grins, sitting back on his heels to admire my choice in panties.
I look down at the black lace thong barely covering my most intimate flesh. It’s the same pair I was wearing that night at the party, when we finally let each other in on how we really felt, if not out loud. That night seems like eons ago, but it’s only been a matter of weeks. Look how much can change when you’re honest about what you really want.
“I thought you’d appreciate that,” I whisper, letting my legs fall open before him.
“Appreciation doesn’t even come close,” he growls, unbuckling his belt and tugging down his own jeans.
The rise in his black briefs can’t be contained. He’s hard as a rock for me, and absolutely huge. Emerson loops his fingers through the band of my thong and slowly, reverently, eases it down my legs. I lay before him, utterly naked, the cool air playing against my slick sex. With his eyes locked on me, Emerson tugs down his briefs, letting me see him in all his glory.
For a moment, it’s all we can do to stare at each other. Emerson kneels over me, his cock standing at full attention for me. I drink in the sight of it, thick and throbbing with want. Without thinking, I bring my hands to his hard length—I need both to grab hold of it. Emerson groans as I kneel opposite him, working my hands all along his cock. Taking my lead, he lays back on the bed as I continue to stroke him, feeling him get harder in my hands. As his head hits the pillow, I can’t wait any longer. I bring my lips to the round, shapely tip of him and close my lips around it.
His eyes scrunch up in bliss as I take his cock into my mouth, running my tongue along his tender shaft. I work my mouth along him, using both hands to keep a firm grasp. I love the feel of him as he fills up my mouth, the taste of him as he pulses for me.
“Abby,” he gasps, reaching for me, “I need you...I need...”
“Tell me,” I breathe, breaking away before running my tongue all around his bulging head. “Tell me what you want.”
In reply, I feel his hands close around my hips and tug me up toward him. I let him guide me, not knowing where this is heading but not caring too much either. With firm hands, he turns my body around so that I’m facing away from him. Before I can ask what he wants me to do, he’s tugged my hips back toward his face, lying out beneath me.
I cry out in delighted surprise as he brings his mouth swiftly to my sex, licking along my wet slit from below. My back arches with pleasure as the tip of his tongue finds my rock hard clit, and I groan as he wraps his lips around it. His cock is standing tall, harder than ever and far too delicious-looking to
let be. As Emerson flicks his tongue across my aching clit, I lean forward and take him into my mouth as voraciously as ever.
We work each other into a frenzy, giving and taking as much as we can possibly manage. How can something feel so illicit and so natural all at the same time? I suck hard on Emerson’s cock as I feel myself teetering on the edge of orgasm. He must be able to feel it in me, because he takes out all the stops. I feel him slide two strong fingers into me as he licks along the length of me. His fingers pulse against that tender spot inside of me as the tip of his tongue flicks against my clit.
And just like that, I’m a goner.
I come hard as he laps up my desire, the room spinning around me. As the orgasm shudders through me, Emerson rolls me onto my back. I sprawl out beneath him, wide-eyed with blissful wonder. Wordlessly, he reaches into the pocket of his discarded jeans and pulls out a condom. Ripping open the package with his teeth, he can scarcely keep his eyes off of me. He rolls the condom down his pulsating length, and it finally hits me: this is really happening. His eyes are blazing as he lowers his taut body to mine. Wrapping my ankles around his tapered waist, I moan as I feel his swollen head pressing against my wet sex. This is it. At long last.
Emerson locks his eyes on mine, and we might as well be the only two people on the planet. He lingers there for just a moment, on the precipice of our knowing each other in an entirely new way. My whole body is screaming to feel him drive into me, demolish and rebuild me with the force of his need. I reach up and take his face in my hands.
“I’m all yours,” I whisper, my gaze steady on his face. “Take me.”
Something blazes behind his eyes as he brings his mouth to mine. He bucks his hips, pressing himself into me. A moan fills my throat as he parts my silky flesh with his staggering length. I can feel him diving into the very core of me. At last, he’s all the way in, and I can scarcely believe that he fits at all. But he does. And it feels fucking fantastic.
Our bodies move together, limbs tangled, chests heaving. He drives into me as I pull him in further, each of us trying to feel as much of the other as possible. A low, thudding bliss is building inside of me once more, and I can feel him growing to fill me—he’s right on the edge. He thrusts hard and deep, his face screwed up in a mask of ecstatic wonder. I grab hold of his perfect, firm ass, pulling him in as far as I can as I tell him, “Let go.”
Cross Check (Marriage Contract #1) Page 24
