by Cat Carmine
Well, now I really wish I’d worn a skirt.
I distract myself by finishing the greasy breakfast sandwich, and then Tyler and I split the pastry. The drive to the Catskills seems to take no time at all, and we spend most of the trip laughing and reminiscing about trips we took with our families as kids. Of course, his stories are all about fancy Swiss chalets and Italian villas, while mine involve being stuck in a pup tent with my two sisters on our few ill-fated family camping trips, but in some ways we’re not that different. Tyler speaks fondly of his sister, but he makes me laugh with stories about torturing her — like when he tells me about their family trip to Prague and how he told her she’d been adopted from Eastern Europe as a baby and that they were going back there now to return her to her real parents. It seems like exactly the kind of thing Rori and I would have done to Blake. The thought makes me feel strangely nostalgic, both happy and sad at the same time.
By the time we reach the mountains, I’ve laughed so much that my cheeks hurt and I’ve already almost completely forgotten my trepidation about coming on this trip. Tyler is fun to be around, and I like how he makes me forget about my real life.
Even if it’s just for a weekend.
My thoughts of real life are washed even further away when we pull up in front of an enormous chalet that looks like something out of a magazine. An A-frame with a dark wood exterior, walls of windows, and a wrap-around deck. I climb out of the car, pushing my hair back out of my face and staring up at the place in awe. I’m not sure what I was expecting when Tyler mentioned his family’s summer home, but this house blows all of my ideas out of the water.
“This place is beautiful,” I breathe, as Tyler comes to stand behind me.
“Yeah, it’s not bad.”
I snort. “Not bad. Yeah, that’s how I’d describe it.” We’re surrounded by trees, and from somewhere not too far away, I can hear the faint sound of waves lapping over rocks. So he wasn’t joking about being right on the water. I just pray he was joking about the skinny-dipping. Though, knowing what I know about Tyler, I’m going to guess that’s a no, too.
He slips his arm around my waist. I tingle at his touch, my skin pebbling in goosebumps, despite the heat of the sun.
“Come on,” he says. He kisses the top of my head, making the goosebumps march all the way up my neck. “I’ll give you the tour.”
I let him lead me into the house, then try to keep my jaw from dropping as we enter. The inside is even nicer than the outside. The bleached wood floors gleam, and everything else does, too. It hits me suddenly what kind of family Tyler comes from. I’ve been trying to ignore the fact that he’s a Grant, but the more time we spend together, the more that reality gets harder to deny. There seems to be no way in which we’re not complete opposites.
As Tyler leads me from room to room, I try to quash down my growing anxiety. I feel out of place here, and when Tyler stops in front of a room with a huge king-sized bed and a view of the lake, I swallow hard.
“What do you think? Is this okay? There’s a bigger master suite on the other side of the house, but that’s really kind of my mom’s room. This is where I usually stay when I’m out here.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, and I realize he actually seems … nervous. Maybe something about the realness of this moment is getting to him, too.
“It’s perfect,” I say, forcing a smile onto my lips. And it is perfect, really. I’d be a crazy person to complain about accommodations like these. I touch my fingers lightly to Tyler’s jaw. “It’s beyond perfect.”
He gazes down at me. His eyes burn into me. His jaw is rough and stubbled under my hand, and now that we’re standing so close, his masculine scent envelops me. Woodsy and spicy and yet sweet, too, like cinnamon, maybe. I swallow. I suddenly feel more than a little light-headed.
Tyler is still looking at me, and I lick my lips nervously.
“Tyler…” I start. I have no idea how to finish that sentence. I want to tell him that I’m scared of what’s happening between us, that I don’t know how to walk away, that I’m afraid that everything between us has gotten completely out of my control. That I’m not used to being out of control.
“I know,” he says. And somehow I get the feeling that he really does. All the things that I can’t put into words, Tyler seems to understand.
His hands come up, and then he’s sliding his fingers through my hair. The gentle tugging makes my already-weak knees turn to jelly, and I lean against his chest for balance. He’s warm and hard and so present that it takes my breath away.
He tilts my head back, and my lips part automatically. I feel hungry for him. Desperate, almost. We’ve been here less than five minutes, and Vacation Emma has already taken over. And Vacation Emma has decided that all those concerns are going to be someone else’s problem. Vacation Emma has decided that what she really wants … is to get laid.
Vacation Tyler seems to be on the same page, because when he finally presses his lips against mine, his kiss is as ravenous. His hands thread through my hair, yanking my head back, deepening our kiss. He claims me with his mouth, marking me, making me his.
It’s everything I want. Everything and then some.
I slide my hands up under his shirt, letting my fingers dance across his sculpted abs. Everything about him is hard and solid, but when I scratch my nails lightly over his chest, I can feel him loosen slightly, melting into our kiss the same helpless way I always do.
It’s a heady feeling, being able to make him react like that. Powerful. And I want more of it. Tyler’s had the upper hand in this relationship since the night I stood on the stage at Veneer and read from my book as he laughed in the audience. It might be time for a little payback. Time for him to be the one to lose control.
I let my hand slide down to the waist of his jeans, and then dipping lower, finding the bulge that’s already growing to rather impressive proportions. Tyler growls, tugging my hair even harder, but I grin. I stroke my hand over his cock a few times, exploring the length beneath the thick fabric of his jeans. Then I reach for his zipper.
Tyler seems more than happy to oblige me, because he helps me shimmy off the pants, kicking off his shoes in the process.
“The rest of it, too,” I tell him, already tugging off my own t-shirt. He grins and whips off the polo shirt and the boxer briefs. I take a brief moment to admire his lean sculpted body, licking my lips at the way his cock is bobbing heavily.
“Get on the bed.” I barely recognize my own voice — it sounds husky, sultry almost. Turns out Vacation Emma is a lot like Bad Emma.
But Tyler welcomes her presence, whoever she is. He grins as he backs up against the bed and sits down. He doesn’t let go of me, his hands still threaded through my hair, his lips still devouring mine, tugging me down with him.
Except I need my lips for what comes next, so I reluctantly pull away. We both catch our breath for a second. Tyler is gazing up at me, waiting to see what I’m going to do next.
I let a smile play over my lips, and slowly reach up behind me and unclasp my bra. I let it slide down over my arms, then dangle it from one finger. When Tyler groans, I toss the lacy white fabric into his lap.
He chuckles, low in his throat. His cock is at full attention, and he’s got one hand wrapped around it. He strokes it slowly, lazily, as he watches me. The sight of it turns me on even more — Tyler and I haven’t actually had sex since that first night at Veneer, and suddenly, getting his cock inside me is about the only thing I can think of.
I force myself to take my time. I reach for the waistband of my own jeans and slowly push them down over my hips, taking my lacy white thong with them. When I’m completely naked, I take a couple of steps towards Tyler, coming to a stop between his strong thighs.
The way he gazes up at me sends a surge of adrenalin through me. Lust, too. It’s exactly the way you always dream a man is going to look at you — like he wants to cherish you and fuck you stupid at the same time. It’s a heady, intoxi
cating feeling. I savor every second of it.
Then I drop to my knees in front of him.
Tyler groans again as he realizes what’s happening, which sends another bolt of desire through me. My pussy is clenching, dripping, aching for him, but instead I reach my hand out and grab his cock.
He grins as he leans back, resting on his elbows so he can get the best view. I never take my eyes off his as I grip his cock and stroke it.
His thigh muscles are tensed, and I brace my forearms against them. As I stroke, a small bead of pre-cum forms at the tip of his cock. With a slowness and restraint I didn’t even know I was capable of, I lean forward and lick it away. Tyler groans again, and I feel his thighs tremble under my arms.
“Jesus, Emma.”
His voice is breathless, which makes me grin up at him. This is what I wanted — for Tyler to feel even a little bit of what I’ve been feeling these past couple of weeks.
I slowly run my tongue around the head of his cock. He tastes the way he smells. Masculine, clean, outdoorsy. It makes my heart race, and I inhale him, breathe him in. His cock twitches in my hand, and I grip him tightly.
Tyler makes a growling noise, and I know what he wants. What he’s desperate for.
Which of course means I take my sweet time. I paint his shaft with soft strokes of my tongue, licking him like a kitten, toying with him. He fists the quilt beneath him, and I smugly take in his white knuckles, the grim line of his mouth as he tries to keep it together.
When I decide he’s suffered enough, I finally wrap my lips around the head of his cock. He groans again, letting his head fall backwards for a second. When he looks at me again, his grey eyes are blazing, so dark they’re almost black.
Bad Emma likes it. Bad Emma gives the best blowjob she’s ever given in her life, channeling her inner pornstar. Within a couple of minutes, Tyler is panting, his thighs flexed, his balls tight.
“God, Emma,” he pants. “Just like that. Fuck.”
I take him as deep as I can, until he’s hitting the back of my throat. It’s still not the full length of him, but it seems to be good enough for Tyler. He groans.
“I’m going to come if you keep doing that,” he warns me. It’s music to my ears. I tighten my grip on the base of his cock and suck harder, flicking my tongue over the head every time I come back up.
Tyler’s head falls back again, at the same time that his hips buck towards my face, and his cock pulses as a low groan comes from his throat. I swallow everything, taking it in like a champ. By the time he’s done, I feel rather proud of myself, actually.
I grin up at him, and he scrubs one hand over his face. He has the dazed look of someone who just woke up from a deep sleep.
“Well.” That’s all he says. For once, Tyler Grant seems to be at a loss for words. The thought makes me giggle.
“Come here,” he says finally. He grabs my wrists and pulls me to my feet and into his lap. His lips are already against my neck, tracing a line along the hollow beneath my ear. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re fucking incredible?”
“Mmm, maybe,” I say. “But you can tell me now, if you want to.”
“I think I’d rather show you.”
“And how would you do that?”
“Well,” he says, nuzzling his way further down my neck. “We do have an entire weekend ahead of us. So anything on the menu … whatever you want … is yours. Everything is yours, Emma.”
His expression has turned serious. It takes me aback for a minute.
I tap my bottom lip and pretend to think, while Tyler paints a distracting line of kisses across my chest. “What if I said that the only thing I want right now is for you to fuck me?”
He lifts his head, a grin on his full lips. “I’d say that’s an excellent place to start.”
Nineteen
I bring his head up to mine again and kiss him. It’s slower this time, more tender, even though my body still burns hot for him. He cradles me against him, slowly lowering us both to the bed.
We kiss. For a few minutes, we do nothing but. Just our lips, our tongues, my fingers in his thick dark hair, his hands grazing over my bare shoulders and along my rib cage. And it feels good. God, it feels good. But kissing him does nothing to sate the real hunger I feel.
I sit up, catching my breath, resting my hands against Tyler’s chest as I look down at him. I’m straddling him, my knees on either side of his thighs, and I can tell that he’s more than ready.
“I want it, Tyler. Please.”
“Well, when you ask so nicely…”
In an instant, he flips me over. I hit the mattress so hard I bounce up a couple of inches, and then collapse back against the quilt, giggling. Tyler fishes a condom out of the pocket of his jeans, and then he’s kneeling between my legs.
I lick my lips as I lie there and watch him. I’m suddenly acutely, painfully aware of every beat of my heart. Every pulse of blood through my veins. Every inhale. Every exhale. Every second that our bodies remain apart, unjoined.
Tyler leans over me. He runs his hand through my hair, pushing my messy locks out of my face. For a minute, he just watches me.
“Emma,” he starts. His voice is hoarse. He hesitates.
I touch his jaw. “I know,” I say. And somehow, some way, I do.
He runs his cock along my slit, and every conscious thought flies straight from my brain. My hands reach automatically for his shoulders, trying to draw him closer to me. When I feel him pushing against my entrance, I suck in a breath. For a second, he just gazes at me again, but then he’s pushing forward, filling me, stretching me.
“God, Emma, you’re so tight. This is un-fucking-believable.” He looks like he’s already about to break out in a sweat, and I might laugh, except that the feelings are too exquisite to do anything but pant. I clench around him, pulling him straight into my heat, my center. We move together, finding a rhythm that feels like the very essence of music, of harmony. I cling to his shoulders like he’s a raft and I’m at sea, and in a thousand ways, I feel like I truly am. With Tyler, I always feel like I’m in the middle of the ocean and I have no idea how deep it goes or how the hell I even got here.
I push that thought out of my mind and concentrate on the feelings in my body, on his hips pounding against me, his cock thrusting into me, the sound of our bodies slapping together, the musky smell of sex and desire.
Seconds. That’s all it takes. My body barrels towards the edge of the cliff.
“Oh, God, Tyler. I’m going to …” I trail off, but Tyler slows.
“Say it, Emma.” He grins. He moves agonizingly slowly, drawing out until just the tip of his cock is teasing me.
My cheeks burn bright red, but I’m too caught up in the moment to care.
“I’m going to come, Tyler. Make me come.”
This time, he doesn’t grin. He looks like a man on a serious mission, and he picks up the pace again, somehow thrusting even harder and deeper. My body clenches around him. The rollercoaster lurches upwards again, taking my stomach with it, racing faster and faster towards the peak.
It takes me away. All of me. Over the peak and down the other side, a wild rush of air and energy and the most shattering climax I’ve ever had in my life. It seems to go on for hours, days. A lifetime. My body shakes under Tyler’s, trembling and quivering and practically seizing. He slows enough to let me come back down to earth, as he runs his fingers through my hair again.
“You look beautiful when you come like that.”
I don’t do anything but pant, which makes him grin. He moves his hips again, chasing his own climax, and it doesn’t take long. He slams into me, groaning, and I watch the expression on his face when the moment overtakes him. He looks beautiful, too, in a way, like he’s a marble statue that’s suddenly come to life.
After, he collapses onto the bed beside me and pulls me to his chest. I can feel him breathing, can smell the scent of us against his skin. I bury my face into it, into the cradle of his arm.
<
br /> “Well, I’d say this weekend is off to a good start,” he says finally.
I laugh. “Yeah, not bad.”
He leans up on his elbow. “Not bad? Not bad?”
“Well, you did get a little more out of it than I did,” I remind him. “Technically speaking.”
He chuckles. “So that’s how it’s going to be. Well, technically speaking, I think you’ll find that I’m more than up to the challenge.”
“I have no doubt.” I trail my fingers along his forearm. He pretends to bite my shoulder, and I dissolve into a fit of giggles.
Now that the earlier tension has dissipated, I look around the room we’re in. In some ways, it looks like a regular cabin bedroom — if that cabin was in the lap of luxury. The walls are planked, painted white, and a huge window lets in sunlight that’s tinged the slightest bit green from the thick trees outside. The bed is a farmhouse style, wrought iron frame, and judging by how well it held up just now, definitely of sturdy construction. The quilt on the bed is blue and patchwork and even though it looks country-ish, I get the feeling that it probably cost at least a grand.
“Do you come up here often?” I ask him, as I run my fingers across his still-damp chest.
“Not as much anymore. We used to spend whole summers up here, but now my mother uses it pretty much full-time.”
“And your dad?”
“He has a place in the city.”
“Oh.” I think about the implications of that. “So they don’t really …”
“Live together? Like each other? Not really, no.”
“I’m sorry.”
He lifts my fingertips and kisses them. “Don’t be sorry. It’s just the way they are. They should probably get divorced, but…” He shrugs. “I guess the marriage still provides other conveniences.”
“That’s … kind of sad.”
“I guess. What about your parents? They’re still together?”
I nod. “Inseparable. They run a business together, too, so they’re pretty much always together.”
