Emma: Just landed. Need to get my bag and then can meet you out the front.
Was this girl for real? Did she really think I was going to sit in the car, wait for her to get her shit, lug it through the airport and out onto the street? What sort of dickweeds was she used to hanging out with? My Mum would have my balls if she found out I let a woman walk through a carpark alone at night.
Instead of replying, I checked the arrivals board and found her luggage would be coming out on carousel number three and headed in that direction.
I leaned against the post, waiting. When people started crowding around, I stood up straighter and looked for my girl. One advantage of being tall; I could see over everyone’s head, but I still couldn’t see Emma. The chimes sounded and the first bags were spewed out onto the conveyor belt.
“Where the hell are you?” I asked no one in particular.
Then there she was. Almost as if I’d summoned herself myself. Descending the escalators looking frazzled, she stepped off the bottom step and hurried in my direction. With her eyes fixed on the conveyor, she didn’t see me watching her. She wouldn’t have even been looking for me. She was expecting me to be sitting outside idling at the curb.
Using her laser focus to my advantage, I took her in. Not to brag, but I’d known a few women in my time, but I don’t think any of them were anything like Emma. She’d flown halfway across the country to see me after a few weeks, but she’d dressed for comfort, not to impress. And that’s where it was ironic. Standing there, chewing on the end of her nail, wearing boring black leggings and runners, an oversized grey hoodie, her hair piled in what I think used to be a bun but had now slid to the side of her head, she impressed me more than anyone ever had.
When she moved forward, I knew her bag had appeared. Not wanting to scare her, I closed in. It wasn’t until she was tugging the small silver suitcase behind her that she looked up and saw me standing there.
I must’ve looked like a complete chump.
I didn’t need a mirror to know I had a goofy smile plastered across my face and with a bouquet of wilting flowers in my hand, I knew I was a sucker.
But I didn’t give a shit.
“B-Bryce?” Emma stammered as she took a step towards me and froze.
“Hey, beautiful,” I replied, closing the distance between us.
When I reached her, she fumbled, and a bottle of water spilled out of her hands and rolled across the floor. Obviously, I’d caught her off guard and now she was struggling to keep up. Bending down, I grabbed the bottle and handed it back to her, not missing how her hand shook as she dropped it back in her bag.
Putting my fingers under her chin, I lifted her face until she met my eyes. “Em, breathe. It’s just me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m such a mess. I was planning on getting changed before you saw me, so I didn’t look so…so…”
“You?” I offered.
“Homeless,” she countered.
Not wanting to listen to another word of her bullshit, I bent down and kissed her. In the middle of the airport, with people everywhere. I didn’t even think. I couldn’t. Not when Emma was right here within arms distance and for weeks all I’d had was a grainy image at the other end of the phone.
When I pulled back, she was panting and looking up at me full of mischief. Taking her suitcase from her with one hand, I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and guided her out of the airport. We needed to move, and we needed to move now.
When we were settled in the car and Emma seemed somewhat more relaxed, our fingers intertwined, resting on the console. I suggested dinner. “So, we have Greek, Italian, Portuguese or Vietnamese on the menu tonight.”
“You can cook all of them?” Emma asked, sounding surprised.
I should’ve been offended but the truth was, the thought of me cooking anything more complicated than toast was hilarious. No matter how many hours Mum spent trying to teach me, none of it stuck. I wasn’t completely useless, though. I could cook a mean steak and potato, as long as it was on the barbeque, but honestly, having a kitchen was wasted on me.
“Ah, sadly not,” I confessed. “But I do happen to know a lot of amazing restaurants in town.”
As we pulled to a stop at the traffic lights, Emma asked, “Do they deliver?”
Stealing a glance at her, I recognised the same hunger in her eyes that had been keeping me awake at night. At least I hoped it was the same. “You want to head straight to my place?” I questioned, praying the answer was a resounding ‘fuck yeah.’
“Is that okay?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely it is. But I’ve got to warn you, Em, once I get you alone, I may not be able to pretend to be a gentleman.”
“Good. I didn’t fly over a thousand kilometres for you to be a gentleman, Bryce.”
“Do you know what you’re asking for, Em?”
“Bryce. Shut up and drive. The sooner you get me home, the sooner you get me naked.”
I’m amazed I didn’t drive my car straight into a ditch. There was no blood in my head, it was all in my throbbing cock, and trying to focus on the road rather than the delicious brunette I was about to devour for dinner, forget it.
Somehow, we made it home. Safely.
The moment my car screeched to a halt in my parking space – in what was undoubtedly the worst parking I’d ever done – I was out and rounding the car. Yanking open the passenger door I was surprised I didn’t pull it straight off the hinges. Emma climbed out, giggling.
“What are you laughing at?” I asked, crowding her against the door.
“Someone’s keen,” she replied before turning around, bending over and sticking her peach-shaped arse up in my face. Okay, maybe she was getting the rest of her shit out of the car, but all I could see, all I could think about was that biteable arse. Unable to stop myself, I slapped it, the noise echoing off the concrete walls.
“Bryce!” Emma squealed, and I was thankful this building didn’t have security. They would’ve come running at her shriek, and I wouldn’t have been able to do what I wanted.
Grabbing her by the neck, I pushed her against the door, ground my aching cock against her, feeling the heat emanating from her through the thin material of her leggings before plunging my tongue halfway down her throat. It didn’t take long for Emma to catch on, and when her leg wrapped around my thigh, I knew I was fucked. If we didn’t move this somewhere more private very, very quickly, I was going to explode all over myself. Something I don’t think Emma would ever let me live down.
Forcing myself to pull back, which was the absolute last thing I wanted to do, I groaned. “We need to go upstairs.”
“Why?” Emma teased as she nipped my earlobe and ran her hand over my aching dick.
“So, I can fuck you seven ways to Sunday.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“Let’s go.”
Grabbing her hand, I practically dragged her across the carpark to the elevator and smashed the button. My patience was dangling by a thread and the last thing I had time to do was wait. If it weren’t six stories up, and if I didn’t have better uses for this pent-up energy, I’d already be carrying her up the stairs.
The elevator pinged and Emma stepped in.
“Shit!”
“What?”
“My bag.”
There was no fucking way I was going back for her bag. The car was too far away. I’d get it tomorrow. Or the next day. It wasn’t like she was going to need clothes anytime soon.
The doors closed and Emma looked at me, folding her arms over her chest. I think she was trying to look intimidating. All it did was push her boobs up, something that I very much appreciated. “I need my clothes.”
“Why?”
“To wear.”
I crowded her against the wall of the elevator, bending down and licking her neck. She was pretending to be pissy but when she tilted her head, offering me easier access, I knew I’d well and truly won this round.
“And when would you wear the
m?” I growled against her throat, not missing the way her body reacted to my question. The tinge of pink that coated her cheeks and ran down her neck had me wondering exactly how far the colour went.
“Well, my pyjamas I need for bed,” Emma replied, trying to keep her voice steady. She almost had me convinced. Almost. When she rubbed her thighs together, searching for the friction she craved, I knew it was game over.
The elevator pinged announcing our arrival.
Picking her up by her arse, I held her against me. “Sweetheart, if you think you’re wearing pyjamas in my bed, then I’m doing something very, very wrong.”
As I carried her out of the elevator, she squirmed in my arms. “Emma,” I growled. If she kept that up, I was either going to fuck her in the hallway or drop her on her arse. Neither of which were on my to-do list. At least not tonight they weren’t anyway.
Managing to get the door open, I stepped inside and set her down. As much as I wanted to bend her over the kitchen bench or the couch or get her on all fours on the rug, I didn’t want her to think I just wanted her for sex.
Locking the door, I dropped my keys in the bowl and turned back to see Emma standing beside my kitchen bench, hoodie gone, leaving her in a tank top that had her diamond pointed nipples begging me. I took one step then stopped when she held her hand out in front of her.
“So, Bryce Masters.”
“Yes, Emma Hardy.”
“Now you’ve got me here, what are you going to do with me?”
“So many things. There’s so many things I want to do with you,” I replied, stuffing my hands in my pockets to keep me from reaching for her.
“Does that include taking me on a grand tour of your home?” she quirked.
“Absolutely. What do you want to see?”
“You choose. Your bedroom or your shower?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
EMMA
I don’t know what it was about Bryce, but he gave me confidence to just be me. To say whatever the fuck I wanted to say without feeling like a complete idiot or constantly worrying he’d reject me. He never did. Anything I wanted to try; he was more than up for it.
Last night after he finished ravaging me, twice, we showered together and then ended up in his kitchen eating boiled eggs and vegemite toast. It wasn’t the romantic candlelit dinner he’d suggested, it was better. I was wearing one of his t-shirts sans underwear – apparently being in Bryce’s house meant I had to play by his rules.
Then I found out his deepest and darkest secret.
Bryce Masters – footballer, player, ladies’ man, guys’ guy, dirty mouth, bedroom king – was also a closet rom com fan.
Seriously, I’d never seen so many chick flicks in one place. He had them all. The Notebook, Pretty Woman, 27 Dresses, My Girl…the list was endless. So, when he picked one and put it on then suggested we snuggle on the couch, I almost lost it. This guy was doing my head in in the best possible way. The only thing I had left to worry about was when it came time for me to go home again, would I be taking my heart with me back to Sydney or would it be staying in Adelaide indefinitely?
Bryce popped the popcorn, because seriously, who can watch a movie without snacks? As the credits rolled, Bryce tucked me up against him and tossed the rug that had been hanging on the edge of the couch over my legs before settling the bowl of the buttery popcorn between us.
There were so many differences between us, it was almost laughable. While I inhaled the buttery kernels by the handful, Bryce picked at it one piece at a time. I rolled my eyes at the over-the-top, super-corny, would-never-happen-in-real-life scenes and Bryce fell silent and stoic. I laughed inappropriately and Bryce hushed me. Honestly, I wasn’t sure who was the bigger chick right now. Maybe I needed to grab him a block of chocolate and a hot water bottle for his period cramps.
After licking the bottom of the bowl clean, I’d completely forgotten I wasn’t at home until Bryce asked me if I wanted another packet. I snuggled against him and focused on the movie. At least I tried to. It was really hard. I mean, really, really, really hard. Feeling the warmth of Bryce’s skin and knowing how every inch of him, every impressive inch of him tasted had me squirming.
“Are you okay?” he asked, manoeuvring me so he could look straight down at me. Or down the shirt I was wearing that was gaping in the front.
“Yeah just…wriggling,” I lied. It wasn’t like I could say I was horny. Well, I guess I could but then he’d think all I wanted him for was his body. Which wasn’t entirely untrue either. Damn it! Why was being a female so damn complicated?
“Well, stop. The good part’s coming up.” With a quick kiss on my lips, a kiss that in my opinion wasn’t anywhere near satisfying, he manipulated me to where he wanted me, tucked in so tightly I was wrapped up like a burrito baby.
I wanted to ask what ‘good part’ he was referring to, but I guess I was about to find out. No point pushing.
I heard a sniffle.
Then another.
Then another masked by a cough.
Then the arm wrapped around me tightened.
Then another cough.
On screen, Reese Witherspoon was dressed in denim, sitting in a cemetery watching lightning bugs dance on the night sky. Then she started talking to her ex about the death of their dog.
Feeling the shudder, I turned and looked at Bryce, who had tears rolling down his cheeks. He’d been trying to hide them, but when he caught me looking, he swiped them away violently, but it didn’t hide his red-rimmed eyes.
“Are you crying?” I asked, overcome with disbelief.
“What? No,” he denied.
“Bullshit. You so are.”
“Am not,” Bryce denied adamantly.
“If you say so,” I conceded, letting him believe his lie.
“Fine, I am, alright? It’s fucking sad. She’s saying sorry to her dog that she abandoned. He died. And she wasn’t there!”
Bryce sat up quickly and almost sent me tumbling to the floor when he yanked his arm away. He went to stand but I wasn’t having that. If he wanted to be a big cry baby, that was fine. But he wasn’t going to go and sulk about it in his bedroom. He’d seen me with chocolate fudge on my chin and a bird nest in my hair, I was going to hold him while he sooked.
“Where are you going?” I asked, trying to keep the laughter out of my voice.
It was sweet, it really was. Just unexpected.
“Nowhere. I’m just…”
“Bryce, sit your arse back down.” He quirked an eyebrow at me and I pointed at the couch beside me. I don’t think he was too keen on it, but he flopped back down anyway, folding his arms over his chest while he pouted. “Right, now what’s your problem?” I asked as I crawled into his lap, straddling him.
I’d completely forgotten about my lack of underwear until I found the calloused pads of his fingers kneading my arse.
“Problem? Who has a problem?” Bryce replied, increasing the pressure as he began to get adventurous.
“Based on your current situation, I’d say you have a growing problem, Mr Masters,” I suggested as I sunk down further on his thickening cock.
“Emma,” he practically growled at me. “If you don’t stop, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to.”
“But, Bryce, it isn’t your turn. It’s mine. And right now, I want to do this.” Before he had a chance to ask what ‘this’ was, my hand was in his sweats, unleashing him from the confines. With my hand wrapped around his thick cock, Bryce’s head tilted backwards, his watery eyes fell closed and a moan was torn from somewhere deep in the back of his throat.
Not giving him any warning, I slid off his lap and onto my knees on the carpet before swallowing him down in one go. I wasn’t in the mood to tease him; I wanted to watch him suffer. Teeter right on the edge before being catapulted into the stratosphere.
“Em, you don’t have to…”
I lifted my eyes up to meet his, and Bryce’s fingers tangled in my hair. He might be saying I didn’t have to, h
e may even mean it, but it didn’t mean he wanted me to stop.
Instead of answering, I slurped.
I slurped and sucked and tickled his balls with my fingers.
When his cock hit the back of my throat, I gagged but didn’t give up. If anything, it made me even more determined. Bryce’s hips lifted off the couch. The first time was slow. Measured. Controlled. I’d barely managed to suck in two breaths before he snapped, and he was fucking my face with reckless abandon.
“Fuck, Em. Ah shit! Yeah.”
The more he muttered, the tighter his fist clenched in my hair, yanking on the strands. As the burn of pain shot through me, the more turned on and determined I became. Swallowing deeply, I scarcely had time to prepare myself before he was unleashing load after load of salty cum straight down my throat.
I’d never been a fan of swallowing.
I’d never been a fan of blow jobs come to think of it.
But with Bryce, things were different.
Licking my lips, I was hauled up off the floor as Bryce shoved his tongue so far down my throat I wondered if he was trying to perform a tonsillectomy. When he’d finished tongue-fucking me to within an inch of my life, he tossed me backwards on the couch where I landed on a pile of cushions with a squeal. It was definitely unexpected.
Not as unexpected as Bryce muff diving.
He didn’t say anything. One minute he was kissing the crap out of me, the next his tongue was dancing over my clit to its own soundtrack. A soundtrack that had me wriggling and squirming and chanting his name. When he added his fingers to the tango, I came so hard I saw stars. As I rode out my orgasm, Bryce coaxed another from me. It wasn’t the tsunami like the first, but the aftershocks left us both in desperate need of another shower.
Sitting up, Bryce wiped his chin with the back of his hand looking awfully pleased with himself. And he damn well should be. If it wasn’t considered weird, I may have just given him a round of applause or a gold star or a certificate or something. Boy bloody deserved it.
For a quiet moment we sat there staring at each other. I don’t think either of us were too sure where that had come from or what the hell had just happened. Not that I was complaining of course. When I yawned, I knew I was done for the night. Between all the sex, the time difference, the travel and last night’s lack of sleep, I was more than ready to call it a night.
Played: A Second Chance Sports Romance (Playing Games Book 2) Page 17
