Sinfully Star-Crossed

by Elouise East

  “You’re worn out, sweetheart.”

  “I’m tired, yes. It’s been a long few days.”

  “Let me help,” Emerson stated, not hinting at his true meaning.

  “Thanks, but there’s nothing you can do at the minute.”

  “Yes, there is.” He kissed Grant, requesting permission to enter his mouth immediately. He accelerated the kiss from nought to sixty in mere seconds because there could be no thought for Grant in this exchange, no worrying.

  He slowly manoeuvred Grant around so Grant could rest his back against the stacks, hoping it’d hold them up. Emerson reached up a hand to cup Grant’s cheek as he tilted his face to deepen the kiss further. They were both breathing hard through their noses, wanting to stay close. Grant had a good grip on Emerson’s hair, while Emerson’s other hand was busy caressing Grant’s ass, moving closer and closer to his destination.

  Emerson palmed Grant’s cock through his trousers, and Grant moaned into his mouth, thrusting his hips forward for more pressure. Emerson broke away briefly. “Shh, you have to be quiet.” Emerson hadn’t wanted to break the moment with a reminder, but Grant was a bit louder than he should be in this place of quiet and solitude.

  Grant blinked at him slowly as if coming out of a trance. Emerson couldn’t let him, so he flicked the button on his trousers open and slid the zipper down, nipping at Grant’s jaw while pushing his own thumb into Grant’s mouth, hoping to silence him a little. Their first sexual encounter would have to be quiet, which was a little annoying. He’d remedy it soon. Reaching into his trousers, Emerson found Grant’s cock showing through the slit in his boxers; Grant was hard as steel.

  Giving Grant no time to protest—unless he insisted, then Emerson would obviously stop—Emerson sank to his knees and held Grant’s erection to his lips. Pressing a closed mouth kiss to the top, Emerson peered up at Grant, giving him a beautiful view of Grant’s glassy, lust-filled eyes staring at him.

  “Fuck!” Grant breathed as Emerson slid his mouth down, engulfing the whole length in one go. It was one thing Emerson had always been proud of: being able to take cocks into his throat, because he knew it would please his partners. The sight of Grant’s eyes widening and his throat bobbing when Emerson swallowed around him was enough to make Emerson ride the edge of climax himself. He was determined to make it last without making Grant get into trouble.

  Emerson lifted off again, licking around the head before taking Grant in once more. This time Emerson used his hand as an additional tool to give Grant the tightness he needed to reach for his orgasm. He bobbed up and down, using his hand to add a slight twist to the end, making Grant whimper. Emerson watched as Grant bit his lip and held onto the shelves, fingers gripping until they were white.

  “Fuck, Emerson! I’m close. Oh, god!” Grant put his hand over his own mouth, maybe trying to silence the noises.

  Emerson redoubled his efforts, taking Grant into his throat again, swallowing around him several times before having to come up for air. He used his other hand to push Grant’s trousers a little further so he could reach between his legs and under his underwear to bare skin. Reaching behind Grant’s balls, Emerson pressed a finger against his hole, and he sucked him down again, this time keeping the momentum going as Grant’s whimpers came faster and faster.

  “Fuck, fuck! Emerson, I’m going to come! Yes. Fuck, yes!” Grant had one hand covering his own mouth still, and the other gripped Emerson’s hair hard as spasms ripped through his body. Emerson drank everything, collecting every drip and cleaned Grant’s cock as it softened. Once he was done, Emerson tucked Grant’s cock back away, refastened his trousers and stood up.

  “God, Emerson!” Grant gasped and had a nice flush to the skin on his face and neck. Emerson stood near him and held onto his hips, trying to keep contact, hoping Grant wouldn’t be too mad at him. “Fuck! That was hot!” Grant panted. “I’m never going to see the library the same way again.”

  Emerson chuckled. “I’m glad I can give you good memories.”

  “Jesus Christ, Em! It was a memory for the books!” Grant seemed to realise what he said and burst out laughing. “God, so corny.” Grant giggled, and Emerson was happy he’d managed to ease some of the tension etched on Grant’s face the past couple of days.

  “Well, there’s more where that came from, if you need it. Or want it,” Emerson said, still a little unsure.

  “Definitely more.” Grant leaned up and kissed him, wrapping himself as tightly around Emerson. “Thank you. I didn’t realise I needed that.” He pulled away.

  “You’re welcome. Now get back to work, slacker,” Emerson joked.

  “Yes, sir.” Grant pressed up against him again. He froze and pulled back. “Do you need help?” He smirked.

  “No, thank you. I’ll let you deal with it at a later time.” Emerson kissed him to lessen the sting of his refusal and pulled away. “You need to get back to work. We’ll have plenty of time later. Promise.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Honestly, I’ll survive. If I’ve left when you finish, message me when you leave and when you get home. I want to make sure you arrive safely.”

  Grant nodded, and with a final kiss, he stepped away. As Grant veered around the corner, Emerson winced and adjusted himself. He was hard as a rock, but he refused to do anything about it. It would go down. Eventually.

  ****

  “I’m finished for the day,” Grant pronounced as they traipsed towards the library exit.

  Emerson frowned at him. “You work all day on a Tuesday, don’t you?”

  “Usually. Clarissa gave me the afternoon off because of the extra hours I did for the author event last week.”

  They headed towards Bad Apple Café for their lunch date. It had become a routine now; if he could say it was routine after doing it three times over the last two weeks. Emerson couldn’t believe how far they’d come in such a short time. He’d wanted to speak to Grant for weeks before Sister Mary Agnes pushed him outside his comfort zone, but now… When he saw her next, he’d have to thank her profusely.

  “That’s great! You still want to go for lunch or head somewhere else?” he asked, turning back to the conversation.

  Grant studied the ground as they strolled silently for a few steps, then glanced over at him. “Lunch first. We can decide about the afternoon while we’re eating.” He smiled, his face flushing.

  Emerson groaned quietly. Those blushes. He discreetly—or maybe not so, with the smirk Grant gave him—adjusted himself before entering the café. Lola waved over at them as they aimed for a table. He doubted they’d have to place an order since they always ordered the same thing when they came here. Removing his coat and scarf—highly needed with the weather taking a decidedly colder turn that week—he placed them on the back of the chair before sitting opposite Grant.

  “So, the afternoon to yourself. What are you going to do with your time?” Emerson wondered aloud.

  Grant smiled down at his hands as he rubbed them together, probably to warm them. “I have no idea, maybe study. Get ahead of my schedule,” he answered, a glimmer of fun in his eyes as he gazed over at Emerson.

  Emerson nodded slowly. “Yeah, you could do.” He smiled and leaned away from the table when Lola brought their drinks over. “Hey, Lola. Are you working all Thanksgiving, too?”

  Lola smiled. “Nah, not this year, hon. I’m actually going to have the day off to visit with some friends. Boss said I had to because I’ve worked the previous five years.”

  “That’s fair,” Grant said. “It’ll give you some time away from this place. Even though you love it.”

  “I do. It’s in my bones, I tell ya.” She laughed. “Your order will be out soon.” She went back to work.

  “She works too hard,” Grant commented when Lola was out of hearing range, his expression worried.

  “She does. But if it makes her happy, who are we to disagree,” Emerson concurred.

  They talked about the assignments they had due be
fore the end of the semester, which was just over two weeks away, while they ate their lunch. They were in the middle of deciding what to do that afternoon when a voice Emerson hadn’t heard for months shocked him.

  “Why do I have to come and find you to get a response from you, boy?”

  Emerson glanced up into his father’s face, seeing barely checked anger. He had no idea what his father needed with him. The man had never bothered with him as a child, never bothered with him as a teen, and rarely bothered with him as an adult. It was usually when his father needed something only Emerson could give him—like his presence as a dutiful son was to make his father look good—was the only time he ever saw the old man. Emerson couldn’t deal with it today, especially in front of Grant.

  “What can I do for you, Father?” Emerson asked, standing up from his chair. He’d learned early on he needed to be on the same level as his father; otherwise, he didn’t fare as well.

  “Mother died. The funeral is next Thursday. We’ll be flying to England on Wednesday. I expect you to be at the airport on time.”

  His father thrust a piece of paper towards him, and Emerson realised it was a plane ticket. He hadn’t seen or spoken to his grandmother since they’d left England nineteen years ago. Those hour-long monthly visits with his father had been to keep up appearances. No doubt, his father had money coming his way now, and it was more than likely the only reason he’d kept up those visits in the first place.

  “Sorry, I’m busy,” Emerson answered, bracing for the onslaught. In hindsight, he should have postponed this confrontation to a different venue other than the café he regularly frequented.

  His father’s eyes narrowed, his mouth and jaw tightened. “I will see you at the airport on Wednesday. Don’t keep me waiting.” With those words, he stormed off.

  Emerson waited until the door had shut behind his father, before he collapsed back into his chair, staring at the ticket. He didn’t want to go, but maybe he should. He shook his head. No, he shouldn’t because they’d never bothered with him.

  “You okay?” He flinched at Grant’s question, having forgotten he had company.

  Glancing over at him, Emerson smiled what he was sure was a small, pained smile and replied, “Yeah.” He chuckled softly, “That was my father.”

  “Yeah. Don’t you want to go to the funeral?” Grant asked, voice hesitant.

  Emerson sighed. “I hardly know her. We had hardly anything to do with her when I was growing up and nothing since we moved to New York. I’d only be going because he wanted me to. And to be honest, that is all the more reason not to go.”

  “I understand.”

  He glanced at Grant and saw sympathy. The pained expression on Grant’s face came with the realisation they had avoided the subject of their families.

  “Right, I’ve decided what we’re doing this afternoon. We’re heading to my place.” Grant’s voice was more decisive than Emerson had ever heard it, and he was grateful for it. New surroundings might be the best choice for him.

  They cleaned up the table as best they could, gathered their belongings, waving goodbye to Lola before heading out.

  Chapter 7

  Grant

  Emerson had seemed so lost and small after his father had left the café. Grant had wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and hold him. The next best thing was to take him to a place where Grant could. Hence the invitation.

  They chatted during the journey, but there were silent moments, too. Grant had the feeling it would take more than conversation to bring Emerson back to himself. He wasn’t planning on jumping Emerson’s bones when they arrived, but maybe kissing and snuggling would help him.

  “Wow! I didn’t realise you lived in a place like this!” Emerson stated when they walked up the drive.

  “I don’t live in the house. I have the guest house in the back yard.” Grant rushed to explain to make sure Emerson didn’t get the wrong idea, “It belongs to my friend’s parents. When I lost the scholarship funding, he was good enough to let me stay here for as long as I needed it. I pay rent, of course, but it was good of them.” He rambled, but he honestly didn’t want Emerson thinking he had money when he didn’t or thinking he didn’t have money and was living free.

  “Grant.” Emerson waited until Grant faced him. “However you live, is fine by me.”

  Grant let out a breath he’d been holding, relaxing and inwardly shaking his head; he knew Emerson was more down to earth than his butterflies were leading him to believe. Leading the way to the backyard entrance he used, Grant waited to hear Emerson’s reaction to the view.

  “I didn’t realise there were houses like this around here. It’s amazing!”

  “It is.” Grant followed the landscape, the wonder never diminishing despite how long he’d been there already. “This way.” He headed towards the guest house—his house, he supposed—and assumed Emerson would follow. After opening the door, his gaze quickly scanned to make sure he hadn’t left it in a mess. Other than his books and work on the table, it appeared fairly tidy.

  Limited natural light seeped through the already-open curtains, but right now, it was too overcast, so Grant wandered through, flicking the lamps on as he went.

  “I like this.” Emerson roamed around the main room, hands tucked in his pockets, only appearing to pick up a trinket to examine before carefully placing it back again.

  “Would you like a drink?” Grant asked, heading towards the kitchen. He needed something to warm him up.

  “Do you have tea, by any chance?” Emerson asked.

  Grant bit his lip as his face grew hot, glad he faced away from Emerson. He didn’t want to admit his scrutiny of Emerson—that he drank tea more than coffee—had led him to buy some tea to keep here, just in case. “Yes, I do. I’ll get the kettle going.”

  He still had his outdoor things on, so Grant quickly divested himself of his coat and scarf, pocketing his gloves in his coat before hanging it over the back of a chair. He’d go hang it up after he’d done the drinks. The monotony of making a hot drink helped settle Grant. He’d never had anyone over before, except for Adam. He was a little unsure of his role as host.

  Grant brought the drinks to the coffee table, setting Emerson’s in front of him but retaining his own to warm his hands.

  “Are you okay with me being here?” Emerson asked into the silence.

  Grant glanced up, startled. “Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You seemed a little rattled when we first got here.”

  Grant fidgeted with his drink. “Oh. Well, you’re my first guest. Except for Adam. I wondered what the protocol was,” he confessed.

  Emerson was silent, making Grant peek over. “Adam?” Emerson asked, leaning forward to pick up his drink.

  Grant was confused about the tone in Emerson’s voice. “Adam is the friend I mentioned. This is his parents’ place.”

  Emerson visibly relaxed and chuckled. “Ah. I didn’t know his name.” He leaned forward to replace his drink on the table. “There isn’t a protocol for inviting people in. Do whatever you want to do.” Grant saw Emerson’s lips twitching as if he fought a smile.

  Grant’s heart hammered, readying to bring out his playful side once more. “Really? So, if I wanted to kiss all the visitors I had, that would be acceptable?” His bravery was diminished slightly by his blush, but still, the words held.

  Emerson cleared his throat and shifted on the sofa, reaching for his mug again. “Maybe not all visitors. Just a select few,” he explained, sipping the hot brew.

  “A few? Hmm, now I suppose I have to decide who…” Grant sipped his drink as if contemplating.

  “Shut up!” Emerson laughed. “Me! Alright! You can kiss me!”

  “Makes more sense.” Grant decided to let him off the hook. It wasn’t often he was able to let out his fun, sarcastic side around people, but he now had Adam, Lola and Emerson who were on the list. He became more and more relaxed and confident the more time he spent with Emerso
n. They had gone to the movies the previous weekend to see a newly released comedy, and Emerson had instigated it all by making side comments as they watched. And then Grant had joined in. At first, Emerson sat there staring at Grant in shock, until suddenly, a smile had bloomed across his face. From then on, there was no stopping them.

  It always took Grant a little bit of time to get back into the swing of letting that side of him free, but he got there eventually.

  Grant watched as Emerson replaced his cup on the table, before reaching out for Grant’s cup, doing the same and scooting closer to him.

  “Can I kiss you?” Emerson asked, and Grant was reminded of their first kiss outside the café a couple of weeks prior.

  Grant smiled and nodded.

  Emerson cupped his cheek and leaned forward, pushing him further into the cushions behind him. Their lips touched, soft and gentle, Emerson sipping gently from his mouth until Grant couldn’t take any more. He grabbed at Emerson’s neck, keeping him near and licked at his lips, wanting entry. Emerson’s mouth opened on a groan, and Grant tilted his head to taste deeper, wanting more of his unique flavour. His other hand slid around Emerson’s back, clutching at the material, pulling him further onto him.

  He moved his body a little so he could recline further—he wanted the heaviness of Emerson on top of him—and Emerson rose to his knees. Grant whimpered, thinking Emerson was leaving, but Emerson grabbed his hips and moved him further down the sofa until he was laid flat.

  Emerson stared at him as he laid over his body bit by bit. At the first touch of their legs twining together, Grant closed his eyes briefly, breathing deeply. Their groins meeting had their voices joining in moans. As their chests met, Grant was done for, he wrapped his arms tight around Emerson’s back and pulled him as close as they could get before joining their lips together once more. He widened his legs, allowing Emerson to rest more comfortably, although Grant noticed Emerson kept his weight off him with his elbows. Grant wanted to feel pinned, so pulled harder on Emerson’s back to seal them together. Emerson groaned as he slid his hands between Grant and the sofa cushions, deepening the kiss and moving his hips in time.