Beauty and the Running Back

by Colleen Masters

  Our voices rise together in a soaring moan as Emerson drives his cock into my waiting, eager body. My fingers dig into the headboard as he splits me open, slamming into the very core of me. I’ve never felt him this way before, never dreamed anyone could reach me so deeply, so fully. I press myself back into his every thrust, taking him in as far as I can. My head falls back between my shoulders as Emerson pounds into me, his fingers digging into my hips and his thumb pressing around my ass—the feeling so intensely illicit it drives me crazy.

  With every pass, I feel more of him. I swear, he grows harder by the second as I cling to the headboard, dashing myself against him with all my might. His grasp tightens as he careens toward the edge himself. I bear down as his pace becomes quicker, his bucking hips more intent. I know he’s about to lose it.

  “Come,” I gasp, turning to meet his gleaming blue eyes. “I want you to—”

  He rears back and drives into me with one last, breathtaking thrust. We cry out in unison as he erupts inside of me. Our bodies are run through with sweeping sensation, and we ride the crashing wave together. We peak and collapse together, folding into one tangle of spent limbs. Our chests rise and fall like mad as I curl into Emerson’s muscular side.

  He pulls me close, enclosing me in his arms as our breathing slowly evens out. The record finally ends as we lay in Emerson’s bed together. In the warm, easy silence, we finally swim back to the surface of reality, gazing at each other in the half light.

  “I can’t believe I went nearly a decade without this,” I laugh softly, running a hand through his closely cropped brown hair.

  “Me either,” he grins, kissing my palm, “Let’s not do that again, OK? The being-apart thing, I mean.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I sigh happily, resting my cheek against his chest. “I couldn’t stand to lose this again.”

  “You won’t,” he says, his voice taking on a serious cast. “Whatever happens, Abby, I won’t let anything ruin this.”

  As the world reforms around us, the nagging intrusions of the real world creep back into my mind. I want to believe that nothing can derail us now, that we’re home free. But what about my family? Our parents? Our history? What about our careers, and the fact that we live on different continents?

  But as Emerson kisses away the worried crease between my eyebrows, all those unknown factors fade away. It’s only him and me, now. Alone in this beautiful Soho apartment with another bottle of wine just waiting to be opened and a little bundle of white fur leaping up onto the bed to cuddle at our feet.

  I wonder if this is what things would have been like if we hadn’t been separated all those years ago. Would we have been able to continue on as a pair and wind up here eventually? Or did we need to be apart for that time, grow into our own selves before we could be together? It’s impossible to know, of course. But still, it’s a comfort to think that all the pain we’ve been through, separately and together, hasn’t been in vain. That our whole lives have been leading up to something wonderful that we now get to share.

  “Come on,” Emerson says, easing me up from bed and handing me my top, “We haven’t even had dessert yet.”

  “You’re perfect, you know that?” I sigh, slipping back into my clothes.

  “Yeah. I know,” he teases, leaning in for another kiss.

  We head back out into the loft half-dressed, open up a bottle of Pinot Grigio, and dig into a couple pints of ice cream—Tahitian mint for me, black cherry for him. Settling down onto the expansive, pillowy couch, we talk late into the night, halfway paying attention to some mushy rom-com that’s playing on TV as we revel in playing house together. I hardly even notice as I start drifting off into a sated, happy sleep. My appetites—all of them—have never felt so satisfied as they do tonight.

  Chapter Sixteen

  * * *

  Sloppy kisses land all over my sleeping face, dragging me out of slumber. Man, has Emerson lost his smooching prowess already? I think to myself, prying my eyes open. But as I blink into the morning sunlight, it isn’t Emerson’s blue eyes I find staring back at me, but Roxie’s chocolate brown peepers. I laugh, giving her a good scratch behind the ears and pulling myself to sitting. I’ve fallen asleep on the couch with my head in Emerson’s lap. He’s still out, and I help myself to a moment of watching him sleep. His features are soft and relaxed, as gorgeous as ever. I can’t believe I have the privilege of seeing him this way again.

  Swinging my legs over the couch, delicately so as not to wake him, I reach into my purse and grab for my phone. I blink down at the welcome screen and see a dozen texts from Riley, asking where I am. There are missed calls, too, a good handful. And not just from Riley, either. The Bastian offices seem to have called my phone, more than a few times. At first, I can’t imagine why. That is, until I see what time it is.

  “Fuck!” I cry out, tumbling off the couch.

  “Huh? What?” Emerson mumbles, snapping out of his slumber and looking wildly around. “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s twelve thirty already!” I tell him, scrambling to my feet in a panic. “We’re supposed to be at work! How the hell did we oversleep?”

  “Guess we wore each other out last night, huh?” Emerson smiles, reaching for me.

  “Don’t,” I snap, tearing off in search of my clothes. “We’re going to be an hour late to work, Emerson. And it’s only my second day.”

  “Relax,” he says, following me into the bedroom, “I’ll vouch for you.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’ll look awesome,” I shoot back. “Me strolling in on my superior’s arm, getting special treatment because I happen to be fucking the right person.”

  “Whoa, slow down,” he says, “First of all, I didn’t mean to offend you, I just don’t think this is as big a deal as you’re making it out to be. Cooper doesn’t even show up until noon, remember? And secondly, I didn’t realize we were just ‘fucking’, here.”

  “We’re not—I’m just—” I stammer, shoving my hands through my hair. “I’ve been dreaming about a job like this for months. Years. And now, when I finally get my foot in the door, I fuck it up immediately. God, I don’t even have any fresh clothes to wear! I’m going to have to show up in the same thing I wore yesterday, and everyone’s going to know that we—”

  “Here,” Emerson says, reaching into his wallet and withdrawing a credit card. “Take this. Go to the shop downstairs and buy something new. We’ll head right over to the office.”

  “I can’t take your card,” I say, gaping at him. “It’s...it’s yours.”

  “Why not?” he shrugs, “It’s partially my fault we overslept. Let me help fix it.”

  “But—”

  “Go,” he insists, pressing the card into my palm, “I’ll get dressed and meet you.”

  Reeling, I gather my things and trundle out of Emerson’s loft onto the Soho street. There’s a tiny boutique downstairs, chock full of incredible items. The shop girl raises an eyebrow as I barrel in, but forgets her troubles when I hand her the surprisingly heavy credit card. In no time flat, she has me styled in a combination of new and vintage pieces. Emerson appears as I’m being rung up, impressed by my sleek black jeans, silky yellow blouse, and grungy studded jacket. I nearly faint as I see what this outfit is going to cost, but Emerson doesn’t even bat an eye as his card is charged. I still can’t get used to the idea that money is no issue for him. And I definitely don’t know how to feel about using his money for myself. But no time to debate the issue now, we’ve got to book it.

  We set off for our office, which is thankfully located in the same neighborhood as Emerson’s apartment. But still, by the time we step into the elevators, it’s one in the afternoon. I bounce on the balls of my feet as the elevator lifts us up to the offices, feeling anxious and guilty.

  “Take a breath, Abby,” Emerson tells me, as we draw level with our floor. “I’m sure no one’s even going to notice that we’re—”

  As the doors slide open, I feel the breath catch in my th
roat. A dozen faces whip around in unison as the entire office turns to stare at us. Every face at the communal desk stares at me and Emerson unabashedly as we step onto the floor side-by-side. I can feel my cheeks burning as my co-workers’ gazes go from curious to smug. I’m sure they all spent the entire morning wondering if Emerson and I were together, and now their suspicions have been confirmed.

  “Cooper asked to see you both as soon as you got in today,” says Emily, one of the people who saw me and Emerson at that bar together. The corners of her mouth are turned up in a grin that’s starving for scandal.

  “Thanks,” Emerson says curtly, drawing himself up to his full height. He has no reason to be cowed by our co-workers’ scrutiny. He has seniority. And a billion-dollar bank account. I, on the other hand, am absolutely leveled. I can’t believe I’ve let myself become a joke within my first forty-eight hours here.

  “Nice duds,” mutters Tyler, scoping out my outfit as Emerson and I hurry past the desk toward Cooper’s office.

  “That’s what a sugar daddy will get you,” Bradley stage whispers. Delighted chuckles go up all around the table, and my embarrassment hardens into anger.

  “Why don’t you focus on the task at hand instead of sniping like a little preteen, beardy?” I snap back at him.

  “Wow. Someone’s touchy,” he says, raising his bushy eyebrows. “I thought hot sex was supposed to be relaxing.”

  “Hey, Bradley” Emerson cuts in, whipping around the face the alternative douche bag. “Why don’t you try shutting the fuck up.”

  The room goes quiet around us as Bradley and his cohorts back down. But instead of this being a relief, it only adds to my annoyance.

  “Don’t fight my battles for me,” I mutter to Emerson, marching toward Cooper’s door.

  “Your battles?” he shoots back, “You’re in this alone now, are you? I could have sworn that it takes two to oversleep after tearing up the bed sheets all night.”

  “No, I’m just—” I begin, but the frosted glass door swings open before I can finish.

  “Ah. You’re here,” Cooper says, appearing in the doorway. His jolly demeanor has totally vanished, in its place is nothing but a cool, detached stare. The transformation is total, and it takes me off guard. But Emerson’s not worried—or at least, he’s pretending not to be.

  “You wanted to see us?” Emerson asks, strolling into the office. I hurry in after him, feeling a dozen judgmental stares boring into my back.

  “Yes,” Cooper replies crisply, closing the door behind him and taking a seat at his desk. “Have a seat, you two.”

  “Have a seat?” Emerson laughs. “Feeling a bit formal today, Coop?”

  “Just sit down, Emerson,” Cooper shoots back.

  Emerson and I sink down into the two chairs before Cooper’s desk. Our boss looks back and forth between us, his expression unreadable. Emerson, for his part, looks cool as a cucumber. I, on the other hand, probably look like I’m going to be sick. In fact, I just might be, depending on how this little meeting goes.

  “The last thing I want to do in my precious free time is intercept office gossip,” Cooper begins, crossing his arms over his sweater vest. “But the buzz about you two has been a bit impossible to ignore this morning.”

  “People like to talk,” Emerson shrugs, leaning back in his chair. I glance at him nervously. His nonchalance could very easily read as disrespect.

  “Be that as it may,” Cooper goes on, “Whatever it is that’s going on between you two is distracting the rest of your coworkers.”

  “Again, I don’t see how that’s news,” Emerson presses, “They need to mind their own business and focus on their work.”

  “That’s rather rich, coming from you,” Cooper says testily.

  “What are you talking about?” Emerson replies, “I take my work for Bastian very seriously, Cooper. You know that.”

  “Oh?” Cooper shoots back, “Is that why you missed our conference call with New Zealand this morning? Because you take this work so seriously?”

  I watch as the color drains out of Emerson’s face. For the first time since we woke up this morning, he falters.

  “Damn,” Emerson murmurs, sitting up in his chair, “New Zealand. I forgot. Cooper, I’m sorry. I just—”

  “Just what?” Cooper cuts him off. “Overslept? Blew it off? What explanation could you possibly have? You’re my right hand man in Europe, Sawyer, but that doesn’t mean you can just come and go as you please. I thought you were committed to your position here.”

  “I am,” Emerson insists, “It was just a mistake. Look, Abby and I have been having a pretty strange week—”

  I wince as I’m brought into the conversation. Cooper raises an eyebrow looking at me.

  “A strange week?” he says flatly, “Miss Rowan, has your first week here been so prohibitively strange that you’ve just decided not to come into work at all?”

  “I. I’m not,” I stammer, “It’s a really long story, Mr. Cooper.”

  “I’m listening,” he says, training his eyes on me.

  I look over at Emerson, who nods for me to go on. I draw a deep breath and continue.

  “I probably should have mentioned this right after my interview,” I begin, meeting Cooper’s steady gaze, “But Emerson and I aren’t exactly strangers. We, uh, know each other from high school, actually. And when I ran into him that first day, even after our interview went so well, I was going to turn down the job because of that. I was afraid things might be...difficult.”

  “So you know each other from when you were kids,” Cooper replies, “Why would that mean you had to turn down the job?”

  “We didn’t just know each other,” Emerson cuts in, “We were...Our parents were together, for a while. They were even married, for a very short time.”

  Cooper’s eyes cloud over as he looks back and forth between us. “But the talk in the office has been...And you showed up here together this morning...” he blusters, looking more disturbed by the second, “I was under the impression that there was some sort of romantic relationship happening between you?” For once, even Emerson is silent as we stare at Cooper. Our boss shakes his head, unable or unwilling to put the pieces together. “But you can’t be seeing each other, then. Not if your parents—”

  “It’s complicated,” I say quietly, my fingernails digging into my palms.

  “That’s not the word I would have used,” Cooper scoffs.

  “Hey,” Emerson jumps in, “You don’t have all the details, Cooper.”

  “And believe me, I don’t want them,” our boss says quickly, shoving a hand through his hair. “What I want is for you two to tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do, here?”

  “What do you mean?” Emerson says, his jaw tensing angrily.

  “I mean, I have a new employee who can’t seem to show up for work, a senior employee who’s more interested in carrying on some perverted relationship with his stepsister than pulling his weight, and an office full of people who can’t talk about anything but the two of you!” Cooper rants furiously.

  “Emerson!” I cry out, as he lunges to his feet and towers over Cooper’s desk. In an instant, it’s like he’s eighteen again, facing off against his tormentors. His entire body is alive with powerful rage, and I’m truly afraid of what he might do next.

  “Don’t you dare presume to judge me,” Emerson growls. I watch as Cooper’s eyes bug out of his head in alarm.

  “Get out of my face, Sawyer!” our boss cries, shrinking back into his chair.

  “You don’t know the first thing about my life,” Emerson rages on, shaking, “Abby is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m not going to let you shit on what we have.”

  “Fine!” Cooper shoots back, “You two go off and live in whatever kind of sin you prefer, just don’t do it under my nose!”

  “Are you trying to fire me, Cooper?” Emerson growls.

  “I can’t fire you. You’re under contract. And all of the partners
need to agree before terminating someone,” Cooper says, exasperated. “But I’d strongly suggest that you consider—”

  “I quit,” Emerson cuts him off, pushing roughly away from the desk.

  “Great,” Cooper shouts, “Good idea, Sawyer. Just walk away from the agency because you’re caught up on a piece of ass.”

  My vision flashes bright white as my boss’s words sink in. Before Emerson can launch himself across the desk at Cooper, I leap to my feet and block his path. I stare down at Cooper, the corners of my vision blurring with rage.

  “I am not some piece of ass,” I say, my voice clear and strong, “I was almost the best graphic designer you ever had. But you blew it. If Emerson goes, I go too.”

  “Fine,” Cooper seethes, looking back and forth between us, “Just get out before I call security on both your asses.”

  “No problem,” Emerson says, grabbing my hand. We storm out the door together, our shoulders squared.

  “Good luck, you two,” Cooper calls sarcastically after us as we march across the community work space. “Enjoy your incestuous little cabal while you can.”

  Our coworkers rubberneck to get a better view of us as we pass, but one withering look from Emerson and they all pry their eyes away. We charge down the stairs and back out into the light of day. Just a few days ago, I was walking into this office and landing my dream job. Emerson was one of the most important people in this agency. And now here we are, out on our asses. And all because we tried to make a go of being together.

  “Well,” Emerson says through gritted teeth, “Guess I was wrong about oversleeping not being a big deal, huh?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but the ringing of my cell phone interrupts me. I snatch the device out of my purse and see that Riley is calling. After her dozens of texts and calls over the course of last night, I figure I’d better at least answer once.