The moon was high and bright above us, the stars speckled all around it, almost as if they were close enough to touch. I thought I saw one dive across the sky, burning one last time before it died. Emery’s hand grazing my lower hip brought me back into my body, back to the present moment, and I turned to him just as he began to speak.
“My grandma came here in the early seventies,” he said, his eyes scanning the waves in the distance. “She said it was a staple in the ‘human potential movement.’ At the time, my grandma was in what she described to me as the worst depression of her life. It was just after she had my father, and she felt like she was failing as mother and wife both. So, she came here to find clarity.”
“She experienced depression, too,” I said, though I already knew it from reading his journal. Another confession of his robbed by my curiosity.
Emery nodded. “She did.”
He was quiet again after that, lost in his thoughts, and I rested my chin on the cool rock of the tub, watching the white caps of the waves roll under the moonlight. Something about that place, not just the setting, but the sanctuary itself, left me swimming in introspection, and I wanted to share something with Emery, too.
“When I first lost my leg, I didn’t even want to try to walk again,” I confessed. “Everything just… hurt, you know? Not just the actual wound that was healing, but the memory of my leg. It hurt to think of how I took advantage of something so precious, how I never had to think about walking before, and now if I ever wanted to do it again, I’d have to work and work and work, every single day, just to be able to do it half as good as I used to.”
Emery’s hand squeezed my hip, and I leaned into the touch.
“I’d never felt that, that kind of hopelessness. And then one night, I overheard my parents in the kitchen. They were talking about the accident, about my leg, and my mom said it would be so embarrassing to be in a wheelchair or to have a prosthetic leg. She said it was such a shame, because I was so pretty before. Before,” I repeated, the word bitter on my tongue. “And that was the first time it occurred to me that the accident had split my life in two — before, and after.”
“No offense, but your mom is a bitch.”
I laughed, the sound soft, my eyes still on the water. “None taken. But you know, it was what my dad said next that really kicked me in the chest.” I swallowed, remembering the sound of his voice as it carried from the kitchen down the hall to my bedroom where they thought I was sleeping. “He said he didn’t know how I could even live with myself. He said if he was me, he would just end it all.” I couldn’t look at Emery when I said the next sentence. “My own father said my life wasn’t worth living anymore.”
“Jesus,” he whispered.
“But you know what? Hearing him say that, it was exactly what I needed. Nothing like hearing someone say you shouldn’t live anymore to make you want to do just that to spite them. He lit the fire in me, the one I’ve had burning ever since. I didn’t just learn how to walk, I did it in record time, and then I did yoga, and got a job, and did everything they thought I never would. I lived,” I said. “And then I left, just like I promised them I would one day.”
We were both quiet again, the weight of what I’d said hanging between us like a lead balloon. Emery’s touch at my waist was lighter now, his brows pinched together. I wondered what he was thinking — not just about me, but about himself, about that day when he tried to take his life.
“Is this the place?” I finally asked, my voice thick with uncertainty. “You told me you were driving across the country because you ‘had to see something,’” I reminded him. “Is this it?”
“No,” he answered quickly. “Well, it’s one of the places, I guess, but it’s not the final stop.”
My stomach rolled, the thoughts I’d been mulling over all day sweeping in on the next breeze to remind me of all the uncertainty I felt when it came to the end of our trip. I let my head fall to the side, cheek on the stones as I traced the edge of the shadows on his face. “When this is all over, this trip… will I ever see you again?”
Emery sucked in a long breath, letting it out slowly, his breath pushing against the steam. “That’s an easy question with a complicated answer.”
“Is it?” I challenged. “Seems like a pretty simple yes or no kind of answer to me.”
He faced me then, his arms moving to wrap around me until my chest was against his, our bodies wet and hot and slick as he molded himself to me. One thigh slipped between my own, brushing against my core, my eyes fluttering shut with the feel of it.
“All I can say right now is that I know where I’m going, but I don’t know what I’ll find when I get there. And until I figure that out, I can’t answer your question,” he said, his voice a whisper on the ocean breeze. “It may not make sense to you, but it’s all I can give. Is it enough?”
I nodded, swallowing down the nerves and latching onto his words. They weren’t a promise for more, but they were an honest plea for understanding, and they were enough.
Emery pressed his forehead to mine, the breaths leaving his chest faster as one hand skated down my back, cupping my ass and lifting me into him. That sensitive part of me rubbed against his thigh and a moan escaped my lips, soft and longing, making him harden against my middle as his hands tightened around me.
“Please, tell me you’re not sore anymore,” he breathed, rolling his hips into me.
“I’m not sore.”
“Thank fuck,” he growled, arms moving until I was cradled against his chest once more. He walked us up out of the tub quickly, the cold air piercing our hot skin like needles, his kiss piercing my heart like a knife. “I want you tonight. All of you.”
My voice was a breath on the breeze. “Take me.”
And with that plea, we were on the road again, driving too fast down the foggy coast back to our hotel.
My back hit the door as soon as it closed behind us, Emery dropping my prosthetic in the corner carefully before his hands pinned me again. They gripped my hips hard, his own grinding against me as I raked my hands through his hair, my lips desperate on his. It was all-encompassing, the way he kissed me, not just with his mouth but with every part of his body. His breaths kissed my neck, his teeth dragging along the sensitive skin as I arched into him, his hands gripping harder, arms trapping, moans cutting deep like the sweetest suicide. I was already gone before he’d even really touched me.
Emery ripped the tie loose at the front of my robe, shoving it back off my shoulders and sucking the swell of my breast as soon as it was unveiled. I gasped, head hitting the door before I gripped him harder, biting the hard muscle of his shoulder as he moved his way back up to kiss behind my ear.
“If I go too hard, tell me to stop,” he warned, hips pressing into me against the door so he could free one hand. It hooked under my ass first, gripping hard before sliding down my thigh, snaking up the middle, and one finger entered me quickly and roughly and without mercy.
I cried out, moaning with eyes squeezed shut, legs opening for him. “More.”
“That’s my girl,” he growled, and another finger slid in to join the first, spreading me wider.
His touch wasn’t gentle at first, his fingers thrusting in hard, curling at the tips and working in time with his mouth sucking the skin of my neck. I was frantic, arching into him and away from the door, my hands flying from the cool wood to his shoulders to his hair and back again. I couldn’t get a grip on anything, least of all my composure. I was lost, spiraling down into nothing, burning from the inside out.
But then Emery inhaled a long breath, the air filling his lungs before it touched my lips with his exhale, and he slowed. His fingers worked in a smoother rhythm, his kisses longer and softer. The crease of his brows told me he was fighting against the urge to go faster, harder, and when his touch turned more gentle, I sighed into his mouth.
Being touched by Emery was my new favorite state of being. When his hands were on my thighs, when his lips were on my ne
ck, when his eyes were on my body like figure skaters, looping and gliding from top to bottom, inch over inch. It was an excavation, a slow and purposeful discovery, each and every time.
Slowly and carefully, Emery withdrew his fingers, my body shaking violently at the loss of heat as he picked me up again, carrying me across our room with his mouth fused to mine. My back hit the bed, the cool comforter puffing up around me as he dropped his hands on either side of my head. The longing in his eyes as he stared down at me, admiring for a moment before he lowered his mouth to mine again, it was enough to undo me. It was enough to make me wish to stay in that moment, in that room with him, forever.
He pushed back to standing long enough to make quick work of his own robe, the white fabric falling to the floor at his feet as I traced the lines of his abdomen. Emery was so hard, every inch of him, from the lines on his forehead to the muscles of his thighs. Lean and toned, strong and tall — he was all man.
His eyes were hot on mine as he knelt, kissing his way down my flat stomach. A soft shudder of a breath left my lips and my eyes fluttered closed at the contact, at the feel of his wet lips on my skin. He dragged his tongue up the inside of my thigh, tugging me forward off the edge of the bed just enough for him to maneuver his way under me, and then his mouth was where I ached for him most.
I moaned, hands gripping the comforter as he ran his tongue flat over me before sucking my bud. He gripped my thighs in both hands, spreading me wide as he buried his face in me, and it was all I could do to just keep breathing. I should have felt embarrassed, exposed for him like that, my most sensitive and private parts of my body on full display in ways never seen before. But I only felt desired. I only felt wanted in a way a goddess is wanted by a man, the way freedom is wanted by a prisoner, the way rain is wanted by a drought-ridden crop.
My legs shook on either side of his face, trembling at his touch, and just when my orgasm started to build, Emery pulled back, the sensation leaving me in a rush as every tensed muscle released at once.
“Oh, God,” I breathed, shaking at the loss, and Emery smirked as he towered over me again. Bending forward, he snaked one arm under the arch in my back, lifting and moving me back up the bed until my head hit the pillows and his weight settled between my thighs. For a long moment he watched me again, his hands in my hair, eyes searching mine.
“I don’t deserve to touch you like this,” he whispered, fingers brushing my hair behind one ear.
It broke me, the way his face cracked under the weight of his words, the words he believed to be true. But I knew they weren’t. I knew he was meant to touch me, that he was the only one who had ever deserved to. So I leaned up, telling him with a kiss that he was wrong, assuring him with a roll of my hips that I wanted him, too — perhaps even more than he wanted me.
He reached forward for his wallet on the nightstand, never breaking our kiss, and then there was a faint rip of the condom wrapper and a pressure at my center. His hands moved from my hair to my shoulders, fingers curling around them, his biceps encompassing me as he flexed forward.
And then we both sighed, our foreheads pressed together, breaths meeting between us in a current of longing.
He filled me completely, my thighs squeezing his hips at the sensation as he withdrew and rocked forward again. It was as new as the first time, as foreign and exciting and overwhelming. Electricity filled me from the inside out, buzzing my nervous system to life, igniting the air around us with a shock. When he picked up speed, finding a rhythm, I felt the fire catching where his body rolled against mine with each thrust.
“Yes,” I breathed as he pulled back, the whole of him sliding out until just the tip was left before he rolled forward again. “More.”
“If I give you any more, you’ll break,” he panted, kissing my collarbone, his hands still curled under my shoulders. He pulled me down, his own hips rocking forward again, the flex filling me deeper.
But I wanted more.
Pressing my hands into his chest, I leaned and rolled until he submitted to me, taking my place on the bed as I straddled him. Emery’s eyes widened when I sat upright, his hands falling to rest where my thighs and hips met in a crease. His hard body was beneath me then, sprawled out against the white sheets, and I bent down to kiss him before I used one hand to slide him back inside me.
We both moaned with the new position, and though I knew my bad leg would make it a little challenging, I wanted this — I wanted to bring him the pleasure he was bringing me. I moved slow, adjusting to the new way he filled me, and when I finally slid all the way down, Emery squeezed his eyes shut on a curse.
“Oh, my God,” I breathed, sitting there for a moment before lifting again. “It’s so… you’re so deep this way.” I whimpered when I slid over him again, the way he hit me inside like never before, a depth I’d never experienced.
“Fuck,” Emery groaned, flexing his hips into me. “I love when you talk like that. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“Everything,” I sighed, thighs burning a little as I moved over him. “I feel everything.”
Emery’s hands fell to the bed, letting me take control, and I threaded my fingers with his on either side of us before moving them to my hips again. He held my slight frame in his hands, less shaky than the first night he touched me, and I bent to whisper against his lips.
“Help me ride you.”
He growled, the sound low and throaty as I pushed up off the bed, sitting all the way down on him. His grip tightened, and with the help of his hands, I lifted until only the tip of him was still inside me before sliding down again. With his help, I could move faster, his hips thrusting forward to hit deeper, and my orgasm built with the speed of a Ferrari flying down an unmarked highway.
“Cooper,” Emery husked, and I peered at him through heavy lids. “I want you to touch yourself.”
His eyes fell to my chest, and I hesitantly pulled my hands from where they gripped his wrists, fingertips gliding up my rib cage. When I paused, unsure, Emery tightened his grip on my hips and pulled me down again, hips flexing.
“Touch yourself for me.”
Chills broke over my skin as I obeyed, and when my fingers rolled my nipples between them, that same electricity I’d felt buzz to life earlier shocked my system. Every nerve awakened, and I moaned out his name, a prayer answered before I’d even known to ask.
Emery sat upright, moving until his back was against the headboard and our chests were pressed together again. His mouth found mine in a frenzy, his hands still helping me ride him, our bodies connected at every point from hip to lips. He rocked into me slow and steady, a new friction building between us, and I moaned into his mouth with every new thrust.
That night, Emery didn’t kiss me like we had forever. He kissed me like it was our last night on Earth, like he had mere moments to fill me, to touch me, to take all he could before we both faded into nonexistence. His teeth sank into my bottom lip, his hands moving to cup my ass as he lifted me to his tip, sliding me back down slowly, every centimeter stretching me more. Then again, faster, harder, his teeth releasing my lip as he moved to kiss my shoulder, the swell of my breast, the hollow point of my throat.
He was all strength and longing, holding the weight of me as he filled me again and again. The friction of his tight abdomen against my center sent a spark of pleasure through me, the heat popping and fizzing with each brush. I rolled into him, each wave reaching farther, climax tickling my fingertips, it was so close. When he groaned in my ear, his entire body surrounding mine, I clenched tight around him until stars invaded my vision and all my muscles tightened and released at once, my orgasm rocking through me like a tsunami. I clutched his shoulders, his name on repeat from my lips like I was speaking in tongues as I moaned out my release.
Emery kissed me hard, his arms wrapping around me tighter as he thrust in twice more, each time hitting me deeper before he held me in place, pulsing out his own release with a longing groan. His hands bruised my hips, holding me there
as he emptied, his body shaking, eyes squeezed shut. When they finally fluttered open again, his body stilling, I collapsed into him with a shudder, giving him all of my weight, all of me.
For a while we just breathed, we just existed, two bare bodies wrapped up in each other like tangled wires. The air still buzzed and sparked, and I leaned up enough to look into his sated eyes, my fingertips running through the damp strands of his hair, feeling each one from root to tip before letting it fall and repeating the motion.
Emery watched me, his eyes flicking between mine before falling to my lips where he placed a tender kiss. My heart was so full, swelling with words unsaid, with feelings never experienced. He just held me closer, tighter, like even one centimeter of space between us was too much.
It was like a dream, my body numb and mind distant as we rolled, Emery pulling me under the covers with him and curling into me. He held me, his breaths on the back of my neck, arms wrapped around me like a sweater. But this time, and for the first time, my dreams weren’t better than my reality. Emery was real, the way I felt was real, and every ounce of fatigue I had washed out of me at that realization.
I was wide awake, and I never wanted to sleepwalk through life again.
It was still dark when Emery woke me the next morning, his large hand rubbing circles on my lower back. I arched into the touch, body sore and aching and incredibly satisfied. My toes curled as I rolled over, reaching for my glasses on the bedside table when I saw he was already dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Time is it?” I mumbled, rubbing the sleep from my eyes under my lenses. “Is Kalo okay?”
“She’s fine,” he said on a chuckle. “But there’s something I want to show you before we get back on the road.”
Emery was quiet as I dressed, taking my hand when I was ready and grabbing my yoga mat and a long towel on our way out the door. I cocked a brow, curiosity piqued, but he just squeezed my hand.
On the Way to You Page 22
