At Last

by Addison Fox

  He was back in moments, a small box in hand and his shorts already unbuttoned. “A multitasker.” Emma said the words, reaching for him the moment he rejoined her at the table. She finished the work on his shorts, pushing them off his butt and down over his legs. She was more gentle with his briefs, careful to work the material over his erection.

  And stilled when she caught sight of him.

  He was something to behold. Long and thick, his cock jutted high and proud against his body. She reached for him, pleased to see telltale wetness at the tip. It briefly crossed her mind to torture him as he’d done to her, but anticipating her movement, his hands wrapped around hers. “If you keep looking at me like that, this is going to be over real quick.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “A challenge?”

  “A fact.” He released her hands, then made quick work of the condom. “I think that gives new meaning to a mad dash.”

  She stared up at him, the attempt at a joke sweet for all the self-control that gripped him, cording the lines of his neck. “I have a different sort of madness in mind.”

  Before he could push her farther back on the table, she pushed at his shoulders, moving him back into the chair. Straddling him and the chair, she hovered for a long moment over the thick length of him. Anticipation filled her as he adjusted himself, the crown of his penis pressed to her body, her core still sensitive from the pleasure he’d already wrung.

  It was only when she took in the full length of him, drawing him home, that Emma felt the crazy response of her body. She was still ready for him, arousal and need crashing together in the delicious maelstrom of the moment.

  In seconds, they found a rhythm, the joy she’d found in his touch expanding and growing as their bodies joined and rejoined. Impossibly, the pleasure grew once more. Gloriously, need filled her, racing through her body as every nerve ending cried out for what he could give.

  She gripped his shoulders, their heated skin slick with sweat, as one pushed the other on. Harder. Faster. Needier—until once again, she was nothing but feeling, her body suffused with wicked splendor. A shout echoed against her ear as Nick pushed up, a hard thrust into her as she met him, accommodating him to the hilt. Waves of pleasure exploded through her, harder and deeper, coming as it did on the heels of her last release.

  He shuddered beneath her, burying his face into the crook of her neck, his arms tight around her.

  And as Emma clung to him—clung to the moment—she let the world around them simply fade away.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nick fought off the rising tide of panic that he’d made a mistake. It was an unfamiliar sensation, dragging at him like too much ballast at sea. He wasn’t prone to analyzing his choices—a realization that dawned with no small degree of personal embarrassment as Emma lay snug in the crook of his arm.

  Had he really spent his life that idiotically cocky?

  Or had nothing ever had such potential consequences?

  The night had been beyond his imaginings. From those crazy moments that had exploded on the street in front of her apartment to the wild yearning as he followed her up the stairs and on through her door, Nick had craved her in a way that cut him off at the knees.

  Still did, despite their level best to gloriously decimate each other over the past six hours.

  In those six hours they’d managed to push the world away, ignoring the bigger issue of what lay between them and what they still both fought over. Or for.

  So what was he doing with her? Sweet Emma Vandenburg, the straight-A student and obvious good girl? A good girl with moves, the wicked, still-unsated half of his conscience whispered, his body stirring at the memories. She was a good girl who’d grown into a vibrant woman.

  And no matter how vivid the memories of school and simpler days, when she had been a girl, the two of them were now adults. Experienced adults who’d seen some of what life had to offer, and who both bore the scars.

  She shifted in his arms, snuggling closer as one long leg tossed over his. He caught her easily, his hand resting on her thigh as he pulled her even closer in his embrace. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and Nick knew the emotion.

  She felt right there. And if he weren’t so busy berating himself, he’d likely be doing a bit of sighing of his own.

  Because he’d be damned if he could walk away from this just yet.

  There was no way they were done with each other. They couldn’t be. But real life was going to intrude any damn minute, their nine o’clock call with the Unity sales team a perfect example.

  “I think I like my dining room again.” She rubbed the tip of her nose before opening her eyes into sleepy slits. “Or maybe I should say for the first time.”

  “Hello to you, too.” Nick pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You never liked it before? When you first got it?”

  “Hell no. Cole picked it out without telling me.”

  “Did he pay for it with his man card?”

  Emma’s eyes widened at that. “What?”

  “Last time I checked most men avoided furniture stores like the plague. Why would he voluntarily go shopping on his own?”

  “Because he’s a control freak. His parents had announced a surprise visit, and he refused to have an empty room in our house. We couldn’t have them thinking we were too poor to furnish the place.”

  “Were you?”

  “If you go by Cole’s philosophy, a line of credit means you’re never poor.”

  “Ouch.”

  “It took us several years, but we paid off the folly of our youth. When I finally woke up and realized I had a useful skill in the family business, I headed back to school, and dragged myself right back into debt.”

  “Were you intending to come back to Brooklyn even then?”

  “No. I—” She’d never given it much consideration, but now that he asked, she had to admit the idea had been there all along. Siebel grads were usually first in line for jobs, but somewhere in her plans she’d realized it would make her marketable right back at home. “I suppose maybe I did. Or did on a subconscious level anyway.”

  “Well, it still seems like a better choice than that oak monstrosity.”

  Emma lifted up onto an elbow and looked down on him. “Hey. Don’t dis my oak monstrosity. I’ve grown rather fond of him.”

  “Him?”

  “He’s long and hard. How can I think of him any other way?”

  A laugh burst from his chest, the image she painted only reinforcing his earlier thought. She might have the overarching personality of a good girl, but she had a decidedly naughty streak, too. He liked it.

  A small frown tugged the corners of her mouth. “Talk of my ex-husband has no place in this bed.”

  “He’s a part of your life.”

  “He’s a part of my past. And not anyone I’d like to revisit while having sex.”

  “We’re just talking.”

  The hand that had splayed across his abdomen shifted, her fingers trailing down over his cock. “Then I’m doing something wrong.”

  The strangest urge to keep talking nearly had him stilling her hand until her clever grip had him changing course. She was right—there wasn’t a place for her husband in this bed. He’d be a fool to press the issue and lose the opportunity to show her just how much better off she really was.

  The sharp hit of coffee met her tongue at the same moment Nick walked into her kitchen clad in nothing but a towel. The combination nearly made her spit out her French roast with a wide-eyed stare, as she took in the long, thick lines of his chest, tapering down over an impressive layer of muscle. The man was a god, with the build of a warrior and a hard-planed, masculine face that stole her breath.

  She’d sworn to herself she wasn’t going to get wrapped up in him, but she was only human. Add on the fact he knew exactly what to do with every asset God gave him, and how was she expected to resist?

  You didn’t, girlfriend. You couldn’t even summon up a halfhearted attempt at a protest.

&nb
sp; So now she had to find a way to resist the man, even with the added knowledge of what sensual miracles he was capable of. Which made the words spilling out of her mouth a very bad idea. “Is that towel supposed to convince me to cancel the sales meeting?”

  “Will it work?”

  “It might. It is the day before a holiday weekend. I’m not even sure why the meeting was scheduled in the first place.”

  “Can you cancel it?”

  “You’re the one who wants to buy the company. How much do you care about our sales numbers as we head into the first week of summer?” The words fell carelessly, and once they were out she could hardly snatch them back.

  What she hadn’t expected was the naughty schoolboy grin that winged its way back to her, or the sloe-eyed gaze that practically stalked her as he moved closer. “Company’s not mine yet. How much do you care?”

  “It’s my legacy so I care—” Her breath hitched as he moved into her space. He took her coffee and set it behind her, then planted both hands on either side of her hips. “—very much.”

  “So convince me.”

  His short hair was still damp, and it pressed against her jaw when he nuzzled her neck. She had no idea how he did it, but he managed to find this crazy-sensitive spot behind her ear that turned her knees to water. That was before his hands drifted along the seam of her robe, his fingers floating over the top of her stomach in a teasing, ticklish arc.

  “Reading our sales results is an important component of understanding our overall corporate—” She broke off on a hard gasp as his fingers dove lower, settling between her legs in one swift move.

  Emma fought for her breath, but the erotic press of his palm against her pubic bone, combined with the hard, tantalizing circles of his index finger, had her breathless and practically mindless in a matter of moments.

  “You were saying?”

  “I . . . We . . . the meeting is . . .” Emma fought to keep track of his words, but nothing could form around the breaths trapped in her chest, or the tingling in her limbs, or the insistent pressure that had her wanting to crawl as far into Nick’s arms as she could.

  The pressure built—a wild, crazy ride with her kitchen counter at her back and Nick simply consuming her. He must have sensed her moment of release just as she did, his last, hard stroke pulling a wild, unbridled response from her body, along with a scream.

  The sheer strength of his body was the only thing holding her up as Emma flew apart. She clutched at his shoulders as he dragged more from her, beyond what she thought or believed she could give. Beyond what she’d ever imagined herself capable of.

  But it was the moments after, his hand still between her thighs as he stroked her back to earth, that melted something deep inside of her. Rather than preen around her kitchen like the conquering hero, he saw to her. Her pleasure. Her release. And her return to the here and now.

  It was a rare gift, one she wasn’t even sure he realized he gave.

  Yet as she stood there in the circle of his arms, she felt protected. Cherished. And important.

  As she slowly came back to herself, she leaned into him, his sharp intake of breath bringing her fully back into the moment—and the large erection separated only by her robe and his towel. She reached between them, flicking at the place on his hips where the towel tucked in on itself, then gripping him fully. Her breath came out on a hard whisper, the husky strains of desire still coating her words. “I think it’s a good idea to cancel that meeting.”

  “Nothing like a manager with her priorities on straight.”

  Becky stared at the screen, the latest design she was working on eluding her as clearly as sleep. For the past two nights she’d lain restless in her bed, replaying Emma’s words over and over.

  Go on a date with him. Follow up. Tell him the whole story.

  Since the whole story involved a relationship with his brother, she failed to see how they’d get any further than another embarrassing conversation. But still, she searched Emma’s words, hopelessly seeking a loophole.

  Or some additional encouragement to act on her friend’s suggestion.

  The office was practically empty, the loft space her design firm owned in Green Point dead on the Friday before a long holiday weekend. She was only messing around; the major work she had this week was already turned in and approved by her clients.

  So why was she sitting here?

  An instant message popped up on her screen from the guy who manned their front desk. Secret admirer?

  When she shot back nothing but an emoji, he shot her another note.

  Seriously what is it with you and the poop emoji? Hot guy with gorgeous flowers up here at front. Hurry up before I snag him.

  The temptation to send Joey a less-than-flattering response rose up, but curiosity made her lean back in her chair toward the glass-walled panel that separated the space from the lobby.

  And that’s when she saw Hector Rodriguez filling up the lobby, his large form out of place amidst the stark white.

  He was here.

  But how did he know she was here? And why did he have flowers? And what was she supposed—

  Are you coming? I meant it about taking the flowers and the man and making a run for it.

  Something about the message had her smiling, the first springs of joy filling her chest since her discovery of Hector’s connection to Miguel earlier that week.

  I’m coming. Touch him and die. She added a devil emoji for good measure, and pushed back from her desk.

  The loft was spacious, but not enormous by any means. Yet the walk to the lobby felt endless. But then she was at the door. And Hector was there. And he had flowers in his hands and that scary resting face she couldn’t stop thinking of, only it carried a small, tentative smile.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “I’m taking notes,” Joey piped in from his perch behind the front desk. “If you don’t say something other than ‘hi,’ I’m going to be forced to make something up as I IM this moment to the rest of the office.”

  Scary resting face returned as Hector leaned over the front desk. “Step away from the keyboard.”

  Joey’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline, but he held up his hands, pushing away from the computer. “I’ll go make myself busy.”

  “Do that.”

  Hector waited until Joey had swiped his card and walked into the office before turning toward Becky. The smile that had carried her out to the lobby vanished as she took in the hard lines of his mouth. He thrust a dozen pink roses toward her. “These are for you.”

  “Thanks. Um . . . why?”

  “I wanted to.”

  “They’re beautiful.”

  “They’re stupid. I wanted red and they’re pink. And the pink ones reminded me of Miguel’s funeral. Or the pictures of his funeral, which were all I had by the time I came the fuck home.”

  She remembered those pink roses. The way they draped the casket, and the way his mother threw herself on top of them when they stood at the cemetery, saying their good-byes.

  “Someone took pictures?”

  “An enterprising family member who thought I’d want to see them.”

  “I guess they were wrong.”

  “Yes. No.” He stood there, something strangely helpless and vulnerable in such a large man holding flowers out at an odd angle. “No, I didn’t want to see them. But yes, I needed to know. Needed to understand what everyone went through.”

  When he kept his grip tight on the flowers, she reached out, her hand closing over his. “They’re beautiful.”

  “Even though they’re pink.”

  She took the flowers from him. “Maybe because they’re pink.”

  Something flashed in the deepest recesses of his brown eyes. Becky recognized it immediately—it mirrored the thoughts she had so often about her mom. Remembering she was no longer with them, and that she’d never be a part of Becky’s life again. That horrible sense of loss that lived with a person, haunting them
at unexpected moments, a gunshot of memories bursting out of the dark.

  “Take a walk with me?”

  A loud whoop echoed from behind her, and Becky turned to see Joey and the five other staffers who’d made it in that day looking through the glass wall.

  Joey hollered the loudest, his head nodding in a vigorous up and down. “Say yes!”

  The worry that she’d seem unprofessional lasted for about three seconds, until she realized her coworkers were not only cheering her on, but adding kissy faces to boot.

  With a wink for Joey, she turned to Hector and extended a hand. “Let’s go.”

  “I haven’t been here in years.” Emma stepped carefully down the path as her gaze wandered to the beauty surrounding her.

  “My mother loves the Japanese garden. It’s her favorite part of the botanic gardens. We make a trip every spring, for the cherry blossoms.”

  “It’s gorgeous.”

  The air was rich with the promise of summer, the sun in the bright blue sky rapidly warming the air as they pushed on toward noon. Emma and Nick had taken their time meandering through the rose garden, observed several koi at the Lily Pool Terrace, and were now in the Japanese Hill-and-Pond Garden.

  Emma marveled at the contrasts in Nick. From the ball game the night before to the gardens today, he seamlessly flowed between worlds, seemed to fit with both.

  He ran his hand over the trunk of a tree before catching her gaze. “What?”

  “I guess I didn’t take you for a botanical-gardens sort of guy.”

  “I can appreciate nature.”

  “I don’t doubt it. But to take the time to seek out nature is something else entirely.” Her gaze drifted to a thick growth of bamboo, the smooth stalks reflecting the sun, before she turned back to him. “And since I never seek out nature, I’ve made the unfortunate assumption no one else does, either.”