by Kendall Ryan
I pinch the bridge of my nose. The thing is, I can’t be too pissed because they’re absolutely right. Jenna really is amazing—the total package—and she fits right in with my family. But Aubrey and Jake don’t know the reasons why dating her wouldn’t work, and I can’t explain it to them. Jenna and I have to stick to the deal we agreed upon when we started this thing. I need to focus one hundred percent on running the company, and she said her life plan doesn’t have any room for a relationship either. No boyfriend, no husband, no man who offers anything more than being a sperm donor.
“She’s not interested in getting serious,” I finally grumble, my stomach feeling a little sour. I drain the last of my martini and push the glass across the bar.
Aubrey immediately leaps for the jugular. “She said that? You’ve asked her specifically?”
Shit, I’ve made a mistake. I shouldn’t have let even that tiny nugget of information slip. “Yes,” I say, my reply clipped and flat.
“So, you want to get serious with her?” Jake asks.
“No. We talked about relationship boundaries like a couple of mature goddamned adults, and the subject came up.” Dustin stirs, and I force myself to calm down and lower my voice. “It’s complicated, okay? Please just drop it.”
Aubrey and Jake share a long look. Then Jake says, “All right, dude. Sorry.”
“Go on and enjoy the party. I think she’s free now.” Aubrey points across the reception hall to the dance floor, where Jenna is waving good-bye to a middle-aged woman I don’t know. One of the bride’s relatives, maybe. I guess the Smith clan aren’t the only ones smitten with her.
“Sure, I’ll go dance with her.” The prospect lightens the crappy mood that Aubrey and Jake put me in with all their relationship talk. As long as I’m here, I may as well enjoy a dance or two—there’s no harm in that, right? “See you guys later.”
I order a Mai Tai and weave my way through the crowd to the table where Jenna has just taken a seat. “Here,” I say, offering the cocktail. “All danced out already?”
She looks beautiful tonight. In a strapless lavender gown with her long hair twisted into some elegant knot at the nape of her neck, she’s stunning. Best of all? She’s wearing that lipstick I love—the bright shade that makes the color in her cheeks pop too.
“Nah, just wanted a quick break.” She takes a long drink. She relaxed her stance on drinking after I told her many babies were convinced under the influence. “Mmm . . . that’s really tasty. Thank you.”
I sit with her while she sips until the band changes to a good song, then I stand up and offer my hand. “Care to dance?”
She hops to her feet and sets her half-empty glass aside. “I’d love to.”
As we stroll onto the dance floor, I ask, “Are you having fun?”
“Yes, actually. Everyone’s been so friendly.” Then her smile turns into something much less innocent. “But I’m looking forward to the end of the night.”
Oh . . . when we’ll go back to our shared hotel room. Which has only one bed.
I grin back at her and agree with a kiss.
Chapter Thirteen
Jenna
As soon as our hotel room door swings shut behind us, we crash together in a desperate fever of lust. Emmett’s body, his desire, is hard against my belly. It makes my knees weak.
We tear at each other’s clothes in a frenzy, racing for the primal contact of skin on skin. My dress is unzipped and it falls to a puddle at my feet. Next, he gets my bra off and flings it aside. My fingers fumble halfway down his shirt buttons and pause at the sultry caress of his mouth on my sensitive breasts.
“Emmett . . .” I groan, pushing my fingers into his hair.
His arm wraps around my waist to pull me against him. His bulge presses into my stomach, so hot and hard it feels like it could burn straight through my panties to where I want it most. I shiver and try to rock against it but his grip tightens, holding my hips steady.
“Not yet. You get your turn first.”
I’ve forgotten how insistent he is about my orgasms coming before his. It seems like an archaic, old-fashioned tradition, but in this moment, I’m totally on board.
His fingers slip between my legs, pushing aside my damp panties. His middle and index fingers slide over my clit a few times, teasing a needy noise out of me before delving lower and pushing inside. They crook up, right into my G-spot, and my knees buckle.
“Emmett,” I plead, my voice unrecognizable, husky and almost pained with need. His fingertips work my G-spot while the heel of his hand grinds against my clit. I can’t handle it. This is way too much and I want more. Never before has sex been like this. Never before have I been like this, so wanton. “Inside me . . . Right the fuck now.”
He makes a grunt of need, and the sound hits me straight in the chest.
“Emm . . . please.” I’m already barely coherent, but he understands.
“You sure you’re ready? Anything for you.” With a growl of lust and pride, he yanks my panties down my legs and picks me up like I weigh nothing.
Shit.
Then, bracing me against the wall, he unzips his pants, finally freeing his cock, and pushes inside. It’s no small effort either. In this position, with my legs almost closed, he works his thick cock back and forth through my labia until he’s coated in my juices before spearing me deeply. I can feel him everywhere.
I bite my lip so hard to stifle my scream, it bruises. Oh yes, I’ve been anticipating this all day, ever since we drove out here. Emmett lifts me, and I cross my ankles behind his back and squeeze eagerly, my vaginal muscles tightening around him.
Holding us chest to chest, his hands groping my ass, he slowly eases himself in to the hilt and just as slowly withdraws until only the very tip of his cock remains.
All of me feels the loss of him. I’m desperate to feel his skin on mine, filling me.
“Please . . . please . . .” Hot all over, I wriggle and buck, but I can’t move much when I’m pinned between him and the wall like this. Come on, you clit-tease, I’ve waited long enough.
“Fuck.” He groans. “You feel so perfect.”
I buck against him again and Emmett makes a satisfyingly needy sound, but more importantly, he keeps up with those infuriatingly gentle rolls of his hips. The head of his cock brushes my G-spot and I moan, begging.
“There,” he whispers and suddenly slams into me at the exact perfect angle, tearing my first unrestrained cry from my throat.
He smothers my outburst with a rough kiss, nothing more than a messy, hungry clash of lips and tongue. Now his thrusts come hard and fast and, oh my sweet fucking God, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted, my clit rubbing against his pelvic bone and his cock pounding my G-spot like he was custom-made for my pussy.
How the hell does he do this to me? How can he strip away my inhibitions, reduce me to a horny mess, rule my world with a mere touch? What is this wild magic that lets us click and work together so exquisitely, wringing the pleasure from each other’s bodies? It feels like his hands are everywhere, caressing and groping, his fingers digging into my hips while his hot, wet mouth spreads sloppy kisses and bites all over my neck. He wakes my whole body until my head is swimming and every nerve sparks all at once.
This isn’t just baby-making anymore. Deep down, I know it hasn’t been for a long time. The fire that consumes us every time we meet has nothing to do with procreation and everything to do with pure chemical lust. I shouldn’t love it so much, but holy hell, I couldn’t fight this feeling even if I wanted to. And I definitely don’t want to. He’s so perfect. So hot. So sexy. How will I ever get enough?
“Don’t stop,” I demand, panting. “Please don’t fucking stop. Oh God, right there . . .”
“You feel so fucking good.” Emmett groans again and the sound vibrates through me.
I squeeze my eyes shut and bury my face in his throat, gasping for breath as my release slams through me with a force that
leaves me quivering, quaking, trembling in his arms.
Emmett pulls back enough to meet my eyes. “You okay? You’re shaking.”
I swallow and nod. “Yes.”
“You had enough?” His voice is tight.
“You haven’t come yet.” Why on earth would he want to stop?
“That doesn’t matter. Seriously. If you’re tired, or . . .”
I have no idea why my entire body is trembling. But I really don’t care. My brain is screaming at me not to stop—never to stop—and the desire to watch him lose control is even more intense. “I want you to come. And I’m not stopping until you do.”
Still inside me, he carries me to the bed. I’m grateful; my legs have turned to jelly and I’m not sure I wouldn’t just fall flat on my face. Only after he’s laid me down does he start moving again, thrusting in long, deep strokes. With one hand pinned above my head in his large palm, he places my other between the apex of my thighs.
“Touch yourself. Make yourself come for me,” he says.
I obey, rubbing gentle circles against my clit with my index finger, even though I’m sure I won’t be able to come again. But soon, my body is calling my bluff and I’m building toward climax.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I pant.
He continues those deep, steady thrusts, his gaze wandering lower to watch me touch myself. “God, that’s a fucking sexy view.”
At the sound of his deep, drugged voice, I lose it, my inner muscles pulsing wildly around him, milking him as I climax.
“That’s it. Fuck. Jesus. Jenna . . .” Emmett finally losing control is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. With jerky movements, he finally comes inside me with a groan.
After, he gently withdraws and lays down beside me, gathering me close. “Shit. That was . . .”
“Amazing,” I finish for him.
Spent, all I can do is lie there while I float back down from heaven. Our eyes meet and we share a sated smile.
The afterglow is always so wonderful . . . and so dangerous. In the past, I’ve been far too tempted to stay with him, to bask in comfort until I fall asleep and then wake up beside him. To breathe in his scent, to enjoy the feel of his firm, muscled chest under me, and this time, I can’t sneak away. Tonight, there’s no way to get out of sharing the same bed. Which isn’t great for my mental health, I decide.
“Um . . .” I clear my throat. “You want the shower first?”
He looks confused for a moment at the sudden change of subject, then shrugs. “You can have it.”
“No, it’s fine, you go. Just let me grab my toiletry bag.”
Emmett blinks at me and then rises from the bed.
While he showers, I brush my teeth at the open vanity and try not to think about him being naked and wet less than ten feet from me. Christ, this situation is so awkward. Or maybe he’s totally fine and it’s just awkward for me because my stupid heart won’t shut up. It’s talking a mile a minute with every beat it takes.
I like Emmett. I really, really like him. And that scares the shit out of me. That wasn’t part of the deal. I was supposed to only want his sperm—not him.
And the fact is, I’m getting way too close to him. I need to remember that this is only temporary and I absolutely can’t get attached. No matter how sexy and fun and dependable he is, or how nicely his family welcomed me today, or how lonely I was before we met, I can’t rely on a man like that. In thirty-five years, I’ve never been able to rely on anyone with a penis. It never works out.
Men are assholes. I need to repeat this to myself a few times for good measure.
Dammit . . . Emmett has been nothing short of perfect so far. Like that night I got my period, when I was so drunk and depressed. I didn’t even remember asking Emmett not to masturbate, but he took my words seriously anyway. And he always does—he pays attention to what I say and makes a point of listening, really listening, to me. The way he prioritizes me is so damn refreshing compared to how guys have treated me in the past. When he called me at work last week, I wasn’t just turned on, I was touched. He was thinking about me in the middle of his workday, and wanted only me.
I mean, I was incredibly turned on too. It was positively heady, having so much sexual power over such an attractive, confident man. A man who could have anyone, but chose me.
With that kind of man, there must be a way to work things out, right?
Stop it. You’re doing it again. Men always prove themselves untrustworthy in the end. They always leave you or turn out to be dirtbags . . . or both. At least Emmett was up front about his desires—to fuck and have fun and then wave a friendly good-bye once I’m pregnant. I can’t confuse this for something it’s not.
But, but, but . . . my heart insists.
Our time together has a set expiration date, and even though it will be hard, it’s also necessary. For a fleeting moment, the flash of a memory takes hold. I reflect on what my friends told me way back when, that love shows up when you aren’t looking for it anymore.
I spit into the sink. “Shut up,” I mutter out loud.
A large hand lands on my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. “You ready?”
“Huh?” I startle and whirl around. Emmett is standing behind me in his low-hanging pajama pants, bare-chested, his hair tousled and wet. Yum. Yes, I’m very ready.
“I said, I’m done. You can have the shower now,” he says.
“Oh. Right. Yes, showering.” I step toward the bathroom, then hesitate. “Emmett . . . last week, if you wanted relief so badly, why didn’t you just jerk off?”
He blinks like he doesn’t understand the question. “Because you asked me not to, and I said I wouldn’t. A promise is a promise.” He pauses, then smiles at me. “If I say I’m going to do something, I mean it. I want to be the kind of man you can rely on . . . you know, since getting you pregnant is a priority for both of us.”
My stomach squiggles all too pleasantly. He would put up with such a silly, frustrating demand just for me? “I see. Um . . . thank you,” I blurt and hurry into the shower.
I wash my hair for a long time, as if I can massage the chaos in my head into some kind of coherence, into a resolve to stick to the plan like I know I should. But everything keeps circling around. Like the water rushing down the drain, my thoughts are swirling, making me dizzy with uncertainty.
I emerge in my pajamas, toweling my hair dry, to find Emmett already done with his routine and in bed.
“You coming?” he asks.
“Yeah.” Almost cautiously, I climb in and slide under the covers beside him. He’s so warm and smells so good.
God, how many years has it been since I’ve shared a bed with a man? I’ve been sleeping alone for so long, it should feel foreign, but instead it feels so right. Like coming home. When I inhale the scent of his clean skin, it takes all the stress and worry out of my muscles.
Despite his relaxing presence, though, my anxieties still won’t leave me alone. After fifteen minutes of inspecting the wallpaper like there’s a magic problem-solving spell hidden in its pattern, I ask, “You asleep yet?”
Emmett’s voice in the darkness replies, “Nope.”
I turn on the bedside lamp and sit up. “I don’t know why I’m not tired yet.” We’ve had a long day—not to mention all the exercise we just got—but somehow I’m wide awake.
He lets out a long, resigned breath through his nose. “Well, me neither, so let’s do something.”
“We could . . . watch TV?” I frown. The idea sounds boring, even to me.
He rubs his chin for a minute. “Why don’t we play a game?”
“Like Monopoly or something?”
“No, I didn’t bring any board games. I meant a cheesy high-school game like Truth or Dare, or Never Have I Ever.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Or Spin the Bottle.”
My body is so sated from the orgasms he just gave me, I don’t think I can go again. “I think we’ve got make-outs cover
ed, thanks.” I pat him on the shoulder. “How does Never Have I Ever work?”
“You haven’t played it before?” His expression is a soft mixture of confusion and surprise.
I shrug. “I guess I wasn’t invited to those kinds of parties in high school.” Or anytime after that, actually.
“The way it works is someone starts with, ‘Never have I ever,’ and then they say something they’ve never done, and anyone who has done it has to do some kind of penalty action. You take turns going in a circle—or back and forth, since there’s only two of us—until somebody has lost three times, which ends the round.”
“Sounds pretty simple. So, what will we use for a penalty? I’m guessing it’s a drinking game?”
“There’s a minibar in here.” He points to it. “We can take a drink every time we lose.”
I nod. “All right, let’s do it.”
We gather a small pile of miniature liquor bottles and sit cross-legged on the bed, facing each other. “Flip a coin for first turn?” he asks.
I wave my hand. “Nah, you go first. You know the rules; you can show me how it works.”
“Okay.” He unscrews a tiny bottle of whiskey. “This one always gets at least a few people in the room. Never have I ever owned a dog or a cat.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” I take the proffered whiskey and swallow a mouthful, grimacing at the burn. “We had a big old mutt named Heidi. She was so gentle and friendly, Mom let her play with me even when I was hardly more than a toddler.” Then I look back up at him. “Wait, you said ‘dog or cat’ specifically, not ‘pet.’ Did you have something else?”
“Yeah. In principle, my parents approved of pets as a way for us to learn responsibility.”
That attitude seems awfully unsentimental, I can’t help thinking. Seeing pets as just teaching tools, not as loving companions? I keep the commentary to myself, though. Maybe we’re just different. Maybe Heidi wouldn’t have been so crucial to my childhood if I had more human family and friends.
“But Dad was allergic to cats,” Emmett continues, “and Mom didn’t want anything that made noise or messes, so no dogs or birds either. Aubrey got a turtle, Jake got a hamster, and I got tropical fish.”
