She nods and lets me guide her into my bedroom.
As I take my time slowly stripping her from her dressy work clothes, one thing strikes me. It’s Dottie’s wisdom from weeks ago—that nice girls don’t wear the kind of panties she’d found under my bed. I think Dottie would be pleased to know that Emery’s wearing white cotton, no-nonsense granny panties. And she’s still the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. If Dottie’s right about this, and she usually is, then Emery is a keeper. And viewing her as wife material doesn’t make me want to run. It makes me want to keep her all to myself. For always.
We fall into bed, my lips at her throat, her hands on my cock, my fingers inside her panties . . . and while our movements are hungry, nothing about this is rushed. We take our time exploring each other’s bodies, stroking, kissing, murmuring encouraging things about how good it all feels.
As I slowly enter her, her breathing hitches and her eyes never leave mine. “We fit together perfectly,” I say, kissing her parted lips.
“So perfect,” she cries, tilting her pelvis up to take me deeper.
Soon I can’t hold back, and I’m pounding into her body again and again while she makes little mewling cries of pleasure. And while I still wonder what’s next for us, I push those thoughts away and lose myself in the pleasure of her body, taking all she’s offering and giving all I have in return.
After we make love twice more, I go into the kitchen to make us a snack while Emery naps. If she’s serious about getting some studying done today—and I know she is—she’ll need some brain fuel. I start a pot of coffee and fry up a couple of eggs. When I peek back into the bedroom, I love the way she looks in my bed. Dark hair spread out over my pillow, her rounded hips draped with the sheet.
As I watch her while she sleeps, I can’t help the tender thoughts floating through my brain about how close I came to losing her . . . and how lucky I am that I didn’t.
Now I just have to do my best not to fuck this up.
Chapter Twenty
Emery
Surrounded by teetering stacks of class notes and thick textbooks splayed open on their spines, I sit cross-legged on the living room floor. I started studying on the dining table, then moved to the bed when I ran out of territory to spread out in. Then I shoved the coffee table outside on the balcony, tossed down a couch cushion, and turned the entire floor into my desk.
Now I’m curled up at the center of a paper-and-pillow nest. My back is killing me, my eyes feel gritty, my tongue tastes sour from too much coffee, and . . . my ass is vibrating?
I thought I left my phone on its charger, but when I dig in my shorts pocket, there it is. And I have a text from Hayden.
Hayden: You still up? Wanna make a taco run?
I pat my hollow stomach, trying to remember the last time I ate. Probably my dinner break at work. And it’s midnight now, which means . . . how many hours ago? My brain has no room left for basic math anymore. I’ve crammed it too full of legal definitions and case histories.
My groggy attempt at thought is interrupted by a second text.
Hayden: Or would you rather I taste your taco? ;)
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I snort in half amusement, half exasperation and text him back.
Emery: Seriously? Are you twelve years old?
Hayden: I hope not, or you might get arrested.
Emery: No taco eating allowed . . . the food kind or the other kind. I have to memorize all this shit and get at least four hours sleep.
I tried going to work on two hours yesterday. It didn’t end well.
Speaking of stuff I don’t have time for, I should stop texting Hayden. I stand up and barely catch myself before I stumble. Whoa . . . head rush. I must have gotten up too fast. I blink the blurriness out of my vision and stretch my stiff muscles. Then I pick my way through the minefield of paper and put my phone back on my nightstand where it belongs.
Just as I get settled again, someone knocks at the door. I groan and drag myself across the condo to look through the peephole. It’s Hayden, holding a brown paper box labeled Taco Farm: One Dozen Fresh under his arm.
Wow, that was quick. I glance at the clock. Wait, no . . . it’s been half an hour. I’ve just lost all ability to keep track of time. Terrific.
I open the door and sigh. “I said no tacos. That includes coming over, not just going out.”
“You have to eat sometime. I won’t hang around too long, I promise.” He looks over my shoulder into the condo. “Holy shit, what happened here? Did a library explode?”
“No, just my brain.”
He makes a sympathetic noise. “So are you going to let me in or what?”