Her laughter fades. Her face grows serious, and I can see the questions running through her eyes. I’m welcomed by one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen: Emma under me, her chestnut hair fanned out along the comforter, her brilliant eyes searching mine, and her pajama shirt is open at the top, a peek of the swell of her breasts as well.
Her breath starts to pick up as she waits for my next move, a move I’m entirely unsure of as well. The only thing I know right now is how good she feels in my arms, how mesmerizing she smells, a combo of honey and mint, and the way her legs are slowly rubbing together, as if she’s a cat purring in need.
The air around us becomes thick as I lean my head closer to hers, the tension in the room growing with each passing breath. Bodies pressed together, thoughts of every move I could make with Emma beneath me passes through my mind as I try to gain control of my raging emotions. I fucking want this woman. I want her for her innocence, for her purity, for her friendship, for her kind and caring hands. I want her for human contact, for healing, for the power to forget. The power to heal?
I want her for all the wrong reasons, and yet, I can’t help but think how right she feels.
When I lean closer, I start to run the tip of my nose up the column of her neck, taking in her scent, and loving the way I can feel her swallow hard. With nerves? Still, almost lifeless, Emma lies beneath me, not making a sound or move. Her breathing is slow yet erratic, waiting, just waiting to see what I’ll do next.
When my nose reaches her jaw, I move it toward her ear where my lips barely caress her lobe before I pull away. Her mouth is open, her skin starting to coat in a sheen of sweat. She’s so fucking edible, I want to take a bite. I want to nip up and down her body, taste her, see what it’s like to not just be friends with this woman, but to cross the line, to find out what it’s like to be inside her.
I move my nose to the other side of her face when her breath catches in her throat and she says, her voice shaking with each word, “Uh, if you find that my lymph nodes are swollen in your exploration, please let me know.” For some reason, her request doesn’t surprise me all too much.
Stopping my pursuit, I lift up just enough to see her eyes. “You want me to check your lymph nodes?”
She swallows hard. “Only if you’re into that kind of thing. I mean, not that you would really feel them since they’re only about half an inch across and you’re not a trained professional, but if it seems to be lumpy around there, just give me the old heads-up.”
“Uh, do you feel like they’re swollen?” She’s so fucking nervous, she’s shaking like a leaf beneath me, which explains the whole rambling conversation about the lymph nodes. Maybe I’ve read her wrong this entire time. The glances, the touches, the snuggling, maybe they were all just her way of being friendly.
“Not necessarily, but it’s always good to be aware of symptoms before they occur. Staying on top of things is how we stay healthy. You know, catch it before it happens.” She sighs and bites on her bottom lip.
Fuck, that’s sexy.
“Yeah, I get that.” This moment turned awkward and quickly.
Looking unsure, she pauses for a second and then asks, “Do you want me to check your lymph nodes?”
Not really, but at this moment, we need a smooth transition from the intimate moment we were just experiencing, to the awkward one we’re experiencing now. So, I shrug my shoulders and say, “Why not?”
Reluctantly, I stand from her body and sit down on my bed where I lean my back against the headboard and pat my lap. She eyes me, unsure if she should take the invitation or not.
“I don’t bite, babe. If you’re going to check out my lymph nodes then you should get a front-row seat, don’t you think?”
Christ. I’m flirting with her . . . about checking my lymph nodes. Has it really been that long since I’ve flirted? And should I really be flirting with Emma? Touching her, imagining her lips on mine, wondering what that damn seductive mouth of hers tastes like? She didn’t come to live with me so she can fuck one of her childhood friends; she came here so she had a place to live while she finished up her last year in college. And yet, I want to make it the best semester of her life and if that means I spend my nights deep inside her, making her call my name while that goddamn sweet face looks up at me, then so be it.
Emma shifts in front of me, still unsure until she finally looks in my eyes and says, “Well, if it’s for examination purposes, I don’t see the harm in it.” Carefully she climbs onto my lap, her legs parting and falling on either side of my thighs. She scoots up and settles directly on top of my dick.
Fuck me, control it, dude. Do not poke her with your dick. Yeah, it’s been so damn long, but stay down and don’t get excited.
“Okay, I’m going to touch your neck if that’s okay?”
“Sure, nurse. Feel me up.” I wink at her, unable to control myself.
Her fingers dance along my skin while she looks me in the eyes. “How come you’ve never grown a full beard? Like mountain-man style?”
“Not sure I could pull it off, plus those things are high-maintenance. Pretty sure you have to condition it. I barely want to take a five-minute shower these days, let alone stand under the water and let the conditioner in my beard soak in. No fucking thank you.”
“Might be worth it, you know.”
“Why do you say that?”
She continues to stroke my neck and I’m not sure if she’s just touching me to touch me or if she’s actually feeling for swollen nodes. Either way, her soft hands feel so fucking incredible. “Well, if you were interested in dating someone ever again,” she pauses and holds up her hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to break rule number six, but if you were into dating someone again, the dating pool is a tough one now.”
“Is that why you don’t have a boyfriend? Tough field out there?” Has Emma ever really had a boyfriend? I can’t imagine adorable little Emma not having a boyfriend. She’s a fucking catch for any lucky bastard.
She shrugs and drops her hands to my chest where she casually plays with my shirt. “No, just haven’t found anyone worthy enough of the position.” She sighs and continues, “But for you, if you grow a burly beard, your dating chances would grow exponentially.”
“Beards on high demand?” Is she part of some secret society for beards? Is that why she’s harping on it so much, or is she still in ramble mode?
“I’m not quite sure, but I do know about this dating website that is for women searching for bearded men. My friend Adalyn joined it a little while back. She didn’t mesh well with anyone but she did mention the hot, bearded guys being on high demand in that dating circuit. There are so many dating services now, it’s nice to be able to narrow it down to a few specific people, you know?”
“So that’s why I should grow a beard, to narrow down my dating circuit?”
She cutely nods. “The dating world is a scary one, the more help you can get, the better.”
“Is that right? You think I need help when it comes to dating? I thought I was, according to your words, the hometown heartbreaker. Doesn’t that give me any kind of fodder?”