Sweet, motherly Emma— the girl I knew in high school and at our parties—is not in the house tonight. When it’s just us, there is this electric energy about her. It floats between us. Masked is the girl who holds back the hair of her friends. Disguised is the girl who warns us about using coasters, or the selfless girl who’s busying herself cleaning up after others rather than enjoying the moment. Instead, I’m graced with this lively spirit who is sucking me into her little world of sassy imagination. I want to get lost and live on nothing but her smile, her jokes, and her incredibly beautiful charm.
When I pull the spoon from between her lips, I watch her mouth expertly work the ice cream around, and when she swallows, all I can think about is what it would be like to see that sinister mouth wrapped around my cock, taking everything I can give her.
Eyes trained on each other, Emma takes the spoon from me, scoops a ball of ice cream and brings it to my mouth. I don’t break eye contact with her; instead I stare into those pools of blue, and open wide, letting her slip the spoon into my mouth. I close around the utensil slowly and pull the ice cream off. Her eyes widen and then turn heady when I lift the spoon vertically and lick the metal. Her spare hand that isn’t holding the spoon with me floats down her neck, her fingertips grazing her long column until they get to her collarbone. Oh hell. That’s sexy. And she has no clue.
I follow her fingertips with my eyes, watching how they graze tenderly across her skin. I imagine my tongue following the same route. When she starts to plunge her fingers down toward the buttons of her top, the pit of my stomach rumbles to life with heat and my cock starts to strain at the zipper of my jeans.
Expertly one-handed, she undoes the top button of her shirt, and then the second and third. Before she goes on with the fourth, she parts the shirt ever so slightly so I can see the swell of her cleavage. Her hair floats like a fucking cloud over her shoulders, cascading down to where her shirt is open for me. How can I not imagine what she would look like with just her hair covering her breasts? The image in my head makes me even fucking harder.
Not feeling like ice cream any longer, I take the spoon, put it in the carton, and set them on the ground next to the sofa. When my hands are free, I immediately grip Emma’s waist and reposition her on my lap so she’s a little closer and so her pussy is lined up perfectly with my erection. When I settle her down, she gasps, her eyes widening and her breath uneasy.
I bite my bottom lip and look down at her, nodding at her shirt for her to continue. A small smile slides across her mouth as she starts to unbutton the rest, button by button, deliberately taking her time, which I can appreciate because this girl is worth taking time with.
When she reaches the bottom, she doesn’t open her shirt, instead she leaves it so I can only see two inches of her soft skin peeking through. She leans forward and the fabric dips with her as she places her hands on my stomach and slowly works them under my shirt. Her palms feel like fire against my skin, igniting me with a sexual awareness I haven’t felt in a very long time. As she moves her hands up my stomach, her fingers inspecting every contour of my abs, she brings my shirt up with her until her hands are on my pecs.
Our breaths are heavy with anticipation, of the sparks kindling between us, of the built-up tension that’s on the brink of detonation. My heart hammers rapidly under the palm of her hand as the air between us stills. Our souls connect in this moment. It’s as though we’re making a silent vow to one another that our friendship will never be the same, but what resides in our near future has the promise of parallel serendipity beyond anything we’ve ever experienced.
Chapter Seventeen
EMMA
I’ve realized two things: up until now I’ve never truly felt alive; I’ve never known the feeling of what it’s like to genuinely have an understanding of breathing, of the feeling of a human’s touch, of listening to the sound of a beating heart. But with Tucker, his eyes heavy with yearning for me, I can hear distinctly without question the beat of a human’s heart. I can feel the air I breathe pass through my lungs and pump through my veins, and the contact of skin against skin has never felt so real, so authentic, so utterly transparent. And secondly, what is about to transpire between Tucker and me will forever change me from the woman I am today. I know the minute he buries himself deep inside me, the familiar colors of this world will change, alter in a way that I will forever see differently. It’s inevitable with a man like Tucker Jameson.
And even though I’m scared of this change, of the transformation I’m about to embark on, I wouldn’t back down for anything. Not for my friend, not for the protection of my heart, and not for the shelter of the imprinted marrow that runs deep within my bones. Because for the life of me, I can’t say no to this beautiful man, to his damaged eyes, to the carved jaw that ticks with his emotions, or the heart that beats quickly under the palm of my hand.
I want him.
I hope he wants me.
I want him to alter my life.
Does he want me to alter his?
I want him to change the colors of my world into a kaleidoscope of tangible, prickly, all-consuming awareness.
I hope he wants to be a part of me and my life of color.
“Emma.” His voice is husky, on the verge of breaking.
“Take me upstairs, Tucker.” Please.
His hands quickly button up the button that rests between my breasts, and then in one swift movement, he scoops me into his arms and takes me upstairs, leaving our little dinner party behind without a second thought.
With each creak of the stairs leading to his bedroom, my heart rate picks up. I’m excited. I’ve never felt this need, this . . . rightness. What will he feel like inside me? Will he be tender? Will he be rough and demanding? Will he compare me to . . . her?
No, I can’t think about Sadie right now. I can’t begin to think about what they might have had together. As attracted adults learning more about each other, this is different. What is between Tucker and me is different and I’m going to revel in the disparity.
When he reaches his bed, he relies on the light in the stairway to cast the only brightness in the room, leaving the area dim. To me, it feels romantic.
He places me on the ground in front of him and takes a small step back. Eyes still trained on mine, he reaches over his head to his back where he grabs his shirt and quickly tugs it off. I watch in fascination as each and every one of his chest muscles flex in the process, leaving me panting for a redo.
I’ve never seen a more gorgeous man in my life. From the messy style of his hair, to the thick scruff on his perfectly defined jaw, to the powerful, corded muscles that twist and twine over his athletic chest, he weakens me at the knees. I’m dizzy with lust.
Still looking me in the eyes, he unbuckles his jeans but leaves them on. I glance down for a second to catch a small trail of trimmed hair that leads to the waistband of his black briefs. I want to lick a path down that trail to what he’s hiding beneath those dark wash jeans.