I want to pull her skirt up to her waist, rip her panties off and look my fill. And then I want to drop to my knees and bury my face right between her thighs, want to fuck my tongue deep inside of her. At that moment, I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything except to keep Heather alive.
The need to taste her is a razor scraping away at my insides, the need to watch and listen to her fall apart even more so.
But her hand is on mine as I tug up her skirt, as I start to pull on her panties, her fingers tangling around mine and stilling them even as her body arches toward mine.
“We shouldn’t,” she whispers, her lips soft and silky as they move against mine.
“We should,” I counter, taking my time with the kiss before skimming my mouth down the slender column of her throat and over the top of her chest to press hot, open-mouthed kisses against the nipples I could feel pebbling beneath the thin fabric of her blouse. “I’ll make you feel so good.”
She moans then, arches against me as my lips close around her right nipple and I start to suck. “We have another appointment in fifteen minutes,” she finally manages to choke out. “We need to get going.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” I whisper against her breast, “until you come.”
“The other houses—” She breaks off as I nip at her, her hands tangling in my hair to hold me in place as she arches her back and thrusts her fabric-covered nipple more firmly into my mouth.
“We’ll get there,” I promise as I bite gently down on her nipple. She gasps and I do it again, relishing the soft broken sounds she’s making. “After.”
“But you need a house. I found—” Her protests are broken, her body hot as she arches against me. That, combined with her hands—which are clutching at me like a lifeline—are all it takes to convince me she wants me as badly as I want her.
“I need you,” I say, pressing my advantage as I drop to my knees in front of her. “Please, Emerson. I need…” I break off, clamping my jaw shut on the words that are swimming around in my head, just waiting to tumble out. I can’t say them now, can’t say them ever. Not when touching her has already cracked me open, already lowered my defenses. Not when she’s already made me feel more vulnerable than I’ve allowed myself to be since Heather got sick.
Maybe even longer.
Fuck, maybe even forever.
I close my eyes as the thought washes through me, tilting my face down so Emerson can’t see my eyes. So she can’t see all the emotions roiling around inside of me.
She isn’t having it, though, her hands tangling in my hair and tugging, hard, until I have no choice but to once again look straight up into her beautiful blue eyes.
Our gazes collide and hers is so fierce, so determined, that I try to lock myself down. Try to keep my face blank and my eyes veiled. Try to cover up all the shit I’m feeling so she won’t see what a mess I am. Or how much this one stolen moment out of time means to me.
But as she gazes down at me, as her eyes grow shadowed with a care I can barely let myself acknowledge, I know it isn’t working. And for a moment I think about getting up, about walking away from her and everything she brings out inside of me.
Too much emotion. Too much pain. Too much everything that I’ve shoved down for months. Because it’s easier to do that than to feel. Easier to do that than to worry about my own shit when I have Heather’s, Lucy’s and Brent’s to worry about.
I wait for her to turn me away. God knows, I deserve it. She needs a lover, not a man haunted by the myriad things he can’t change, and it’s not fair to expect it of her. Not fair for me to fall apart the moment she gives in to my need for her.
I start to apologize, start to tell her to forget the whole thing. But then she’s stroking a hand over my cheek, her thumb rubbing back and forth across my lower lip, each swipe a little harder than the last. A little more insistent. A little hotter.
I part my lips even as I tell myself to let her go, nipping at the fleshy part of her thumb before sucking it deep inside my mouth.
She gasps at the brief shock of pain, shivers as the heat of it works its way through her. But she never looks away. Never takes her eyes off of mine.
And it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Watching her pupils dilate with arousal, watching those summer sky eyes of hers turn to darkest midnight, is the last goddamn straw. It breaks my control even as it breaks the dam inside of me wide open. I turn wild, ravenous, until all I can think about is tasting her. Having her. Fucking her.
And then I’m shoving her skirt up to her waist and ripping her black lace panties off with one desperate yank. I toss them to the ground by her feet as I bury my face in her sex. And then I just breathe her in for several long, perfect seconds.
She cries out, a loud, desperate sound that slams into me like a goddamn freight train.
That makes me want nothing more than to hear it again and again and again.
That makes me want to say to hell with house hunting and spend the rest of the afternoon doing nothing but getting her off any and every way she’ll let me. Starting with her pussy against my mouth. On my tongue.
I dart my tongue out, slide it along her slit as I savor the dark, honeyed warmth of her. She gasps, her fingers clutching at my hair, my shoulders, the back of my neck. I relish the tugs, the little pricks of pain as I circle her clit until her breath breaks and her knees tremble. They fucking tremble and she falls into me, holding on like I’m the only thing keeping her grounded.
I grab on to her then, try to hold her close, to steady her even as I spike my tongue and take her over. She cries out, arches against me, and I hold her tight. Work her through it. And then start to take her up all over again.