I reach for him, surrendering to instinct. His breath fans across my chest as I pinch the hem of his sopping shirt. Tentatively, I peel it back, lifting the cold, wet cotton while letting one hand slide over the hot, taut skin beneath.
He sighs beneath my hand, his muscles softening in relief. His head drops in my direction as I lift the fabric higher, tugging it free and over his muscled arms.
I take in every beautiful inch of him, licking my lips to keep my mouth from going dry at the sight.
He kicks his shoes off, which only serves to urge me forward. My fingers find his belt, the buckle jangling as I undo it and let it fall to the side. Then it’s buttons. A waistband. A tug.
I fall to my knees before him, peering up at his face. Strong brows, square jaw, baby blues full of longing.
My next tug is more desperate as I work against the wet denim. His control frays, and he pulls me back to standing, eyes burning with need.
“Lose the shirt,” he demands softly. And who am I to refuse him?
He steps out of his jeans as I reach down to grip the hem of my oversize sleeping shirt. In one smooth motion, I lift it and let it fall to the floor beside me.
Then I stand before the most beautiful man I’ve ever known, wearing only a pair of purple booty shorts and the truth of how badly I need him written all over my body. Goose bumps spray over my arms, my nipples stand pert and sensitive, and an inescapable ache curls low in my pelvis.
His gaze devours me, greedily roaming every inch of my body. My heart pounds, not from fear, but from something raw and honest I’ve never let myself feel before.
Finally, our eyes meet. And we’re back to staring. Like we always are.
He leans in slowly, and when our lips meet, it’s a promise. It’s a question and an answer all at once.
I pull him closer, craving the warmth and safety his touch brings. As he slides his hands down my back, every nerve ending sizzles and ignites, a sensation I can honestly say I’ve only ever felt with Emmett. Like every part of my body melts just for him.
He towers over me. Grips me. Consumes me. He drives me backward through the space, a man with purpose, and we both know where this is heading.
I kiss him as I move, letting him guide me toward my bedroom with his body.
We clear the doorway, and the backs of my legs hit the mattress. The jolt of awareness has us both drawing back, taking stock of our surroundings. My queen-size mattress on a suede platform frame, simple bedside tables. One glowing floor lamp in the corner, shedding a dim, yellow light through the space.
“Do you want me to leave, Julia?” There’s a fragility to his voice. He is genuinely worried I might turn him away. That I might not want him.
Even now.
“No. I want you to stay.”
He steps in closer, his hands finding my face, gentle and sure, thumbs tracing the curve of my cheek as if grounding us both. “Are you sure?” he asks, voice barely more than a whisper.
I nod, my words stuck somewhere beneath the swell of everything inside me. This isn’t just want—it’s trust. It’s hope. It’s the quiet surrender to someone who’s become my anchor.
I swallow hard, the weight of this moment folding into every inch of my skin. I want this. I need this. More than anything, I want him.
And I want him to know it.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I breathe, my voice barely steady but filled with all the certainty I can muster.
He leans in—slow and deliberate—and the heat of his lips against mine is like the first spark that sets a wildfire racing.
Our mouths meet in a soft, urgent kiss, filled with the promise of everything we’re about to give and take. My fingers thread through his thick hair, tangling in the soaked strands, pulling him closer. Desperate to feel his skin against my own. Like he’s the air I need to breathe.
Suddenly, I’m frantic. I want more. I reach into his underwear to grip him, sighing at the feel of his firmness. The silky skin. The heavy weight.
“Fuck,” he hisses before making quick work of his boxers.
His cock springs free, and I lick my lips, stepping back to look my fill. It’s thick, steely, and throbbing in my hand.
I take us in, panting, tongue darting out to wet my lips. The air around us hums. I swear I can feel his muscular body go taut like he’s ready to pounce the longer I stare.
And then he does. He reaches up, fingers tangling in my hair and tugging gently to draw my mouth upward for his taking.
The blunt head of his length presses at my hip, but he ignores it as he studies my face. His hands trail down my back, tracing the curve of my spine, fingertips skimming over bare skin with a touch that sends shivers racing down my arms.
He’s gentle, careful, as if he’s learning my body with every brush of his palm. Memorizing every curve. Cataloging every reaction.
I press closer, feeling the hard heat of his chest against mine, the solid strength of him beneath my fingertips. His breath is warm and uneven, lips brushing my ear as he whispers, “Tell me if I’m moving too fast.”
But I don’t answer with words. Instead, I tilt my chin up and kiss him again. Deeper this time, hunger mixing with tenderness, a delicate dance between restraint and reckless abandon.
His hands roam lower, slipping around my waist and ridding me of my underwear until we both stand before each other without a single shield up.
His eyes race over me, drinking me in before pulling me flush against his body.
I can feel every muscle, every heartbeat. The ache between my legs coils tighter, a delicious tension that makes my breath hitch and my fingers clutch at his broad shoulders.
He slides his hand down my stomach and between my legs. I know I’m warm and slick already, but the sudden electric contact takes my breath away. The lamp’s dim glow slices across his face, highlighting the way his eyes darken with desire—the same desire, the same need that’s been simmering between us for weeks.
“I want you,” he confesses, voice raw and low. “All of you. Every last inch. Any little bit of attention you’ll give me. I want it all.”
He’s careful, never rushing, always asking with his eyes if I’m okay, if I want more. And I do. I want all of this, all of him.
I’m frantic with need, and I push him down onto my bed, so that he’s laid out in front of me.
He’s wide-eyed, following my lead for the moment. His throat bobs as I run my palms up over his chest, coming to straddle him.
There’s nothing between us, nothing holding us back. His rock-hard, impressive length presses against my pussy. It feels decadent.
I rotate my hips, sliding myself on him, soaking him. Sighing contentedly as I finally feel his skin, hot and throbbing against mine.
Emmett’s hands wrap around my waist in a feeble attempt to slow me down as he groans his pleasure into the quiet room. His gaze trails over my body, appreciation shimmering in the shades of blue.
There’s awe there too. Penetrating lust. Fervent hunger.
“I thought I wanted to take it slow,” I murmur down to him, teeth strumming over my bottom lip. “But we can do slow later. I don’t think I can wait.”
He stares at my pussy, my lips gliding up and down over his length as I grind myself on him. “I don’t have a condom.”
I push up on my knees, hovering over his lap, feeling the head of his cock bobbing against my inner thigh before I reach down and fit his thick, smooth head at my entrance. “Do I have anything to be worried about?” I ask, squeezing his cock hard enough to make him hiss.
“Haven’t been with anyone in months. And I’ve been tested since.”