He eases from me, both of us hissing at the loss.
His seed slips out, trailing down my inner thigh, and all I do is sigh.
There’s something satisfying about the sensation. He must agree, because when he steps back, I peek at him over my shoulder and find him staring at my leg.
He groans before reaching forward to drag two fingers over my inner thigh and up to my tender pussy.
I gasp at the feel, only to drop my forehead against the wall as he pushes his cum back inside me. He’s endlessly gentle, but I still feel the delicious sting.
“There. That’s better,” he mutters, voice brimming with possessiveness as he slowly removes my dress.
Then, without another word, he scoops me into his arms like I’m weightless and carries me across the cottage to his shower. He puts me down and turns on the spray, gripping me against his bare chest. After he tests the water temperature obsessively, he grunts his approval and steps inside, lifting me with him and squeezing me firmly.
I don’t protest and curl into him, my cheek resting on his bare chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear.
For a while, we stand in silence, steam rising around us as we bask in the feeling of skin on skin.
Then he speaks.
“You’ve got me in knots, you know that?” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “You show up on my farm with that mouth, that attitude, like you’ve got everything figured out. And then you look at me like you see me—and you like what you see. Even when I’m at my worst, acting like an asshole, doing this stupid show, dragging you down with me. None of it makes sense.”
I lift my head to look at him. He’s staring into the spray, jaw tense, like the words cost him something.
A specific L-word is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t want to scare him. Not when he’s already shaken by the depth of whatever we’re building here.
“I do like what I see,” I say quietly, dragging my lips across the water droplets dotting his chest. “You’re worth it, Emmett.”
His eyes cut to mine, incredulity shining in them. It makes me wonder if anyone has told him he’s worth fighting for.
“I told you, I’m not scared of you. I’m not scared of this.” I tap a finger on his chest.
“You should be.”
I shake my head. “No, Emmett. You’re the only person here who doesn’t realize there’s nothing to fear.”
His breath catches.
But he doesn’t deny it.
He just pulls me tighter against him, like maybe, just maybe, he’s not ready to say the truth out loud—but he doesn’t want to be alone with it anymore either.
So I let him hold me.
Then I let him fuck me again.
And again.
And again.
CHAPTER 37
Emmett
I OPEN MY EYES to Julia pressed against me, and I decide that it’s my favorite way to wake up.
Her head on my chest, her arm slung over my ribs, and her legs tangled with mine. Merged against each other as warm summer light filters through the slatted blinds in harsh lines.
She’s warm and tan. The lines from her tank top straps crest over her shoulder and leave the perfect swooping line on the tops of her breasts. Her hair is curly and loose—just the way I like it.
Visions of last night hit me in flashes. Her bent over, her spine stretched before me. Her riding me, breasts bouncing, lips plush and full after sucking my cock like her life depended on it.
I feel like a teenager again. Like everything we’ve done together is a first.
It is in a way, seeing as how I’ve never felt like this before.
I stroke her hair, reveling in knowing that it’s Sunday, which means we have nowhere to be—no faking it for the cameras. Just this. Soaking her up. The feel of her chest pressing against my side as she inhales. Her breath fanning across my chest as she exhales. Her heart beating sure and even.
It thuds in time with my own, and I reach for her wrist, pressing my fingers against her pulse point. I can’t explain why, other than there’s something about feeling how alive she is that grounds me.
It tells me this is real and that she’s actually here.
“You having second thoughts?” she mumbles, catching me checking her pulse like a total weirdo. “Wishing I were dead so that you wouldn’t have to deal with the morning after?”
I chuckle and pull her tighter. “I’m just… I don’t know. Making sure you’re real?”
The apple of her cheek pops as she smiles against me. “I am real, and I am alive even though I’m pretty sure you tried to fuck me to death last night.”
“Jules, babe, you kept saying faster. All I was trying to do was keep you happy. Live up to the reputation. Keep the dream alive.”
She snorts a laugh, kissing my chest as I drag her so that she’s laid out right on top of me.
“Ah, yes, the man, the myth, the legend. He’ll fuck you so hard you’ll need your pulse checked.”
“You’ve got quite a mouth on you. Lying here acting like you weren’t the one begging for it last night.”
She shrugs. “It was okay.”
I nip at her neck playfully. “Keep running that mouth and I’ll find something better for you to do with it.”
She laughs, body rumbling against mine. “Unless you’re putting food in my mouth, I’m not interested.”
I trail a hand up her side, smiling at the ceiling. Mostly marveling at how someone like me ended up here with someone like her.
So fucking lucky.
When my fingers hit her ribs, she jolts, letting out a light, sleepy giggle. And I don’t know what comes over me, but I do it again.
“Emmett,” she squeals, trying to grab my hand.
But I can’t help myself. I’m happy. She’s got me feeling less serious than usual.
I tickle her again, eliciting another squeal as she writhes and tries to get off me.
“Emmett Brandt, you watch your fucking hands!”
“Oh, I’ll watch them all right. Watch them go right here.” I flip us, leaning over her and going straight for her armpits.
She laughs. She gasps. I watch the tip of her nose wiggle. A dimple pops on her cheek as I tickle her. Her breathless giggles turn to hysterical cackles.
On one hand, we’re both acting like children. On the other, this is perfect.
She’s fucking beautiful. Laughing in my bed with nowhere to go.
“Emmett, Emmett, Emmett!” She twists around, fighting me off—but not really. It’s almost as though she’s reveling in the feeling. The bliss, the attention, the thrill. And I am too. When I finally see a tear streak from the corner of her eye, I stop and kiss it away before withdrawing.
“How is that? Is it better being tickled to death than fucked to death?”
“No.” She laughs the word. “Being fucked to death is officially one of my favorite things to do now. In fact, I’d like to do it again, but I need to eat.”
It’s Sunday morning, which means I know exactly what to do with her. I push up out of bed before lifting her over my shoulder in a farmer carry that sets her back to squealing.
Then I land a firm slap on her ass and walk us both to the bathroom. “Can’t have my girl going hungry,” I murmur, nipping at her neck again as I back her into the shower. “Let’s wash you up before I take you to the farmhouse for a chaotic Brandt family breakfast.”