One More Taste (One and Only Texas #2)(44)

She wrapped a hand around his girth with a reverently whispered curse of approval and need. Then she met his gaze again, her expression pleading. “I’m on the pill. If that’s … if you…” Her eyes turned glassy again with unshed tears. “I need this. You.”

He searched her eyes, weighing her words. As if it would’ve made a difference if she’d been lying about the birth control. Their needs were too intense to be ignored, regardless of the cost.

Panting, he moved his hand between her legs again and slid her underwear out of the way. He parted her folds with a single finger and swirled his knuckle gently around her clit. She writhed against him, her head back and lips parted, lost in her pleasure. The slick heat of her body was intoxicating. He swayed with her, drunk on the feel of her flesh.

He considered himself a good lover, smooth and confident, with a practiced touch. Not today. Not with her. Every flex of muscle was a battle between logic and lust. The knowledge that he was violating so many boundary lines that, professionally, he may never recover was at war with the howl of his most primitive, atavistic instincts warning him that if he didn’t join with Emily right now, right here, then his inner self—his very soul—would perish.

Her body went rigid in his arms. She clutched the back of his neck to steady herself and rose, positioning herself over his cock. Her body was wet and ready for him, but still, he spit onto his hand, then stroked his erection.

She sank onto him with excruciating slowness. Her tight, silky flesh gripped him, drawing untold pleasure from him, setting his nerves on fire. Her hands gripped his neck and shoulder too hard, as he was probably gripping her hips too hard. But he couldn’t seem to get his limbs to ease up their hold. It was all too much. He gritted his teeth and surrendered himself to Emily, body and soul.

*

The moment Emily seated herself to the hilt, a harsh gasp vibrated up from her throat. Her soul shattered, as though her ribs had ripped open, exposing her beating, damaged heart to Knox. She’d never felt so raw or vulnerable. In the distance, muffled and far away, she heard him cry out, too. At the sound, at the realization that he felt it too, the profoundness and pain of it all, the tears crowding her eyes spilled over.

She turned her face away from him so he wouldn’t see, but he wasn’t having it. His hand took hold of her chin and forced her back to lock gazes with him. She complied, allowing him to see her tears, knowing now that hiding anything from him was useless. For better or worse, he was seeing all of her today.

Eyes fixed on each other, they moved together with jerky, harsh thrusts and arches, drugged by the pleasure and desperate for release. Their foreheads came together, contracting the universe down to the two of them. She clutched at his neck, as he was clutching hers. At least he didn’t try to kiss her; she couldn’t have borne it on top of everything else. When the first stirrings of her release started to gather pressure, she snaked a hand between their bodies to stroke her clit as they moved, pushing herself right over the edge of the cliff.

She came so hard that fresh tears burst from her eyes. She threw her head back in a silent, open-mouth cry as her body violently quivered. Knox tightened his hold on her and buried his head against her chest, his lips and nose pressed to her breastbone. When he found release a few heartbeats later, he nearly levitated them both off the chair. Beneath her thighs, she felt his quads tighten, his pectorals, his arms, his whole body. His warm breath fanned over her like a salve for her raw, aching heart.

The arm wrapped around her waist tightened to the verge of pain, but she didn’t try to loosen his grip. She knew what it meant to need to hold on to something so tightly that you risked crushing it. So rather than fight it, she wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in his hair, and, together, they quaked until both were wholly spent. Still, they remained locked together. Her quiet, persistent stream of tears slid over her cheeks and into his hair.

“Jesus, Emily. What have you done to me?” he whispered on a breath.

Done to him? What about what he had done to her? What he had done to the simple, straightforward fabric of her life? Every time she was near him, she felt like she was on fire, burning uncontrollably. Her brain, her heart, her body. She’d never been so inspired professionally, yet so completely out of control emotionally.

Downstairs, a door closed with a bang. Both Emily and Knox tensed and lifted their heads.

“You two still here? Hello?” Linda called.

Oh God. His mother was home. And Emily had slept with Knox. And nothing was ever going to be the same. And … oh God. What the fuck had she done?

Knox cleared his throat. “We’re upstairs. Be right down.” He voice was husky, drained. He sounded like Emily felt.

She swiped at the lingering tears in her eyes as she disentangled her body from Knox’s and stood. She walked to the window, righting her clothes as she moved, and stared out at the darkness. The lights were on in the house across the street. A black cat sat in the living room window. In the sky, the lights of a plane blinked as it crossed the horizon. So ordinary a night. From behind her came the sound of rustling clothes, the zip of a zipper, the clang of a belt buckle. The chair creaked as Knox stood.

There was no escaping the room without facing him, and when she did so, she wasn’t surprised to see his face curtained by a stoic mask, the same warrior’s mask she’d donned before turning around. They both needed the masks now, as much as they’d needed the intimacy only moments earlier because they’d both seen too many intimate details of the other—their hearts, their weaknesses, and their deepest needs.