The After of Us (Judge Me Not #4)(52)

“Maybe, but I was wrong to tell Lily about it in the first place,” Will counters. “I should’ve known she’d want to go to any place I tell her about.”

“Still, I wasn’t thinking, Will.”

“Hey.” He lifts my chin so I can meet his gaze. Damn, his eyes are so green today. I can’t help but lose myself in their depths, till he prompts, “Emma?”

“Yes.” I shake my head, and Will’s hand moves with me. He doesn’t let go, and there’s something in that, something that says I’m here and I’m sorry.

Sighing, Will says quietly, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the interview. That was another shit move. I just didn’t…” He pauses, reflects. “I guess I was afraid you’d talk me out of it. I know you don’t want me to leave.”

“I thought it was settled that you were staying?” I croak out.

“I thought so, too,” he replies.

“So, what happened?”

“I don’t know. I heard from the recruiter, and he made it sound like this would be my last chance, like, ever.”

Softly, I say, “I really want to support anything you choose to do, but I have to be honest. I don’t want you to go. It’s not just you I’d be losing; it’s your daughter, too. And I love Lily a lot, Will.”

“I know, babe, I know.” He releases my chin and presses his lips to my forehead. “We both love you, too.”

“I’d never stop you from doing what you need to do,” I continue, “for yourself, and for Lily.”

Peering down at me, he says, “It was still shitty of me to take off and not let you know what was happening.”

I tap his chest, the cotton of his light green tee so soft over his hard pecs. “What happens next, then?”

He shrugs. “Well, I spoke with the recruiter on the way over. The company knows I had a family emergency. And it looks like they’ll be rescheduling my meeting for this week sometime.”

“So, if you get this job, does that mean you’d have to leave before Lily even starts school?”

Closing his eyes, he whispers, “I’m sorry, Emma, but yeah, probably.”

“What about us?” I squeak out.

Will opens his eyes and watches his own hand as he skims it down my cheek. “I love you. I don’t want this to end. I can tell you that much.”

I wait for more. It seems he wants to ask more, too. I want nothing more than for Will to ask me to move to New York with him. But, in the end, he doesn’t say anything else.

Swallowing my disappointment, I say, “So, we’d try the long-distance thing?”

“If you think you’re up for it, yeah.”

It’s not what I want, but at this point, I’ll take whatever Will is willing to give. If that makes me desperate, so be it. Love makes all of us desperate in one way or another. It’s an unavoidable consequence of placing your fragile heart in another’s hands.

“I’m up for trying,” I say to Will as I put on a happy face.

And then, for this one long, drawn-out minute I consider whether I should tell him about the agent who asked to see his work. But then, if I fess up to my act, I’ll also have to confess that I sent his work without his consent. What if he gets mad? Or, worse yet, what if he doesn’t mind at all? What if Will is actually glad I took the initiative?

That all sounds wonderful, until you factor in that the agent’s response could very well be a firm rejection letter. Talk about pumping up someone’s hopes, just to crush them all to hell.

So, no. In the end, I decide to keep my mouth shut and my secret safe.

Will tilts back my head, and asks, “What’s going on in there, Emma?”

His hands in my hair feel possessive, in a way I like. His eyes search mine, searing my soul. I let out a gasp that probably gives me away. But I don’t care. Truth is I am putty in Will’s hands. I like that he makes me feel this way, so vulnerable. There’s something about him that makes me yearn to submit to him. Problem is I know I’ll crack and tell him what I’m hiding if I don’t submit to him right now in some way.

Giving in to a feeling of lust that’s bubbling to the surface, I lick my lips and say, “Will, I want you so much right now. I need you.”

He knows what I’m intimating, and his hold on me tightens. His gaze scans down my body, like he’s just realizing how little I have on. I guess, in some ways, Will is putty in my hands, as well.

His eyes find mine, silently requesting permission as he takes hold of the sash that’s keeping my robe closed.

“Yes,” I tell him.

With one smooth move, he tugs at the sash and it falls away, making my robe gape open. Will takes in my naked body. And then, showing vulnerability of his own, he drops to his knees and rests his cheek against my bare tummy, his warm breaths a teasing caress. His fingers trail up the inside of my thigh, until he reaches where I want him so badly. When I whimper, he gives me more, tracing the building moisture along my slit.

“I need to taste you right now,” he rasps.

Knees trembling, I have no adequate reply. And Will doesn’t need one. Urging me to widen my stance, he kisses down my abdomen till his tongue touches my swollen clit. It’s just a brush at first, but more than enough to make me grow wetter and crave more.