Accidental Tryst (Charleston #1)(50)

"Slippery. Warm."

"God, Emmy." I can't stop my hand, it's stroking up and down, squeezing, desperate. I imagine it's her warm wet body sliding up and down my cock. That I'm already inside her. I squeeze harder. "Slip a finger inside, Emmy." I can barely form the words.

"I am."

"Two. Make it two, three if you can, I want you to really feel me."

"Trystan," she moans. "Oh . . . my . . . Oh my God." Her whispers are frantic. She sounds shocked.

Jesus, what I wouldn't give to see her face right now. To feel her body spasm. See her lose it. I want to know if her skin turns pink, if she squeezes her eyes closed, if she arches her back.

She's gasping, panting, and I know she's almost there. I can almost feel it. My fist pumps harder, tighter, faster.

"That's it, Emmy. Are you fucking yourself, Emmy?"

"Y-Yes."

"Feel my cock sliding in and out of your sweet wet pussy while you rub your clit. Hard. God, you're beautiful. I want to feel you come, Emmy."

I'm on the edge, it's building, taking over. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it's outside my body. "I'm going to come, Emmy." My words are grunts. I don't know how I'm coherent. If I'm coherent. "I'm so close. I'm going to imagine pumping into your sweet body, and I'm going to come so deep inside you, Emmy."

"Oh, God. Oh my God." Her breathing is erratic, desperate, picking up speed. "I'm coming, Trystan. Oh my God. Oh, oh, oh . . ." her voice fails and a long low moan takes over. It's endless. And oh my shit, if it's not the sexiest fucking thing I have ever heard.

I lose it then. My body goes rigid, I kick the comforter off my belly, and throw my head back into her pillow, the smell of her surrounds me as everything builds and rushes south and I come so damn hard, erupting into my own hand and across my stomach.





24





Trystan





The silent darkness finally creeps back as my breathing slows.

"Emmy? You still there?"

"Yes." Her voice is tiny.

"Don't hang up." I say it out of instinct. I don't know how I know she's probably lying there, her hand covering her eyes, mortified.

"Okay," she squeaks.

"Just breathe," I tell her. I sit up and by feel, grab a dirty T-shirt from my suitcase at the end of the bed and clean myself off. "That was amazing. You're amazing."

"I cannot believe we just did that. I've never—"

"Me neither." I climb back in bed.

She exhales. "You've never had phone sex?"

"Never."

"I'm embarrassed, Trystan."

"Why? Didn't it feel good?"

"God, yes. It felt good. Too good. I just feel . . ." she trails off not finishing her thought, and I worry she's going to say dirty or something.

"There's no such thing as 'too good.' Emmy, it was beautiful. You're incredible. I will replay the sounds you made in my head probably for the rest of my life."

"Oh, God," she moans and lets out an embarrassed laugh. "And you, Mr. Montgomery, are a really dirty, dirty talker."

I chuckle. "I can hardly remember the things that came out of my mouth, Emmy. I was in flow state. But I think, though I can't be sure," I say in a dry tone, "I think you liked my dirty, dirty talking."

"Oh, God, I'm mortified." Her voice is muffled like she's covering her face, but I still hear laughter. Thank God.

"Be honest, Emmy," I warn.

"Yes, I did."

"Did what?"

"I liked your dirty, dirty talking."

"That's my girl. Now, do you need to go to the bathroom or anything, coz I'd really love to fall asleep talking to you."

I roll over and lay her phone on the bedside table. And we do just that.

The last thing I remember is Emmy asking, "What makes you cry, Trystan?"

"All your unread emails," I mumble as my eyes close.



* * *



I text Emmy as soon as I wake up. It's Friday. I'm supposed to do tours of an apartment building and a student housing project at some point today, but I'm waiting on the details from Robert. After my initial frosty reception from him, he seems to at least be going through the motions of helping me get my bearings about everything to do with Montgomery Homes & Facilities. I change into shorts and a T-shirt and check my email on my laptop, then I pull up a map of Charleston on Emmy's phone, pop my earbuds in, and pick a playlist entitled, "If I ever decide to start jogging." I smirk because it's so her.

I head out and follow the map of downtown, jogging to East Bay Street. Turning left would take me out toward the docks and warehouses, turning right will take me toward the Battery and the water. I turn right as I listen to Sia telling me she's the greatest and how much stamina she has. I push on, dodging a few early tourists, passing carriages, hopping over horse shit, and checking out the architecture. By the time I'm on East Battery, I catch sight of the morning sun sparkling silver across the water in the big soup bowl where the wide Ashley and Cooper Rivers merge before they join the Atlantic Ocean. I'm in stride, working hard. Sweat is a second skin and I'm humming along with U + Ur Hand by P!nk. I head along the waterfront sidewalk then cut right to pass under the majestic live oaks to a bench I spot. This town—I can't quite call it a city yet—has a great energy. I like it.