Stepbrother Billionaire(27)
My heart feels like its going to beat out of my chest as he lifts his hips and I pull down his jeans and boxers, unleashing his throbbing dick. It’s beautiful, I’ve never seen one up close before, and his is absolutely amazing. I grab it reverently, without thinking, and lower my mouth onto him, taking as much of Emerson into my throat as possible…
Chapter Eight
When the early morning light draws me back up from the depths of slumber, I’m surprised to find that the bed beside me is empty. I roll onto my side, peering around the hotel room for my missing companion. Even after one night, the feel of waking up without him doesn’t suit me. I’m just about to roll out of bed and go searching for him when the motel room door eases open. Emerson appears on the threshold, carrying two cups of takeout coffee and a paper bag. He sees me sitting up in bed and freezes.
“Shit,” he mutters.
“Good morning to you too,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“No, it’s just...I was going to surprise you,” he says, closing the door behind him. “Here—just pretend to be asleep.”
“Emerson...” I moan.
“Come on,” he pleads, turning his back to dump the contents of the bag onto the dresser. “For me. Please.”
I flop back onto the bed and pull the covers over my head as Emerson futzes with something across the room. I hear the click of a lighter, the crinkling of the bag, and finally Emerson saying, “OK. Open your eyes.”
Pulling the covers down ever-so-slightly, I feel my heart melt into a puddle of goo in my chest. Emerson is walking toward me with a little makeshift breakfast in bed. There’s my coffee, some creamers, and a blueberry muffin with a couple candles in the shape of a 1 and 8. He places the tray in my lap with great ceremony, humming the Happy Birthday song.
“Go on. Make a wish before it gets all waxy,” he instructs me.
I glance up at him, wondering what on earth else I can wish for now that he’s barreled into my life.
I wish that this all works out...I think to myself. Somehow. I blow out the candles, and Emerson sits down next to me on the bed, his own coffee and muffin hand.
“What did you wish for?” he asks.
“I’ll tell you...if it ever comes true,” I smile.
“Fair enough,” he says. “Happy birthday, Abby.”
“Thank you,” I say, peeling the wrapper off my muffin. “Adulthood is off to a pretty great start, don’t you think?”
The day only gets better from there. After I treat myself to a long, hot bath and get dressed for the afternoon, Emerson and I head down to the beach for a long walk. We take our time, talking all the while about our pasts, our ideas, our notions about the future. Emerson’s planning on going to college, eventually. But probably not this year. I’ll be starting school in the fall, of course, but we don’t talk too much about that part—the never-seeing-each-other again part. Maybe we can find some way around the distance, if this whole thing doesn’t go up in flames. But we’ll be step-siblings tomorrow, so maybe it will be better to stay away after all.
We don’t talk about that too much, either.
There’s a little town center with shops and cafes down the shore a little ways, and Emerson lets me take my time window shopping. I’m not much for designers or labels, but I love vintage and handmade things. There’s one store in particular that I go nuts for—a local artist’s shop that’s chock full of gorgeous, eclectic jewelry and handicrafts. I fall in love with one piece especially—a slender silver ring the bears a single pearl. It’s so elegant, so simple...and unfortunately out of my price range. But still, a girl can dream.
We spend the day wandering around the sleepy beach town, grabbing ice cream and coffee later on, sitting on the sand together, daring to dunk our toes in the still-icy water. I field a few texts from Riley, who claims “I told you so” right when I let her in on the real nature of my and Emerson’s beach escape.
“Remember protection,” she texts me, “And call IMMEDIATELY AFTER THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”
“I promise to call you the second I get off,” I reply, “Maybe even during, if you’re lucky.”
“Do not play with my emotions, lady,” Riley warns me.
Though I’m more than excited for the night to finally arrive, I do feel a slight nervousness starting to trip me up. I haven’t really been with a guy since what happened with Tucker all those years ago. Even though my memories of that night with him are hazy, I start to worry about flashbacks, or even just bad vibes. Obviously, Emerson is nothing like Tucker, and tonight will be nothing like the night of my assault. But still, I can’t help but be a tiny bit anxious.
Tonight’s dinner is even more delectable than the last. Emerson takes me to a little Italian place in town with the best pesto I’ve tasted...maybe ever. After we’ve polished off the last bites of birthday tiramisu, it’s time at last to head back to our room. As if sensing the hush of anticipation, Emerson cranks up the tunes on the way to the motel. The Postal Service serenades us all the way back, and I hurry to throw on some Iron and Wine from my laptop the second we’re back in the room. Awkward silences aren’t so terrible when Sam Beam croons over them, it turns out. Emerson and I both shuck off our outer layers, and he moves to open up a second bottle of champagne.