The Crush (63)

Adaline



How stupid I’d been to resist.

The moment I saw him appear in his parents’ house, I should have dragged his ass into the nearest bedroom because we could have been doing this the entire time. We could have days of this blissed-out existence.

Emmett kissed me deeply, so very, very thoroughly, his body pressing mine back into the soft cushions. He gripped my thigh and wrenched my legs open so he could fit his body between them.

We were so good at this. At stoking this unspoken fire, knowing exactly how to move against the other person.

And he moved. So very well. He rolled his hips until I broke away from the hot swipe of his tongue with a ragged gasp.

Words choked to a stop in my throat because it was all I could do to breathe through the thick beating pulse of desire that drummed between my legs, in my belly, over my chest.

My whole body was thrumming, primed for him to send me over the edge with a single touch of his big hands and long fingers.

That hand tilted my face, a thumb pressed underneath my jaw to direct the kiss.

He tugged on my lower lip with his teeth, sucking at the spot when I whimpered.

“I have never wanted anything like I want you,” he growled into my neck.

I wanted it to be true. I wanted to believe it was true. Maybe, at this precise moment, it was. Emmett lifted, using one hand behind his head to tug his shirt off.

Endless golden skin, rippling lines of muscle banded over his chest and arms and stomach had me sighing happily. Sitting up so I could indulge, I slid my hands over his stomach, licking a line over his collarbone.

His body was so perfect, it was stupid.

When he started laughing, I knew I must have said it out loud while I explored the glorious expanse of skin laid out in front of me. The most dangerous part of indulging in this with Emmett was how easily it fed the addiction.

There was no such thing as just one kiss.

One kiss from him, and I’d want a thousand more. I’d want to know all the ways he could kiss me, all the places on my body I could feel the slide of his tongue and suck of his lips, the sharp edge of his teeth when he used those on me.

There was no such thing as just one touch.

One touch, and I’d always crave more. Always want to see the different ways he could touch me and drive me out of my mind.

And there was no such thing as just one night.

Before, I thought I could do it. But I was already trembling with impatience, ready to shred clothes and pull him on top of my body right there in the backyard, in plain view for anyone who might pass by.

His big hands dug into the back of my shorts, underneath the lace of my underwear, and he curled his fingers into my flesh, groaning into a deep, wet kiss. He tilted his head, devouring my mouth from another angle, sliding and sucking and tasting. My hands pushed up his chest until I could fist my fingers into his hair.

“Inside,” I gasped. “We can’t do this out here.”

Emmett closed his eyes, pushing his hand underneath my shirt until he palmed my breast. I dropped my head back and moaned. His thumb traced the tip, and my body shook.

“Someday,” he said, sucking at the skin by my jaw, “someday we’ll start where we can finish.”

Before I could say something—anything—about his casual mention of the future, Emmett pushed to his feet, left his shirt on the concrete, and whisked mine up over my head before I could form a full, cognizant thought.

His eyes traced hot over the basic black cotton bra underneath, and I set my hands on my hips while he stared. “You could’ve waited to take that off inside.”

He shook his head slowly. “No. I couldn’t.”

I took a step backward toward the house. He followed.

“Why not?”

I felt very much like I was being stalked by a lion. A great, big, hungry lion.

His eyes tracked over my face, my cleavage, my stomach. “Because for four months, I’ve thought about those.”

I tried to hide my smile. “These?” I asked, drawing a finger along the strap going over my shoulder. I tugged it down. Then the other. My hand disappeared behind my back, and he sucked in a breath.

“Yes,” he answered, a sharp growling answer.

There was a playfulness tonight, something we hadn’t had the first time at my parents’. That felt like stealing borrowed time, something we might never get again—a layer of delayed desire that wasn’t present between us now.

“I’ve thought about getting my hands on them again,” he said. “And my mouth. My tongue.”

I unhooked the bra and kept my slow, steady pace toward the slider. It loosened from my chest, and I took a quick glance out at the sound to make sure no boats were in front of their beach.

It was empty. Just us, and a great, vast expanse of the most beautiful view I’d ever seen.

The lake and mountains and shit were fine too, but Emmett put all that to shame.

He was absolutely breathtaking.

And tonight, he was mine.

I let the bra slide down my arms, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Look at you,” he whispered.

My back hit the slider, the cold glass pulling a shocked gasp from my lips.

He caged me in there, bending at the knee so he could pick me up with his arms underneath my ass. My legs split around his waist, and it reminded me so much of our first time together that I grinned.