Something to Talk About(92)

“I want to—”

“I know,” Jo said, undoing Emma’s pants and pulling them down her legs. “You’ll get to.”

Emma’s bra and underwear were a matching set, the sexiest she owned. Jo’s fingers played with the lace at Emma’s waist. Those potential meteors outside? It was clear they would never distract Jo, either.

“It’s my turn first,” Jo said.

This time, it was intentional when Emma said, “Yes, boss.”

Lightning flashed through Jo’s eyes. Emma tucked that knowledge away for later use.

Later use. Because she would get to do this again and again. It barely felt real that she got to do this now; it was unbelievable that sometime later she’d get the chance to use the fact that Jo liked being called boss in bed.

Jo rid Emma of the last of her clothes with alarming efficiency. One moment she was standing beside the bed tracing the lace patterns of Emma’s underwear, and the next there was a pillow under Emma’s head somehow. Jo had gotten her naked and maneuvered her more fully onto the bed. She slid a smooth leg between hers.

Emma tried to focus, tried to remember everything. She could barely think, but she didn’t want to miss anything. Jo kissed her deep and hard, and Emma tried to memorize the wet muscle of Jo’s tongue.

She had plenty of time for memorizing, because Jo just kept kissing her. Which was good. It was really fucking good. It was just—well, when Jo said it was her turn, kissing wasn’t exactly what Emma thought she meant.

Emma’s hands were on Jo’s hips, so it really didn’t take much work to slip one around and grab her ass. Jo broke their kiss with a huff of breath and pulled away a bit to look down at her.

“I thought I said it was my turn.” Even if Emma weren’t looking at her face, she would’ve known Jo quirked an eyebrow just from her tone.

Emma stuck out her bottom lip. “But you’re not touching me.”

“I’m covering your entire naked body with mine.”

“First of all, not my entire body. You’re much too small.” Jo rolled her eyes at Emma’s teasing. “But also, are you touching me, like, where it counts?”

Jo ground her thigh against Emma’s center, and Emma gasped.

“I’ll show you where it counts.”

Jo adjusted to sit on her knees between Emma’s legs. Emma spread them, wide, too ready to be embarrassed. But Jo ignored her. Instead, she drew a fingertip down Emma’s nose. Emma giggled. Jo traced down Emma’s arms, just enough pressure not to tickle. She interlaced their fingers for a moment, then brushed back up Emma’s arms. When Jo’s palms covered Emma’s breasts, Emma sucked in a breath, back arching without her permission. Jo didn’t stay anywhere for long.

It wasn’t what Emma expected, wasn’t what she’d thought she wanted, but it was everything.

Jo’s hands on her felt like the culmination of every time Jo had ever touched her, a hand at her elbow or Jo’s thumb against Emma’s back at the SAGs, Jo’s mouth at the wrap party, shocked and frozen but warm against Emma’s lips. The first day they met, Emma a frazzled and terrified PA, starstruck shaking the boss’s hand. They say hindsight is twenty-twenty, and looking back, it seemed like it was always going to lead to this: Jo’s fingers on Emma’s skin an inevitability. Not like fate—not like they didn’t have a choice, but like in a thousand different universes they would always make the choices that led them here.

By the time Jo had settled lower on the bed, Emma felt like she was vibrating.

“It’s been a while.” Jo’s voice was low. “Forgive me if I’m rusty.”

Emma was accustomed to supporting Jo when she felt vulnerable. She could have taken a moment to do that here. Could have reassured Jo that everything was fine, everything would continue to be fine. Could have admitted it had been a while for her, too, actually, and the first time didn’t have to be perfect. They’d have plenty of chances to learn each other.

Instead, she twisted her hips toward Jo’s breath and clutched at the sheets.

“Oh my God, I don’t care, just touch me.”

Jo did.

Fuck, did she ever.

After so much buildup, there was no preamble now, just Jo’s tongue licking a stripe up Emma’s center and fluttering against her clit. It seemed like Emma’s entire body came off the bed to meet Jo’s mouth.

It all got hazy after that. Emma simultaneously wanted to close her eyes to revel in the feeling and wanted to keep them open forever, wanted to watch, to have visual proof that Jo was touching her this way. But looking made everything feel so big, made it feel like she was going to shatter from the inside out, and she was going to do that anyway, she was entirely certain, but she didn’t want it to happen so quickly, didn’t want this feeling to stop so soon. Didn’t want it to stop ever.

But Jo seemed determined to take her apart now. She was relentless and so, so good, and Emma’s hips were jumping in fits and starts. Emma pulled a pillow over her face to muffle her moans, but as soon as she did, Jo pulled back, bit at her thigh.

“Let me see,” she murmured. “Please.”

Emma threw the pillow off the bed. She stared down at Jo, who slid a finger into her like it was a reward, and leaned back in.

Fuck.

They could never have sex in Emma’s apartment if Jo wasn’t going to let her bury her orgasm in a pillow. Emma’s walls were too thin, but at Jo’s the nearest house was half a mile in any direction, and so it didn’t matter when Jo made Emma scream.