The Trouble With Love(58)

Emma cried out, but he showed her no mercy, his thumb rotating in perfect relentless pressure. His hand never stopped as he jerked his chin in the direction of her breasts. “Bra. Off.”

Emma reached behind her, unfastening the bra as instructed and tossing it aside. Had he been this bossy before? Had she liked it so much?

His eyes lowered to her breasts. He put one knee on the bed, and she scooted back just enough to make room for him as his mouth descended on her breast and his fingers continued their slow torture between her legs.

Emma gasped when he lashed her nipple with his tongue before drawing it into his mouth and sucking it. She watched as his cheeks hollowed and his eyes closed as he licked and sucked her, his hand bringing her closer to the edge of sanity.

And then his other hand found her other breast, his fingers rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and she gasped.

He slid a finger inside her, hands and mouth never ceasing, and then Emma was there, her body rocketing into orgasmic bliss that she hadn’t felt since…Cassidy.

Orgasms just hadn’t been this good since the last time she was with this man.

Damn, that was annoying.

He let her recover, kissing her shoulder as he shifted toward his nightstand and pulled a condom out of the drawer.

He tore the wrapper, rolling it on as he leaned down to kiss her.

“Ordinarily I’d take my time, this being the first time and all, except—”

“Except it’s not the first time,” she said, her fingers touching his cheek. “And it’s been seven years.”

His eyes burned into hers. “My thoughts exactly.”

And then he was rolling on top of her, sliding into her in one firm possessive stroke that had her back arching and her nails digging into his shoulders.

“Christ, Emma…there’s nobody…”

Her fingers found his lips, stifling words she knew he didn’t really want to say. He nipped her fingers before his hands slid down her sides, over her butt, and down her legs to hook behind her knees, pulling her legs up so they could wrap around his waist.

Emma complied, locking her ankles around his ass, letting him move her arms above her head. His palms were hot against her arms, pinning her to the bed.

He’d always been a fierce lover, and she’d relished every moment, but there was even more intensity now, as he plunged into her again and again, withdrawing occasionally to tease her with the tip of his cock before thrusting into her again.

Their bodies slammed together in perfect rhythm, and then he released her arms, his hands sliding down her body once more to find her knees, pressing them higher so she was spread open wide, using his lower body to rub against her, creating hot, circular friction.

Her eyes flew open. That was a new trick.

It was…

And then she was coming again, with quiet cries. She felt herself clench against him, and he pumped once more before he gave a harsh breath and shuddered against her, his fingertips digging into her knees as he came.

When the shuddering stopped, his hands moved up on either side of her head, lifting only slightly to look down at her face before his head dropped, nestling in the hollow between her shoulder and neck.

His breath was hot and damp against her skin, and she trailed her fingers over the hard ridges of his back as she caught her breath.

When his own breathing slowed, Cassidy shifted to the side, his body still half-covering her as he ran a hand down his face.

“What did we just do?”

Emma turned her head to look at him. “I don’t know. It was probably a mistake.”

He turned his head. Met her eyes. “Probably.”

Emma’s heart sank, but then he smiled, boyishly.

“Want to make the same mistake again?”

She smiled back. “Absolutely.”





Chapter 22


She’d left him.

They’d made love until three a.m. At least.

But when Alex had awoken at seven a.m., there was no sign of her, save for the faint smell of her floral perfume and a satiated feeling his body hadn’t felt in way too long.

Sex with Emma was the best sex he’d had in a long while.

Maybe ever.

And yet…she’d left. Snuck out as though she were merely some sort of late-night booty call.

A thought hit Alex as he grumpily scooped coffee into his French press, and he froze. What if he’d been the booty call?

Emma hadn’t been drunk, but she’d been plenty plied with champagne. Enough to make her mellow enough to dance with him.

Enough to make her come home with him? Was that why she’d slept with him?

No. That didn’t feel right. She’d been a little buzzy earlier in the evening; they all had. But he’d gone to college with Emma. He knew what drunk Emma looked like, and last night wasn’t it.

But it still didn’t explain why she’d left.

Alex changed into his running gear while waiting for the coffee to steep, only to belatedly realize that this wouldn’t be his usual Sunday morning routine. Typically he and Mitchell met every Sunday at Columbus Circle to do a long run around the park; they would occasionally be joined by Julie, who’d do a “short run,” aka, a “hot dog vendor” run.

But neither Mitchell nor Julie would be showing up for a run the day after their wedding. Obviously.