Rascal (Rascals Book 1)(37)

“Not much here,” he told me when he emerged a few minutes later.

“Not much here?” I echoed, dumbfounded at the massive spread of food he was carrying. “This is enough to feed an army.”

We spread out in front of the fire, my hair still drying as we ate grapes, cheese, olives, crackers, and many other delectable snacks. It didn’t take long before I was full, and I stretched out in front of the warm, crackling flames, Emerson’s arms around me.

“Aren’t you glad you decided to play hooky?” he asked, pushing back the hair from my face as he leaned above me, propped up on one elbow.

“I am,” I told him, hooking my hand around the back of his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

I might have satisfied my appetite for food, but I was ravenous for other things.

But while last night had been all passion and intensity, this time we both seemed to want to take our time. The towels were unwound and discarded slowly as Emerson kissed his way down my throat and across my chest, taking his time lavishing each of my nipples with attention until I was practically crying out for more. Then he went lower, kissing my belly button and my hip, before dragging his tongue across the part of me that ached for him.

Within seconds, I was coming, my hands caught in his hair, my hips arching off the floor.

As if by magic, by the time he crawled back up my body, he had sheathed himself in a condom, and he entered me in one, slick, smooth stroke. I cried out as he went deep, so wonderfully deep, and then again as he rolled us so I was on top.

“Ride me,” he ordered, his voice husky.

I had never done this with a lover before, but the hot, intense look on Emerson’s face was enough to encourage me. Rising up on my knees, I slowly lowered myself onto him, going even deeper. His fingers clutched my hips, and I braced my hands on his chest as I moved my hips, finding the right rhythm.

Each thrust was intense as he gripped my ass, pulling me down against him, his eyes never leaving mine. I could feel another orgasm building inside of me, and I thrust my head back, my eyes closed as I rode him, chasing that pleasure.

Finally, it crashed over me, leaving me breathless. I collapsed on top of him, but before I could even catch my breath, he rolled us once more, thrusting deeply inside of me as he found his own release.

My entire body hummed with pleasure as we lay there, my legs wrapped around him, his arms holding me close. I was so warm, so satisfied. So happy. And then, before I fell asleep, I realized that I was in trouble. Because this wasn’t just a fling anymore. This wasn’t just sex.

I was falling for Emerson. And I was falling hard.





15





Alex





Monday morning, I was back at work, but my mind kept wandering to the amazing day Emerson and I had spent at the cabin. We had stayed the night there, waking up early to make sure I got back to the city in time for work. But even though I had plenty of paperwork to occupy my time, I kept thinking about waking up in Emerson’s arms.

I wasn’t this kind of girl—the kind that got butterflies in her stomach when she got texts from the guy she was seeing. But that’s what had happened all morning. Every time my phone buzzed, I got a little thrill, hoping that it was Emerson. And every time it was, I ended up with a big, dumb grin on my face.

Miss you, his last text had said.

You just saw me, I had responded, trying to keep cool, even if it was just over text.

And I still can’t get enough, he had quickly answered.

Me too, I admitted, sending it before I could reconsider.

Kelsey would be so proud. Especially by the way I was now staring at my phone, waiting for a response.

You’re driving me to distraction, was Emerson’s follow-up text. I can’t stop thinking about how hot you were last night. And the night before.

I got hot myself, thinking of what he was talking about. Of how he had kissed me. Touched me. Made me come.

I squeezed my knees together, knowing that if I kept fantasizing about Emerson, I’d get absolutely nothing done today. As it was, I was struggling to get through the work I needed to before the day ended. That had never been a problem before. I had always been able to put guys second to my work. Emerson was the first man I’d ever met that made me want to reconsider my priorities. Maybe because he didn’t seem to have a problem with them in the first place. If anything, he was proud of my accomplishments and my dedication to my work—not threatened by it. Maybe because he understood on a deeper level what it meant to create something that you could call your own. That finding your own success was vital.

After lunch—and another series of flirty texts—I left my phone at my desk and headed to Arthur’s office to drop off the briefs I had been working on all morning.

He was on the phone when I entered, but gestured for me to come in and to close the door. I sat, the briefs of my lap, waiting for him to finish. When he did, he smiled at me.

“Are those the Anderson files?” he asked, and I nodded, handing them over.

“I’ve included some notes from the meeting,” I told him. “Just for context.”

He glanced down at them. “Excellent. I would have asked for them afterwards.” He looked at me. “That’s what we like about you, Alex. You’re always thinking a few steps ahead.” He put the brief down on his desk and laced his fingers together, leaning back in his chair. “It was a pleasure seeing Emerson the other night,” he said.