I’m nuzzling deeper, enjoying the feel of my stubble against her soft skin, when I feel my phone buzz in my back pocket.
Ignoring it, I continue to pepper kisses along her back, inhaling the scent that is uniquely hers. Emma unconsciously grinds into me, and my semi grows fully erect. “You’re killing me, Love. I’m trying to be good tonight,” I mumble.
“Please,” she murmurs sleepily, and I pause.
Is she awake?
Tonight would be far more interesting if she were. However, the steady rise and fall of her chest indicates she’s just sleep-talking.
“Wy, please,” she begs, and I watch in awe as her hand slips between her legs.
Fuck it.
I lose my battle with self-control and slide my hand up and cup her breast. My thumb lightly grazes her nipple until it’s erect.
A groan escapes me at the smell of her arousal. I’m tempted to replace her fingers with mine, but the sight of her pleasing herself to thoughts of me is far too intoxicating to interrupt. So, instead, I pinch her nipple and nip and suck the back of her neck, knowing it will leave a mark, but she won’t see it.
Emma’s breaths increase as she climbs closer to her release, and I stop to watch her fingers work rapidly, pumping in and out of her pussy before swirling against her clit.
It’s fucking breathtaking.
I slide back as she turns to her back, her legs falling open, giving me a perfect view of Emma playing with her pussy.
Closing my eyes, I bask in her whimpers.
She’s close.
I lower my head, preparing to feast and catapult her over the edge when her cries of ecstasy turn into keening sounds of pain.
“Why did you leave me?” Emma demands, her hand stilling. All of my earlier lustful thoughts evaporate as her dreams of pleasure morph into nightmares.
“What did I do?” Her question is a whisper, but it reverberates in my skull like it’s coming through a megaphone placed right against my ear.
Emma curls in on herself, her hand no longer beneath her sleep shorts. Instead, they wrap around her body as if she’s consoling herself. The sob that escapes her cracks my chest open, and I lean in to wipe the rivulets of tears streaming down her face.
“Please don’t leave me,” she implores repeatedly.
“Never. We’ll never let you go,” I promise emphatically. Then I settle behind her, pulling her flush against me until her cries slow into staccato breaths before evening out, and I don’t move until I know she’s calm.
The sound of birds chirping signals that dawn is approaching, and I reluctantly let her go and rise from the bed before heading for the door and exiting the house.
I pull my phone from my back pocket before climbing into my car. I start the engine and check my notifications and see I have missed text messages, and they’re all from the same person.
Lip-Filled Troll Barbie.
LFTB: someone’s being a naughty boy
LFTB: consider this your last warning
LFTB: see her again and there will be consequences
LFTB: so I hope she was worth it.
I bang my hands on my steering wheel.
Fucking Sam. I can’t wait until we can end this bitch.
Starting the engine, I take one last look up at Emma’s window and try to make peace with what will happen today.
I massage the bridge of my nose, then put the car in drive. Then, with my resolve firmly in place, I say, “She’s always worth it.”
EMMA
“It’s move-in day, Bitch!”
“It’s about time you got here. I thought you changed your mind about living with me,” I tease as she climbs the last step outside our house.
We both move aside as the movers begin to unload Shay’s things.
She checks her watch. “I’m only thirty-ish minutes late. I’m so glad you refrained from sending out a search party.”
“Whatever, Ho, I’m just happy to see you up and moving around,” I say before embracing her while warding off the immense guilt crushing me for being the reason she was shot. Nausea roils in my gut at the memory of my best friend falling to the ground, and I hold my breath, hoping I won’t need to run to the bathroom.
Shay pulls back from the hug like she can sense the shift in me. “You better not cry, dammit. I’m okay, and the fuckers who were responsible are dead.”
“But-“
“But yuh bumbo,” She interjects. “You will not blame yourself for the fuckery behavior of others.”
The vehemence in her tone makes me wonder if she isn’t only referring to her being shot.
“This means those fucking idiots. I may love them like brothers, but their stupid decisions are theirs to own,” she continues, confirming my suspicion.
The tenuous hold on my emotions breaks, and warm tears trickle down my face. Lifting my arms, I quickly wipe the evidence of the emotional disaster I’ve become.
“I know,” I resignedly huff. “But it’s easier said than done. I keep assessing where I missed the signs I was being played.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.