“How? I’m not looking for a label.” She met his gaze, let him see what was on her mind. “But . . .”
He ran a finger along her jaw. “But . . . there’s something here between us that we can’t seem to shake,” he finished for her.
She nodded and gave a little rock of her hips, which had a ragged groan rumbling up from deep in his chest. “No labels,” she repeated. “No pressure. No games. Just this, just you, Simon, in the moment, for right now.”
He slid a hand into her hair at the nape of her neck and looked into her eyes for a long moment before slowly tugging her mouth to his for a sweet, slow kiss that had her curling into his body as closely as she could, wrapping her arms around his neck.
This won her another one of those groans she loved. “Simon?” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
“We’re doing this.”
He smiled. “You going to be gentle with me, Emma?”
“Absolutely not.”
He laughed, the sound very male, very sexy. He still had a fist in her hair, using it to tilt her head so his mouth could make its talented way along her throat. “Love this sundress,” he whispered, running his fingers over the tiny delicate straps holding it up.
“I’m hoping you also love what’s beneath it.”
“Guaranteed,” he said in that husky voice that had her body wound up tight with anticipation. “Count on it.” He nudged the straps off her shoulders to her elbows, encouraging the lightweight material to fall, baring her breasts. “Emma.” His voice was both strained and thrillingly rough. A big, warm hand glided up her thigh as he covered her mouth with his, his tongue stroking in the same sensuous rhythm as his fingers.
In a shockingly short amount of time, he had her on the very edge, her hands gripping his biceps like he was her lifeline, her body tense and poised to let go, had her gasping out his name, so close, only a few heartbeats away, and then she felt it hit. Not an orgasm, but a vicious leg cramp, holding her in its grip as pain, so much insidious pain, threatened to wash over . . . “Oh my God,” she gasped.
His mouth was at her throat, nipping, kissing, sucking. “I prefer Simon.”
She let out a half laugh, half sob as she twisted out of his arms, lost to the threat of sharp, fiery pain about to shoot through her left leg. She heard Simon swear as if from a long distance and his hands slid down her leg, his fingers searching for the cramp.
“No!” she cried, furious at her body. “Don’t touch me.”
At her sharp tone, his head came up, studying her.
“I’m fine!” She pulled her leg into her body, unable to handle him touching her like he would a patient, not now, not here.
She held her breath, but then realized . . . the cramp was gone.
Or maybe it’d never come. “I . . .” Confused, she shook her head. “I don’t know where it went.”
“The cramp?”
She nodded miserably.
“All that matters is that it isn’t here,” he said, watching her face carefully.
“Yeah.” Confused, her breathing hitched and there was a pain in her chest. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
“It’s . . . your first time, right?” he asked softly. “Since the accident?”
She closed her eyes. “Yes.”
“Hey,” he said gently, cupping her face. “It’s okay. We’re not going to do anything you’re not ready for—”
“I’m ready!” Realizing she’d yelled that while still hugging herself tight, Emma let out a long exhale and purposefully and mindfully relaxed her body. “I want this,” she said much more quietly. “More than anything. Please don’t make me go home and use the shower massager again. I want the real thing from a real live breathing person.” She stared at him, daring him to laugh.
To his credit, he didn’t. Instead, he gave her a little nudge so that she lay beneath him on the love seat, then met her gaze. “Still with me?”
So relieved that he understood, she fisted her hands in his hair, hard. “Yes.”
“Good.” His mouth came back to hers, his body moving against her, one hard thigh sliding between hers as he deepened the kiss. It was . . . perfect, and she let herself get lost, let herself forget time and place, conscious only of Simon: the taste of him, of his skin, the heat of his body, and the possessive yet protective touch of his hands. She felt his teeth on her neck, his lips tracing her throat, his hands . . . everywhere, exploring, teasing her to the edge, holding her there.
Mindless, her heart hammering in her chest, desire pooling low in her belly, hot tendrils of lust consuming her as she touched him back, getting her greedy hands on everything she could reach, loving how his reaction made her feel sexy and empowered.
“Emma.”
She managed to drag open her eyes.
“Be sure,” he said.
His eyes were hot, his body drawn tight with desire and hunger, but he’d stop right now if she wanted. “I’ve never been more sure.”
He leaned over her and kissed her deep, and then they were shoving clothing out of their way, making room for the essentials. And oh God, the essentials . . . He produced a condom and she’d never been so grateful one of them was still thinking. And then he was inside her, mouth at her ear telling her in a thrillingly rough whisper what he was going to do to her. Her toes were already curling again as he began to move because there was no holding back now, not with him.
And then she was shuddering in his arms, a little shocked at how fast she’d come when she realized that one, Simon hadn’t. And two, there were sirens. They came closer, and then closer still, splitting the night with the wails and flashing lights.
They stopped in front of their building.
She froze.
Simon did not. He was gentle as he disentangled himself from her, but moving with quick efficiency, he ran to the door, straightening his clothes as he vanished.
Chapter 15
Step 15: Smile.
Simon raced down the three flights of stairs, heart still pounding from watching Emma fly apart beneath him, but it was also lodged in his throat because he knew.
The sirens were for his dad.
He hit the ground floor and stopped short. Their front door was wide open. “Dad,” he yelled, already knowing he wouldn’t find him inside. Whipping around, he rushed to the front door of the building—also open—and found his dad outside, sitting on the curb being looked over by an EMT. He had a bloody knee and a scrape on his head and was holding his arm to his chest. The EMT flashed a light into his eyes. Mrs. Bessler, their elderly nosy busybody tenant from 2B, was hovering at the EMT’s side.
“Dad. You okay?”
“No thanks to you,” Mrs. Bessler said, her beehive hair quivering with indignation. “Leaving an old man on his own at night to trip on the front porch steps to his death. Shame on you.”
“I’m not old,” Dale said. “And I didn’t die.”
Simon bent to look right into his eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I am.”
Of course. “What happened?” Simon asked. “What were you doing out here?”