“I’ll make you believe me.”
He lifts me by the waist like I’m weightless, and I don’t even have time to gasp before he perches me on one of the tables. My dress crumples in his fist. Oh, Jesus, I can’t go back out there in a ruined gown. Everyone would see. Everyone would know. But Emerson doesn’t rip it. He pushes it up to my waist.
Emerson looks down at my naked thighs, breathing hard, and when his eyes meet mine again, a shock goes through me. I’ve never seen this in a man’s eyes before. Desire like this. It’s dark, and terrifying, and I want it.
He gets to his knees in front of the table. The dust, I want to say. His beautiful, expensive suit. Warm palms meet my knees, and he opens my legs.
A moment of sheer terror engulfs me and I scramble for his wrists, try to close my legs at the same time. He won’t let me do it. He’s stronger, even on his knees, and he arches a disapproving eyebrow at me. Shame heats my face.
“No one,” I say, breathless, my voice thin. “No one’s ever seen me like this.”
I’ve never seen a more feral grin. It’s only a flicker, gone in a heartbeat, but that single moment is enough to make my face combust. Emerson plucks one of my hands from his wrist and puts it on his shoulder. Then the other. “I’m going to do more than look.”
His hands glide up to my inner thighs and he pushes them apart with even pressure. One hand stays in place to hold me open. He can’t see anything yet. I have panties on. Lacy, but they still exist. Emerson runs the pad of his thumb over the placket. Good thing I’m holding on to his shoulders. I would collapse otherwise. Crumple to the ground from the sheer sensation.
“Wet,” he comments. “Show me the rest. You can move one of your hands to do it.”
“Oh my god,” I whisper. But my hand is already moving between my legs. It’s shaking so much I can barely hook a finger into the fabric, but I do it. I pull it to the side. The panties aren’t made for this and it’s an uncomfortable stretch, pulling at all the seams against my skin.
Emerson looks.
He puts his thumb idly to his mouth and licks me off of it. “Fuck,” he murmurs. “Look at you. Look at this pussy. It’s fucking gorgeous. Is it bare for me?”
“I didn’t know you would be here.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I’m going to die of embarrassment. “It’s not for you.”
“Liar.” With a curse, he knocks my hand away and grips the lace in his fist. The ripping sound is louder than my heartbeat, louder than my breath. Emerson’s hands go to the crease of my thighs and I grab at his jacket to keep myself from falling. His thumbs run over my softest skin. “Jesus,” he says, and then he adds a pressure that opens my folds, exposing them to the air and the burn of his eyes. His breath is hot on my skin. “You smell so fucking good.”
Part of my fear drops away, but it’s replaced by another wave of shame that he’s so close like this, looking so intently, seeing everything.
“I need it,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and then his mouth is between my legs.
It’s so intense that I arch away, try to run. He grips my ass and pins me to the edge of the table. My mind is nothing. I’ll never think again. I’ll never paint again. I’ll be an explosion of pleasure, like fireworks in my brain. I can’t breathe. Getting lightheaded. The flat of his tongue is replaced with the tip, circling my opening, lapping at it like he’ll never get enough.
It feels so good. I don’t know how to do this. I try to spread my legs wider and move my hips into him. It’s dirty, doing this, it’s not right to do this in a closet at a charity gala. My fingers dig into his jacket. Oh, Jesus, it’s good. My mind careens between his tongue and my shame. Spreading my legs for a man in a supply closet. Letting him lick me, and taste me. Not stopping him.
He makes a sound against my pussy like I am the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth, ever ever ever, and then he focuses his attention on my clit. My vision blurs. I’m going to fall off the table, except I can’t. He’s holding me here.
“I can’t do this,” I pant. “I’ve never—I’ve never—”
“Come on my tongue, little painter.”
“Wait. Wait—”
He doesn’t wait. He does something magical with his tongue, something wicked, and pleasure tears into me like a bomb. It looks golden. My vision goes dark, tinged in gold. It looks golden, to have my breath stolen like this. It takes all my self-control away from me and rocks my hips and makes muscles I’ve never felt before clench and flutter. Emerson doesn’t stop. He keeps going and going and going and I reach the peak of this pleasure and meet another one. My despair comes out in a moan—god, no, I can’t let him do this, I’m already doing this—and his answering hum of approval is more than I can bear.
And it’s not over. He keeps tasting me until the last shivers have wrung themselves out, until I can see again. Until I take a full breath, then another. One last, long lick. My fingers are cramped from holding his jacket. Emerson stands, pressing the sleeve of his jacket to his mouth. His eyes gleam. I’ve never seen him rumpled like this. I made wrinkles in his suit, and his knees are dusty from the floor. His eyes drop down to where I’m still open for him.
He holds out his hand.
I take it.
Emerson helps my dress fall back to the floor. He swipes a thumb at the corner of my mouth. My heart thunders. If he were going to steal me, if he were going to take me, he could do it now. No one would notice for a while yet.
“The color’s back in your cheeks,” he says, voice low. “Let’s take you back to the gala.”
Chapter Twenty
Emerson
The next morning, I lean into the guest room and find my brother on his laptop. “Time to go.”
Sin cuts a look at me with suspicion in his eyes. “I’ve only been here a couple days.”
“And what did I do? I attended a goddamn charity gala. I’m fine. Get out of my house.”
The truth is, I need him gone. I cannot stop thinking about Daphne. The need to be with her is so strong it feels like a drug. She tasted so good I’m still reeling from it. The demand for more is on an animal level. Sin’s presence competes with it in the most obnoxious way. I can’t be calm when he’s here, and I’m thinking of her so much I’m losing bits of time. Five minutes here. Ten minutes there. I refuse to answer any questions about it. Sin won’t accept that it’s just planning, and then he’ll insist on staying, and fuck that.
He looks me up and down. “Are you going into the city?”
“I have a meeting. Be gone when I come back.”
“Fine.” His fingers tap on the keyboard. “But I’m staying close. I’m getting a hotel.”
“Good. Great to see you.”
Sin rolls his eyes. “If you thought it was so great, you’d tell me a hotel isn’t necessary.”
“Is it better if I said I wish you hadn’t come?”
He glares at me. “No.”
“Then it was great to see you.”
Logan drives me into the city and lets me out the customary fifteen blocks away. Wind whips in from the side, chilling the back of my neck over my coat. It was hell on the water this morning. Sin is such a fucking busybody. I don’t know what more he wants from me. I surf. I walk fifteen blocks to almost every destination. I force myself to be outside, even though on days like today it feels like having my skull in a vise. A block goes by, and it’s still difficult to breathe.