White noise fills my ears as I blink heavily, taking a moment to come back down from the heights our bodies have taken us. Emmy’s legs buckle beneath her, and I gather her against me, easing my still-hard cock from the warmth of her pussy.
Our combined essences leak from her harshly used pussy as I sit her up on the edge of the sink and fall to my knees, eyes fixated on the sight before me.
I draw my fingers through her folds, gathering up the evidence of our joining. Then, parting her pussy lips, I use two fingers to push it back inside, groaning audibly when her pussy clenches around the digits. I can even feel my cock thicken again despite having just come hard.
When I look up at Emmy’s face, her own eyes are captivated by my actions, and I repeat the process, watching as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. Her nostrils flare before she finds my eyes, pinning me in place with dark, wanton pools that send my already thundering pulse racing even faster.
When every drop is pushed back inside, I tug her panties over her pussy, and press an open-mouthed kiss to the material, right over where her clit is throbbing. And with my head still between her thighs, I look up at her again, my eyes flickering between hers as I hoarsely rasp, “Now, we can go and re-join everyone, knowing my cum isexactlywhere it’s supposed to be. Deep inside your pretty pussy, baby. Filling you up and painting the inside of your thighs, reminding you who owns you.”
I rise to stand, leaning closer as she watches enraptured, and I dust my lips over hers, leaning back just enough to make eye contact as I whisper, “Reminding you who ownsme.”
Her lips lift in a smile, but before she can say another word, the sink creaks dangerously, and I scoop her off the edge, stepping backward right as the entire thing breaks away from the wall. Pipes spew water into the air, splashing all over both of us as the sink crumples to the floor, and Emmy meets my gaze with round eyes.
“Oops.”
CHAPTER 31
EMERSON
Makingour way back through the bar and out to the open mic night, I can feel my cheeks flame as heads turn to watch us.
Thankfully, Lawson is just finishing his rendition of “Mr. Brightside” as we pass, and the majority of patrons are crowded around the stage or tearing up the dance floor. When we slip back into our seats, Sully shoots Ford a pointed look and receives a shoulder punch in reply, making him laugh out loud.
No one else mentions the glaringly obvious sex-flushed cheeks or our wet, disheveled hair until Law reappears and shoots me a wink. “Looking good, Em?—”
Ford cuts him off with a slap across the back of the head. “Quit it, asshat.”
Law looks entirely affronted, scrunching up his face in distaste. “Iresentthat. I am not an asshat. Anass, maybe, at times, but?—”
He grinds to a halt when the host begins speaking once more. “And following our very own Wilde man, we have Felicity Holloway.”
She glances dubiously in our direction, and I barely dare to draw a breath as all eyes turn to Lissie, but the hesitance from earlier has evaporated. That energy from before we left the ranchis rippling off her in waves when she stands tall, tossing her long hair over one shoulder.
As she pivots on her heel, the audience applauds, and her walk to the stage is almost in slow motion. She mounts the steps at the side, accepting the offered acoustic guitar with a gentle smile.
She converses with the band members for a beat before they all exit the stage, and I shoot Ford a concerned look, finding his own brow furrowed as we watch with bated breath.
Lissie settles herself on the stool, propping the guitar on her lap with the confidence of use before she leans close to the mic. “Good evening, y’all.” Her voice is low, barely audible, and a tremor of nerves flow through me, wanting so badly for this to go well for her.
“Following Mr. Wilde’s exuberant performance, I just wanted to slow it down for a hot minute with my version of my brother’s favorite song of all time.”
When they find Ford’s, her eyes twinkle, and she winks before her mouth draws up like a bow. “This one’s for you, Fordy. Hope you like it.”
As she strums the opening chords of “Iris,” my mouth drops open as Ford grasps my hand in his. Our eyes meet for a beat, understanding passing silently between us as he brushes the pad of his thumb over and back across my knuckles.
We look back to Lissie just before she begins to sing, and when she does, a hush falls over the crowd, and even the handful of couples slow-dancing on the dance floor stop in their tracks to watch.
Her eyes are closed as the familiarly heartfelt words tumble from her mouth with an ease that belies her age or her experience. It’s as though the music has transformed the uneasy, awkward girl of moments before into a goddess of the stage.
As I sit in awe, I can’t help but think that the quality of her voice and the ease with which she hits each perfect note are testaments to her God-given talent.
I allow my gaze to drift across the rapt gathering, finally landing on the men at our table, noting Sully’s cell in his hand, recording the scene with a smile. Sutton is wholly entranced, scarcely daring to draw a breath, and Jesse’s face is similar, though his eyes are closed, forehead creased as he absorbs the clear, utterly magical vocals.
Lawson is paused, beer held in mid-air and his jaw is very nearly on the floor, clearly as shocked as I am at this turn of events.
But Ford’s face is the very picture of pride as he watches with smiling eyes, shifting them about to me as though sensing my attention. He rises to stand, extending a hand, palm facing up, as he murmurs, “Dance with me, Tink.”
I accept with a smile, allowing him to tug me to the stillness of the dance floor, where he gathers me close enough to press our brows together. We sway gently, Lissie’s dulcet tones surrounding us, and Ford joins in at the end, whispering for my ears only, “I just want you to know who I am.”
