My stomach is in knots, my eyes burning thanks to how hard I’m staring at the floor.
I made him come.
It’s the thought that keeps hitting me like a semi, slamming into my subconscious with every step.
I’ve never … I mean I’ve been in the room before with Hatley and all, but it’s never been a thing thatImade happen. At least, not intentionally or knowingly, and yet here I am. Like a lost puppy wandering around just beyond reach of Emmett with my heart in my throat and my stomach twisting so violently, it’s got to be rung dry by now.
Did he hate it?
The notion makes me feel even worse that he’s in there freaking out for theoppositereason I am.
I kissed him.I love kissing him.
I touched him.Fuck, I loved that, too.
So why won’t he open the fucking door?
Forcing myself to halt at the peeling laminate covering the door, I press a hand against it.
“I’m gonna leave these out here,” I whisper to the wood tint beneath the white façade with an all too familiar ache in my pounding chest.
I hate that he hides. I hate that he feels like he needs to. And more than anything?
I hate whatever made him this way.
With one last whisper of choppy breath, I drop the clean clothes on the worn carpet and tear myself away from the bathroom with a hand to my side.
My feet land heavy, my shoulders up near my ears, the familiar tingling prickling at the tips of my fingers.
The stairs are in sight, though they’re the last thing I want to see, when the click of the lock on the bathroom door echoes along the walls, making me jump.
He’s just getting the clothes. Keep walking.
I slow down even more at the sound of a creak. The one the door makes when it’s open more than halfway.
The pattering of feet has my breath catching, and I turn just in time for Emmett’s body to collide with mine.
We crash to the floor, his body landing on top of me, and I let out a startled yelp at the impact.
“What the hell, bubbles?” I wheeze out, my arms instinctively going around him, his forearm digging into my bruised rib.
Wide eyes meet mine, his pumping chest leaning into me, and I feel a sweat breaking out on my brow. “I’m sorry, I—”
His tongue darts out to lick his lips, drawing my sight.
Despite everything … like the pain in my chest and the turbulence to my gut, my cock thickens under his weight.
“I mean …” Sight dropping, he looks at me through his damp lashes, his sweet eyes bloodshot and his face flushed. “I-I’ll take it back.”
He pushes on my shoulders, and I hiss as he starts to make his way to his knees between mine.
But instead of getting his feet under him, he keeps moving down.
I blink, stunned, my ribs throbbing. “Wha-at—” I lick my lips and force a shallow breath, “—what’re you doing?”
“It’s okay,” he whispers thickly, like maybe he’s talking to himself instead of me.
“Emmett.”
