"Emily, I don't know how you see yourself, but you're far from ordinary."
"You don't have to say that."
"I don't say things I don't mean, Emily. What do you mean you're not much to look at? I've been looking at your for months, and I very much like what I see."
"Okayyy." She looks at me over her wine glass. "The card. I'm still embarrassed about it."
"Don't be."
"But it was so ... explicit. And crazy. And I meant parts of it, but not like, the illegal public parts. Just the ... other parts. I've thought about you. A lot. Maybe too much."
I set my glass down and lean forward, close enough that I can count the smattering of freckles across her cheeks. "How much?"
She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. "Enough that I probably shouldn't say."
"Tell me anyway."
Emily's breath hitches, and she sets her glass down on the table, too. "I meant the part about your hands. And your mouth. And I know I wrote all that stuff about the elevator and being up against the wall, and that probably sounds insane, but I just?—"
With my pulse pounding in my temples, I reach out and cup her jaw in my palm. She gasps and goes quiet.
"Emily, if I kiss you right now, are you going to regret it in the morning?"
"No."
"Are you sober enough?"
"Yes."
"Tell me to stop if you change your mind."
I give her three seconds. One. Two. Three. She doesn't move or speak. Just looks at me with those blue eyes, wanting, mirroring my own desire.
Fuck it.
My hand slides from her jaw to the back of her neck, pulling her closer to me. The second our mouths touch, my control fractures.
I've imagined kissing her like this, but all those fantasies—even the filthiest ones—don't come close to reality.
Nothing ever will.
Her hands come up to my chest, and her fists tangle in my shirt. A small sound escapes her throat—a whimper that destroys what's left of my restraint. I deepen the kiss, drawing her closer, coaxing her lips to open. The moment she does, I plunge my tongue inside her warm mouth and entangle it with hers.
Emily's fingers thread into my hair, nails scraping my scalp, as I groan into her mouth.
The kiss turns hungry, rough, and demanding. All those months of watching, wanting, compressed into this moment. I pull her closer still and angle her head for better access. The kiss turns almost frantic.
We eventually break for air in what feels like hours later, foreheads pressed together, both breathing hard. Her eyes are still closed, lips parted, cheeks flushed.
I've never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
3
EMILY
Alex's forehead rests against mine, his breath hot on my lips. The space between us crackles with electricity—wait, that’s a cliché. There’s actually no electricity. Except maybe between synapses in my nervous system. Just heat and want, and the thundering of my heart and my pulse, so bangingly loud I'm sure he can hear it and feel it.
I can't think. That kiss just demolished every fantasy I've had about this man, and I've had plenty. The reality of Alex's mouth on mine, his hand cradling the back of my neck, the barely restrained power in his touch ... it makes my imagination look pathetic by comparison.
