She didn’t deserve it, or this, or him. And yet, hovering off that ledge, all the guilt and stress and frustration fell away from her. Instead, she pictured them landing in the waves and breaking apart on the rocks.
And she breathed.
When he pulled her upright, she wound her arms around him again. “Emerson.”
She wanted…
She wanted…
Him.
“Love me,” she said. Just once. He wouldn’t be her first. She ignored the niggling warning that this would only add to the guilt she carried.
It could prove to be so much worse.
“Ah, my sweet.” His hand nudged between them until he found where she ached for his touch.
“Yes.” She tipped her head forward to rest it on his shoulder and inhaled. This scent, the wool of his jacket, a hint of clove and spicy wood.
His fingers slid around her opening.
“Yes, touch me,” she begged.
“So perfect, so wet.” He pushed inside, a hint of pain in his voice. “For me.”
“Deeper,” she said. With all that worry and fear gone, all she knew was need.
“Allison,” he said.
“Not that.” She shook her head, not quite able to think.
But he only chuckled. “Ally?”
She shook her head again, torn by this ache but also the stabbing in her heart.
The ache won out. Deeper, she moved with him.
“Miss Meadowbrook?”
“No.” A moan this time, and he wasn’t laughing anymore.
“All right, sweetheart, my sweet, my heart.” His fingers felt thicker now, like there were more, and… was that his thumb rubbing circles exactly where she wanted it?
“Harder.”
“Like this?”
“Yes.” She squeezed her inner muscles. “Yes.” Was she staring at the sky, or was that swirling vortex of colors a figment of her imagination? “Emerson.”
She pictured his hand, touching her and then…
Heaven’s tidal wave crashed over her. She shuddered, breathing, and time ceased to exist.
“So beautiful,” he said, his voice like a caress.
When she returned to herself, she nestled against him, clutching his jacket.
She should have been embarrassed to feel his palm soothe the tender flesh between her legs.
