A startled breath escaped her, and a torrent of emotion surfaced on her face. Part scandalized, part enthralled, poor baby didn’t know what to do. She stilled and clamped down hard on her bottom lip. Amelia hesitated, and Emory almost asked why.
It’s not what she wants.
He thought of the fights they’d had; those long nights with tears streaming down her cheeks, and Amelia desperate for comfort he refused to give. She needed him to want her in ways he’d never shown; not just her body, but the parts of her he barely knew.
Emory rested his forehead against hers and combed his fingers through her hair. Amelia came a little closer and steadied herself with her hands on his chest. He only meant to push her to the edge and break her down. He never actually expected her to roll her hips and grind against his shaft.
Amelia did, though. Her wet pussy glided against his cock, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Another paradox of intimacy, Emory closed his eyes and joined her in the moment, their moans soft and breathy and their lips perilously close to a kiss that never came. If this was her power play, Emory would let her have every inch.
With his hands on her hips, he guided her movements. No longer demure, Amelia ground her clit against the tip of his cock that then slid to her opening. One thrust, and he’d be inside.
“Go on,” Emory commanded. “I know you want more.”
His chest heaved and body tensed, every part of him struggling to maintain control. Once more, though, Amelia wielded soft power that bested him with ease.
“No,” she said, so sweet and commanding in her own right.
Emory narrowed his eyes and tightened his hold on her hips. It was his turn for a power play. He hadn’t forgotten her master plan, nor could he forgive how she’d wanted to fuck with his heart.
“It’s funny,” he said, his mouth hot against hers. He nestled two fingers between her pussy lips. “If you can’t stand me, then why are you so wet for me?”
That he called her out dumped them back into reality. Amelia’s knees clamped shut against his hips, and she righted her clothing. Emory had seen and felt too much of her. She’d retreat behind her denial and remind herself how much she abhorred him.
“You can’t have me,” Amelia insisted.
“We both know I already do,” Emory laughed and placed a soft kiss to her lips before sucking her cum off his fingers.
His boldness ignited her anger. Amelia shoved off him and stormed from the room. Emory watched her go and tucked his dick back into his pants. For most men, a blow to their pride rendered them fools. Emory was no different. The sting of rejection propelled him from his seat, and the booze emboldened, so he trailed after her as if Amelia was his to follow.
“You really think you can survive without me, baby?”
Emory’s question boomed off the walls and echoed up the stairs. God help anyone trying to sleep. On the warpath, he didn’t care.
Amelia shot him a look of pure venom as she slid into her shoes and scooped up her purse. “I’m not your baby, and I don’t need you.”
Another barb that stung, Emory pounded across the foyer and ripped open the front door. With an outstretched arm, he presented her exit.
“I don’t need you either.”
Amelia evaluated the black wilderness beyond, no stars to light up the sky and myriad monsters stalking the night. Her eyes raked over his body as if sizing him up. The fight would never befair, though, so she played her only hand and marched toward the door.
In the end, desperate men all looked the same, and Emory couldn’t lie to himself that he’d ever let her go. He caught her by the arm and wheeled her around more forcefully than intended. Amelia yelped as her ankle buckled. Her arm shot out to break a fall, but the heel of her hand connected hard with his nose.
In a blinding flash of pain, white dots spangled Emory’s vision. He stumbled backwards and lifted a hand to his face. Blood trickled from one nostril and splattered his palm. Horrified, Amelia’s hand flew to her mouth. They stared at each other in stunned silence until a door upstairs slammed open.
“What the hell is going on?” Mirabelle demanded and flicked on the foyer light. Her satin robe billowed behind her as she rushed down the stairs.
Amelia locked eyes with Emory. A question for the ages, neither had an answer or knew what game they played, nor did they truly understand the rules. Emory answered on both their behalf with a one-shouldered shrug and wiped the blood from his nose.
Mirabelle surveyed his busted face and tutted with a click of her tongue.
“You two are unbelievable. I’ll get some ice.”
When the whisper of her slippered feet disappeared into the kitchen, Emory exchanged another look with Amelia. Guilt fragmented her features, and she looked primed to apologize, but Emory cut her off at the pass.
“Go to bed, Amelia,” he said, more capitulatory than commanding, and shut the front door.
Defeated, she retreated up the stairs as silently as she’d descended, and Emory returned to the parlor. He stuffed a tissue in his nostril to stop the blood. The droning pain burned as much as it ached and began to spread across his cheeks.
