I could do that.
No fucking problem.
“I’ll try to swing by in the next couple of days,” I told her.
“Good. Now go give that boy a big kiss for me.”
I shook my head and exhaled. “I will, Grandma.”
I dropped the pen on the desk and got up from the chair, my cock so hard, I had to adjust it. That was all it had taken—those brief thoughts of Emily and I immediately started to ache.
Two days. That was how long it had been since Emily was in my bed, yet every time I walked in my room, I saw her.
Us.
Our bodies intertwined somewhere near the center of the mattress, naked and sweaty. I could still feel her skin. I could smell her in the air. I could taste her on my tongue.
Who was this goddamn woman, and how did she have this hold on me?
All I wanted was to walk in here, like I’d just done, to take a shower before I went to bed, and I stood frozen, halfway between the archway and my bed, staring at the flat comforter and puffy pillows—the way my housekeeper had left things when she cleaned this morning.
What the hell are you doing to me?
I shook my head, forcing myself to look away.
But that only lasted a second before my gaze returned to the mattress, my head filled with memories of that night.
Of each position.
Of every orgasm.
I clenched my fists, knowing the second I got into the shower and the wetness hit my skin and the soap squirted into my hand, I was going to grip those fingers around my cock and pump until I came. And while I worked myself toward that, I would see her behind my closed eyelids. The same way I had last night when I’d done the same exact thing.
Her eyes.
Mouth.
Tits.
Pussy.
Details as vivid as though she were here now.
Emily was haunting me in a way I’d never experienced, goading me without even trying to.
What the fuck did that mean?
And how could I make it stop?
Chapter Seven
Emily
“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” I asked Bettie, who was perched extra high in her bed today, wearing a smile bigger than normal. Since I knew her philosophy on smiling, I really hoped that didn’t mean she was in extra pain or beyond miserable, or this facility—or worse, me—was failing her in some way and she refused to say anything about it. When it came to all things medical, there needed to be full transparency between patients and the staff, and I hoped I had that with her. “You know I’m here for whatever you need, right? You just have to say the word.”
She grabbed her reading glasses and phone from the table beside her, the phone going to her lap, the glasses on her face. “I know, my lovely gal.” She glanced at her screen. “Everything is just glorious.”
“Glad to hear it.” I moved to the doorway of her room, and before I walked through it, I decided to turn toward her and add, “And the stiffness is still the same, right? You have no additional pain that you haven’t mentioned?”
