It was all too much. Too intense. They held on to each other, as if they both needed a moment to adjust to the sensation.
She’d imagined this, but she didn’t think he’d know exactly what to do, how to touch her, how to move. Then he started to shift, rocking her up and down on him, a slow intoxicating rhythm while he whispered with half-lidded eyes, “You feel so damn good.”
Her eyes fluttered closed. He felt so perfect as he pushed into her again and again, slowly increasing his pace. His hands held her tightly as he lifted her up and back down, over and over as she leaned into the crook of his neck, breathless and dizzy. Sweat prickled along her brow as she chased the pleasure coursing through her with each deliberate thrust.
Her hands shifted from his broad chest to his neck to try to steady herself as her thighs began to tremble. He seemed to be losing control, too, pushing harder and harder, the deep ache in her core threatening to burst. She couldn’t help the needy sounds escaping from her throat; all she could focus on was the orgasm barreling toward her.
“Come again for me.” His words floated into her ear as his hand moved down her body between them to circle and press her sensitive bundle of nerves, the added stimulation making her eyes roll back.
She nodded slightly; she couldn’t form words, only desperate cries as she tightened around him. She came hard, her back arching, the intense convulsions washing over her. He kept up his pace, transfixed by her face as she rode out the best orgasm of her life.
“Knightley,” she breathed.
He kissed her desperately, gripping her until he was biting back a groan as he came.
“Jesus…” he panted under his breath, pulsating inside her. Heheld her tight as she fell forward, melting against his warm chest. Their skin was sticky and oversensitive, but she didn’t care. She knew there was a conversation waiting for them, things to work out and define, but right now she pushed it all aside, closing her eyes and savoring every second in Knightley’s arms.
CHAPTER 32
It was the middle of the night when Knightley woke to the sound of glasses clanging, the shuffling of feet and opening of drawers downstairs. The sounds were swimming in his head before he was even aware of them, working into a dream until something in his brain clicked and his eyes slowly opened.
The wall of windows that faced the back garden was dark with only the watery light from the city sky revealing the outline of his bed. The indentation in the sheets beside him.
Emma.
The evening rushed back to him in an instant—the tension, the argument, and then the need, the fucking relief of having her. They had passed out afterward, waking up at midnight and stumbling up to his bed. He reached over and picked up his phone to see that it was now three a.m.
He lay there for a long moment, listening to the sounds coming from the kitchen, and suddenly a rush of panic shot through him. It had all happened so quickly; he had felt untethered, controlled only by the emotions that he had tried for so long to suppress.
But she had wanted him, too. That simple push, that give ofher lips and press against his body. That’s all it took. This amazing woman that had borne the brunt of his criticisms and condescension and fucking baggage. This woman knew it all. And she still wanted him.
The thought faded as he heard footsteps lightly padding up the stairs toward his room. He sat up, pulling his legs free from the mess of sheets just as Emma appeared in the doorway. There was a pint of ice cream in one hand and a spoon in the other.
“Hi.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet there was nothing tentative in her tone. In fact, there was nothing self-conscious about her at all. She stood in the doorframe, one hip leaning against it, with nothing covering her except the shadows from the hallway light. But even silhouetted, Knightley could make out every curve of her body. The swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist.
“You all right?” he asked.
“I was hungry.” He saw the smile turn up the corners of her lips. “I was looking for Pop-Tarts or Lucky Charms or something, but all I could find was oatmeal and protein powder. Why do you buy so much ice cream but totally fail with really unhealthy breakfast foods?”
“Probably because I don’t make breakfast for anyone except me.” He had meant it to sound light, a self-effacing joke to get them back to familiar ground. But he realized his misstep as soon as the words left his lips and the smile faded from her own. How the statement alluded to others, women whose shadows loomed here in the darkness too.
Shit, he wanted to apologize. He wanted to start over and be the first to speak, to let her know how he felt, howmuchhe felt.
“Emma, I didn’t mean—”
“No, no, it’s fine,” she cut him off. “I didn’t mean to make it weird. Or weirder.”
He shook his head, maintaining her steady gaze. “It’s not weird.”
Silence stretched out between them for a minute as she studied his face.
She took a step forward, then another, until she was standing in front of where he sat on the edge of the bed.
“What is it, then?” she asked.
He reached out, putting a hand on either hip and pulling her to him. His fingers pressed into her soft skin as his thumbs grazed the rise of her hip bone.
I’m in love with you.The thought felt so natural and right that he almost said it aloud. But then he caught her expression. Her bottom lip between her teeth, the skin between her eyebrows pinched. It occurred to him that while he knew exactly how he felt, she might still be figuring it out.
