It’s all too much.
We pause for a moment, looking at each other. His eyes show exactly how I feel and what I’m thinking. They’re wide with amazement.
And even though I know this will only make things worse, I stand on my tiptoes, wrap my arms around his neck, and pull him down until our kisses become messier and we’re nothing but tangled limbs, our tongues clashing against each other’s—a passionate yet aggressive embrace.
A moan slips from me as he skillfully moves his tongue, as if trying to show me what he’d be doing to me if it weren’t just in my mouth. He responds with a moan of his own, and fuck if that isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. The sound alone makes the space between my thighs slick.
He pushes me against the wall and showers my neck with kisses. My head tilts back, giving him better access. I promised myself a long time ago that the next man I sleep with would be the last one I bring into my bed, but right now, I know I want to make the most of our time together.
Grabbing a fistful of his hair, I force him to look at me. His pupils are dilated, and I realize he isn’t speaking because he doesn’t know my real name. That should bother me more than it does, but I’m so overwhelmed with lust and feelings that alllogical thoughts have long disappeared. Slowly, I lift my dress, exposing my legs and guiding his hand onto my bare thigh.
He closes his eyes, and his face contorts with pain as his hand squeezes my leg. Ace rests his forehead against mine and gradually slides his hand higher, both of our chests rising faster, our breaths syncing. His fingers brush the lace of my underwear, and I exhale sharply. Finally, he slips his hand inside my thong and senses how wet I am for him. A gasp escapes me.
“Fuck,” Ace hisses, and a thread in him snaps. He sticks two fingers inside of me and covers my mouth with his as I whimper at the intensity of the feeling. His fingers move expertly, fucking me while using his palm to massage my clit. He groans into my mouth as I feel him rub himself against my stomach.
Throwing my head back, I rub my palm over his pants, where I find a large surprise waiting for me. He curses again and kisses me harsher.
Ace presses himself against my hand, and we’re both entirely immersed in each other.
Then my phone rings. Not just my regular ringtone, but the chorus of “You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon. The one I assigned to my grandmother’s phone number. It instantly makes me stiffen and squeeze my eyes shut. That means it’s past eleven, and they’re wondering why I haven’t gotten back to the penthouse.
Ace halts all movement. Want and release hang in the air as he realizes our time is up. The disappointment in his eyes is clear.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “Don’t be.”
We let my dress fall, and Ace smiles, letting out a deep breath. My phone rings again, but this time it’s from my grandfather’s cell, which also has a specific ringtone set.
“Shit, I’m sorry. I really have to go.” I run and send my grandmother a text saying I was with some friends from the ball getting some food, and that I am on my way to the penthouse now.
“Let me drive you to wherever you’re headed.”
Putting on my heels, I move my head from side to side. “I can’t risk my grandparents seeing you. I’ll be fine.”
Rounding the bar, I grab my purse and copy ofThe Princess Bride, taking a step toward the door. Holding my breath, I glance back one last time and find Ace standing at the end of the bar. I take a moment to memorize his handsome face, strong hands, and expressive eyes.
My friends often wonder why I get involved in their love lives. They think it’s because I love gossip, but really, it’s to help them avoid ending up like me. With a dramatic and endless complicated love life like mine—one that’s practically nonexistent—so far, it’s worked. Most of them have their happily ever afters, and I feel so behind.
Oh, timing and fate, you fickle bitch.
“Thank you for tonight,” I whisper.
He sucks in a ragged breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “At least tell me your real name.”
His eyes are pleading with me, and as much as I want to know his real name, too, it won’t change anything, but I give him something. Something he’ll need to figure out if he really wants to know who I am. A line fromEmmaby Jane Austen, the reason I was named Emma. And it’s a line that’s very fitting for the situation we’re in.
I offer him a sad smile and quote Mr. Knightley.
“Surprises are foolish things. The pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable.” With that, I slowly walk backward. He slackens, looking confused and disappointed. “You’re clever enough to figure it out,” I say. When I reach the door, I turn around one last time to find him still watching my every move. “Yes, people do tell me I’m dramatic, and here I am proving it by making this exit. Surely, it’s not one you’ll forget.”
Then I run down the block back into the busy streets of London, unsure if the choice I made by not giving him my name was the right one.
Chapter Two
EMMA
End of August - Driscoll, NY - Beginning of Senior Year
