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Dillon runs his fingers through his hair and walks over to the couch. He sits in the same seat he always has.
“I think we both remember the morning after your twenty-first birthday, right?”
My shoulders tense, and he offers me a pained smile.
“I was a mess that morning. Had been a mess the whole day before. Finding out Sabrina was pregnant felt like a nightmare, and then kissing you…” He blows out a breath. “Kissing you was the single most exhilarating, confirming moment of my life.”
He runs his hands down his jean clad thighs. “I couldn't have you and do what I thought was the right thing, though. Hell, you were twenty-one. You didn't want a dude who got some chick pregnant. You didn't want a new dad with piling responsibilities.”
“Looks like I'm not the only one who likes to make assumptions here,” I snap.
He cringes. “No. Guess not.” His eyes find mine again. “Emerson, when I said all you'd be was a great fuck, I didn't mean that's all I would want you to be. I thought that's all you'd want from me, and I couldn't afford doing what I felt was the wrong thing just for sex.”
“Am I still the wrong thing, Dillon?” My throat burns, but I don't look away.
“You never were the wrong thing, Emerson. Never. I don't regret Penny, but if I could go back, I would have said something different to you that morning.”
“Like what?” My voice is quiet and fucking terrified.
“Like I know I'm not a simple choice, but I want you. Like, I think I've been slowly falling for you since I realized you’re just as pretty on the outside as you are on the inside.”
“Dillon…”
He smirks, leaning his head back. Fully comfortable look, even though his eyes are blazing. “This is where I need you to keep your cool, Emerson. Are you ready, baby?”
“No, Dillon, I am not—”
“I love you, Emerson Lee Bennet. I think I've loved you since you were nineteen and blowing up my phone every day. I missed you for two years, but these last four months?” He shakes his head, white knuckling his thighs. “Torture.”
“Dillon…”
“My draft folder is full of emails I was too chicken shit to send or because I thought you weren't ready to hear what I had to say.”
My mouth parts, and I throw my hands out at my sides. “And what makes you think I’m ready now?”
“Because I came home today to you in my kitchen with my daughter, trying. Trying for me. Trying for us.” He’s distorted by the tears pooling in my eyes, but I see him inhale a shaky breath. “And I want you to keep trying, Emery. No more windows. No more rules. I want you. Here. Whatever day, whatever time. I want you to keep making messes in my kitchen and laughing with my daughter. I want your shoes in the middle of the room and hair ties left all over the fucking place. I want you to keep picking Penny up on Fridays if it makes you happy, and I want to come home to you existing in my spaces if you want to be. This was never just sex to me, and I’m so, so fucking sorry if you thought it was.”
I hiccup over a choked sound. “I’m gonna freak out.”
Dillon barks a laugh. “You’re already freaking out. Come here.”
I shake my head even as my feet move me closer to him. He watches me every step of the way. He doesn’t make it easy, either. Doesn’t guide me closer when I’m within reach. He makes me take the last step. Makes me choose to climb on his lap. It’s not until I press my nose to his and sniffle that he exhales and wraps his arms around me, tightening his hold when I nudge my face closer.
“Was that so hard?”
“I didn’t even say anything. You just kept talking and talking and talking—I didn’t think it was ever going to end.”
His smile on my lips makes my heart break. It shuffles all the pieces and slides them into place. The right places this time.
Emerson
I’ve never been edged so thoroughly before without a single touch to my dick. Not one. Dillon soaps up the washcloth and drags it over every other inch of my skin. Not a space between fingers or fraction of my back is missed. He drags his lips over my collarbones, ghosts them over my stomach when he crouches to wash my legs. He looks up at me from the shower floor, and I hate how much I love the look in his eyes.
Because I’ll never get enough of it.
Never.
His fingers work magic on my shoulders, and he kisses each notch in my back. The cloth makes a wet slapping noise when he drops it on the shower floor, and I look back to find him on his knees again. My breath hitches when he kisses the base of my spine, and then his soapy fingers lather my ass. I snap my eyes forward again when he looks up at me through the misting water hitting his face because his fingers move devilishly slowly towards my hole. And you know what he does? Absolutely nothing but washes me.
