Entice (31 page)

Eyes now glued to the somewhat underwater, distorted V between her luscious thighs, I swipe my thumb through the bead of cum on my head and spread it up and down my shaft. Yearning for release, consumed by the sight of her, I grope up and down with the fierce grip and speed of all twelve pistons firing. I know it won’t take long, it’s been forever since I’ve touched her, so I force my eyes to stay open despite the urge to let them fall closed and get lost in my grossly overdue undoing.

She moans lightly as she succumbs to the hot water, slumping further down and brushing her wet hair back from her face. I clamp down on my lip, painfully so, as to not groan with her and alert her to my pervy presence. The second her little tongue comes out and glides achingly slowly along her bottom lip, I’m done, hot ropes of semen shooting from me, saturating my hand. I relish in it, continuing to jack myself off leisurely now until every ounce is unloaded and my breathing evens back out.

Awkwardly, I back out of the room with my cum-covered hand and open fly, praying I don’t bump into anything. When I know I’ve cleared the bedroom door, I turn and race to the kitchen, putting myself back together and washing my hands.

I begin plating the food and pouring our drinks, whistling as innocently as possible. It definitely eased the threat of backed up spunk-induced insanity, but enflamed the longing to be inside her again. I want to feel her soft, sweaty skin under me, on top of me, to hear the moans and whimpers that only I can pull from her. I miss our tongues entangled, fighting for control as I surge into her and she screams my name and digs her nails into my back. Even more so, I miss holding her afterward, her head on my shoulder, her hand petting my chest as her contented sighs tickle my skin. I miss knowing she’s in love with me and that I can have her anytime I want, her wanting it just as badly.

She lets me put an arm over her waist when we sleep, but she doesn’t scoot further back against me. I’m allowed to rest a hand on her tummy, but she doesn’t cover it with her own. She smiles when I read to the baby, but she doesn’t rub my head methodically while I do. I know she’s afraid that I’ll get scared again and bolt, but I don’t know what the ultimate grand gesture, the one that knocks down the whole wall all at once.

“Hey,” she smiles as she steps around the corner, hair damp and dressed in a short white robe, “when did you get home?”

“Not too long ago. You hungry? I got your favorite. And,” I hold up the box, “some ovaryfest for your viewing pleasure.”

“Sounds like the perfect night to me!” She beams, stretching up to give me a kiss on the cheek. “Let’s eat on the couch and watch the movie. And thank you.”

—Emmett—

“
S
awyer?” I whisper in his ear. “It’s morning. Merry Christmas.”

“Mhmm,” he grumbles as he rouses himself, firming his arm around my waist to pull me against his chest. “Merry Christmas.” He kisses my forehead blindly, eyes still closed. “What time is it?”

“Time to get up and open your presents!” I can’t help it, I’m excited to have someone I love to share the holiday morning with after so long without. “Last one to the tree makes breakfast!” I clamor out of bed and hurry down the hall, already waiting anxiously on my knees as he sleepily emerges. Mussed hair, five o’clock shadow, and wearing only navy pajama pants, he would make an excellent present…if I knew for sure.

“Do I have time for coffee?” He smirks at me.

“Yes, but hurry!”

While he’s dragging in the kitchen, I sort the presents into two neat little stacks, stopping short and covering my gasp with my hand. “Sawyer?”

“Yeah?”

“Why does Alex have presents? I don’t think babies get gifts until they’re actually born.” I’m still talking loudly as he ambles in the room, leaning down to kiss the top of my head.

“My baby, my rules.”

“You’re crazy.” I roll my eyes, merely feigning indifference when inside, my heart is bursting. I grab two of his presents and walk on my knees to where he sits on the couch, handing them to him. I can’t wait to see if he likes them. “Open that one first,” I direct, pointing to the one on top.

“Hold up, Shorty.” He places the gifts to the side and stands, picking me up effortlessly and setting me on the couch. He retrieves my pile and sets them in my lap, then retakes his seat beside me. “There ya go. We’ll open at the same time.”

He opens his henleys, one gray and one navy, and for me, a bag of Red body spray, bubble bath and lotion.

“Do you like them?” I ask. “You always look so nice in the ones you have.”

He snakes a hand around the back of my neck, pulling my face to his. “I love them. Thank you,” he husks out before kisses me passionately. Wow, he must really like shirts.

Next he opens his Usher cologne and aftershave package, thanking me with another forceful, but wonderful all the same, kiss, his tongue not having to ask for entrance. He tastes like coffee and all I’ve needed but resisted for far too many lonely days and nights and I moan into his mouth, eating back at him urgently. One hand runs up my neck, turning my head as he deepens the kiss momentarily, then pulls back too soon. “Open yours before I—” He shakes his head, visibly getting his heaving chest under control. “Just open yours.”

Hands still shaky from that kiss, I fumble with the wrapping until I’m looking at a silver heart locket, Mine engraved across the front.

“Open it,” his deep whisper slices into my trance.

I do, moisture springing to my eyes when I see a tiny picture of the two of us on one side and the first ultrasound photo on the other. “Sawyer,” I squeak, a tear rolling down the side of my nose.

“Turn it over.”

Yours is across the back.

Maybe because it’s Christmas, or perhaps because of the sweetest gift I’ve ever received, or quite possibly because he’s shirtless, in sexy pajama pants, smelling like Sawyer and kissing me all morning—pick a reason—but I throw myself on him. My lips, my hands, have no rhythm, no grace as I pour into his mouth and onto his body the frustrations of a very pregnant, very sentimental woman who can no longer pretend she doesn’t need him to live.

“Sawyer,” I mewl, clinging to his shoulders and letting my head fall back as he kisses up my neck.

“What, baby? Tell me.”

“Can we?” My hands move, up his neck, around the back of his head, pulling his head down against my neck.

“Can we what?” he pants, clenching both cheeks of my ass in his wanting hands. “What do you want, Em?”

“Ah…” It makes me crazy, senseless to all but his touch, when he uses his teeth to barely nip the tender skin of my neck and underside of my jaw. “Can we do this without forgetting we need time? Just make each other feel good? I need it so bad.”

His mouth disappears abruptly, hands sliding off my ass causing me to raise my head back up and meet eyes so dark blue, pupils so dilated they’re almost black. “Is that what you want? ‘Cause that’s far from what it will be for me.”

“I don’t…” I brush my hair back with both hands and blow out a confused, exasperated breath. “I don’t know. I’m not sure we’re ready for more, if you’re ready for more, but God, I want you, Sawyer. I need to feel you.” I take his hand and guide it to the heated, liquid place between my thighs. “Let’s just make each other feel good. H-have…” Fearful of the coming answer, I turn away before I ask. “Have you been with anybody else?”

He springs off the couch, glaring down at me with both hands on his hips. His face is red with fury; this situation just went way south, way fast. “How can you even ask me that? The last woman I was inside was the last woman I’ll ever be inside! You!” He points one stiff finger at me, his voice escalating. “I’m not gonna fuck you to feel better. My dick’s filed for disability and my heart’s half-broken, but a,” he air quotes with angry, flippant movements, “‘let’s feel better cause it’s Christmas romp’ isn’t gonna cut it for me, Emmett!” He turns, giving me his back, his muscles bulging angrily, hands now linked behind his neck. “I thought you meant we were finally fixed, that we could make love again,” he says softly.

“Oh,” is all I mutter.

“I’m going out now. I’m not running, I just need some time to cool off. I know I hurt you, Emmett, and I’m so fucking sorry, but Goddamn if you didn’t just hurt me too.”

I remain in place on the couch, dumbfounded and curled into myself under the blanket as he stomps around to gather clothes and whatever else he needs. The whole while he mumbles irritably to himself, a few times causing me to jolt when the mumbling turns to a harsher volume and ferocity. When his hand is on the doorknob, he takes one deep breath and turns back to me.

“This is not me running,” he says again.

“Okay,” I whisper and nod.

Chapter 31

Breakfast at Granny’s

—Sawyer—

I
drive around on my bike aimlessly for a while, Christmas clearing the roads enough for me to gun it and avoid having to stop much. The briskness in the air whipping past me stings my exposed fingers, but does little to chill my temper. What a splendid fucking end to Christmas morning. I knew this holiday sucked. I thought she was back, exposed, that she’d finally realized we were meant to be and I never really “went” anywhere, but no. No, she wanted to come, missing the d, pregnant and horny.

Had I been with anyone else? Jesus, how far removed was I, putting that possibility in her head? Yeah, Emmett, I fucked other women and slept in bed with you every night…really?

My stomach’s growling, since breakfast was denied. What’s open on Christmas? I cruise through the streets of downtown until I find an open sign calling to me like a beacon and I pull over. Granny’s Kitchen—no fucking way. I’m not sure I believe in signs, but I believe in this one. I walk in and chuckle at the “Please Wait to be Seated” stand—I’m the only person in here.

A smiling elderly woman, I’m guessing Granny in the flesh, greets me. “One?”

“In all my glory.”

“Follow me.” She shuffles, back bent with age, to a booth where she seats me. “What would you like to drink?”

“Coffee and a water please. You have a big breakfast special?” There’s no way I’m making her walk back and forth to me, poor little thing, so I take a stab at an easy order.

“We do.” She smiles and takes the menu I hold back out to her.

“I’ll take that.” When she scoots away, I rest my elbows on the table, cradling my sagging head in my hands. Maybe I should’ve gone with it, Lord knows I’ve been dying to sink into her again, but something snapped and I simply couldn’t. I refuse, with all the meaningless dick dips I’ve had in my life, to cheapen what I found when I found Emmett. I told her once if she wanted my cock, I wanted her heart. I meant it.

Granny’s back, so I’m forced to move my elbows for her to set down my drinks. “Alone on Christmas? Such a handsome young man?”

“Such a foolish young man is more like it.” I shake my head at myself, giving her my best attempt at a grin. “I can’t get it right, Granny.”

“You messed up with your young lady?”

“Something like that. Then we decided to work it out, but it’s taking a while.” Why I’m telling her all this beats the shit outta me, but Granny’s got kind eyes with wrinkles around them that somehow let me know there’s nothing I could tell her she hasn’t heard or lived through before. “And then today, she—” I cut myself off before I go too far, debating making love versus fucking with a ninety-year-old stranger. “Nothing, never mind.”

I can hear her sympathetic “tsk” as she goes to get my food. Back with my plate, which I have no idea who cooked, as I haven’t seen any trace of anyone else in this place, she doesn’t walk away. Drawn, I look up at her.

“How much time did you waste messing up?” she asks pointedly.

“A while,” I answer quickly. “Too long.”

“And how much time have you spent making it right?”

“Not as long I guess.”

“Which do you think should take more time, bad acts or good ones? Earning trust seems more time-worthy than breaking it to me. What’s that they say, love is patient?”

Damn right. Everybody needs a Granny so wise.