The slide of his tongue sets me off.
"Emmett," I cry out, and he murmurs into me, his groans vibrating deep inside and kicking me over the edge. I'm going over, falling over the edge, whistling through the wind, and my body quakes endlessly, until I'm quivering, boneless, spent.
I can barely catch my breath, my chest heaving and covered in sweat. He gets off of me and disappears briefly into the galley. When he comes back, he's got a condom in his hands, sliding it on his cock with ease.
Then he's back on the berth and he's yanking my thighs, positioning himself. He pushes inside, still fucking hard through all of that. I'm so wet that he slides in easily, as huge and thick as he is.
What a man, to have that face, that body and that cock and still know exactly what to do with it.
And that he does.
He shoves himself into me with raw urgency that borders on savage.
I cry out, gripping the cushions again, filled to the brim with too many sensations to understand at once. I am wonderfully, stunningly overwhelmed.
Emmett is merciless and I am at his mercy. He grinds into me, his hips circling as he pistons himself in and out. He grunts hard with each thrust, this rough, animalistic noise that gets louder and louder the closer he gets to coming. It's such a gorgeous, raw noise that causes the heat to build in my core, the beautiful pressure inside rising again.
Faster, harder, deeper. His pace is relentless. It slams me hard into the berth, enough that I'm afraid he might hit his head.
But he has no fear.
Only raw lust.
And it has never felt so good.
I can see him starting to lose control, dipping over the edge. His eyes burn into mine, and then he's in deep, so deep that he's shaking and muttering my name in low, guttural tones.
I can listen to these sounds forever. These sounds, all for me, all because of me.
Before he totally loses it, he places his fingers at my clit, rubbing, swirling, faster, faster. I'm so fucking slick, he's sliding all over the place.
It sets me off–BAM–and once again I'm floating, flying, but this time I'm with him, and we're riding it together, our bodies joined inside and out. For this moment, we are one, falling over the edge together.
When it's over, Emmett collapses against me, his large, muscled body sweaty and sliding against mine. His breath is rough and steady in my ear, and his lips brush my neck briefly. I want to hold on to him, to feel his skin as it calms, but I can't move. I think my arms are asleep.
Once he catches his breath, he places a soft kiss on my forehead, then pulls out. He takes the condom off, disposing of it in the trash in the head.
I need a moment to think. There are too many emotions swirling around inside. Too many of them that don't have a place. Not with us, not with what we're trying to do.
This is getting complicated.
This is getting dangerous.
Maybe for no one else but my heart.
In the waning tide of the orgasm, I'm starting to think clearly again.
"We can't do that again," I say to him quietly as I sit up, making a feeble attempt to cover my breasts. "I really mean it this time."
He stares at me in surprise. "Why not?"
"Because," I tell him. Suddenly the berth's cushions seem infinitely interesting as I run my hands over them. "Because the more I have sex with you, the more things begin to blur. Things are already so confusing as it is. The last thing I want is to feel things for you."
When he doesn't say anything, I slowly look up and watch as he swallows, rubs his lips together like he doesn't quite understand. "Why is it so wrong to feel things for me?"
There's a quiet desperation in his voice that nearly catches me off-guard. I push on.
"Because I think, in time, you'll probably just break my heart. None of this is real Emmett. The last thing I need is to forget that."
He nods. Studies me. A flash of realization comes over his eyes, turning them cool. "You're right. In the end, I'd probably just hurt you. That's not what I want. That's not what you deserve."
///
Fucking hell. Even though those words pretty much came out of my mouth, it hurts something fierce to hear him say it, like a steel-toed boot to the gut. He can't even pretend that he can be the man I need him to be.
He's being honest with you, that's what you like about him, I remind myself. Now tell your heart to go fuck itself and get back in the game.
Sheesh. My inner pep talks are getting pretty harsh.
* * *
"Can we have that table in the corner?" Jackie asks the hostess and then gives me a triumphant look when she starts to lead us that way.