Razorblade Kisses(78)

So she did.





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Who Needs Willpower?



After they’d gotten drinks and sat down at the table, she felt a little better. Nothing like a little bit of liquid courage. If she drank enough to get through dinner, though, she may have to walk home.

“So, Emma, you were saying that you and Lucas sort of just hit it off?”

Emery smiled at the memory of their first conversation. “I actually think he was just so happy someone could understand him. I mean, the school thought he was deaf, for fuck’s sake. You know?” She cringed, realizing she’d just used that language in front of him, but he didn’t seem bothered. “It’s like, how do you not know this kid isn’t deaf? Do you just not care?”

He ran a hand through his hair, then leaned in and picked a roasted potato off her plate and popped it in his mouth. “I hate it, but sometimes kids fall through the cracks. I don’t know how you miss that. “

She decided to change the subject to more superficial conversation. “So, where did you learn how to cook?”

“Meme,” he answered. “You want to move to the couch? I’ll put up the dishes later.”

“Oh no, I’ll help put everything up.” She got up and stacked the plates like the professional server she was and took them all to the kitchen in one trip. She turned to see him examining her from the den. “What? I waited tables in my former life.” She shrugged as she set the dishes down in the sink.

He was watching her, and something about how casual he was sans shoes made her feel raw, like it was too intimate. Her mind was waging a war in her mind; one part felt everything and knew better and the other was utterly sucked in by him. It was a weird thing, but he put her at ease. There was something about how comfortable he was in his own skin. He had a confidence in himself that was so sexy, it made her long for the ease of just touching him. She wished she could just be with him and turn everything off. She wished that her mind would just evaporate.

Emery turned the water on and started rinsing off dishes and loading them in the dishwasher. Tim switched on music and joined her at the sink.

She felt him behind her and exhaled, steeling herself for the memories and fear that would change this night. He leaned against her, pressing her hips into the counter in front of her. Surprisingly, instead of cringing at the touch, her head fell back involuntarily. Shock and confusion, followed by need, coursed through her body. It’d been so long since anyone had touched her, and she was so lonesome. She felt his lips sear down her neck, eating away at her resolve to stay away from him.

Emery was lost. She wanted what she couldn’t have. She hadn’t turned to him or reciprocated anything, but she could feel heat spreading through her body. Maybe if she could just fill this ache or loss or desperation for this one night, it would last another year.

He peeled off her striped cardigan and moved the straps of her tank top to the side to kiss her collarbone, her shoulder, and her back. “Em…” he started.

Emery turned furiously and crashed her lips into his, interrupting him. There was nothing tender or slow about her kiss and he met her every stroke and movement. He lifted her up on the edge of the counter so their faces were even. She put her hands on his jaw and felt the stubble on his face to slow herself down. He kissed her throat, dipped his tongue into the crevice at its base, and then traveled south, licking her chest. He was panting.

“I really want to take your shirt off. It’s in my way.” He smirked as he spoke and she could tell he knew she would acquiesce. She was as far gone as he was, panting and desperate. She barely nodded and her shirt was ripped from her body without ceremony. He pulled her right breast out of her nude bra and palmed it lovingly before circling her nipple with his tongue.

“Oh, this is bad,” she moaned into his ear.

He lifted her up and threw her over his shoulder, making his way to the stairs to the right off the main room. It took her a minute to realize what he was doing.

Silence.

“Is that okay?” Tim hesitated at the top of the stairs. “I just want to be able to lay you out and kiss you. You tell me no and that’ll be it.”

“I don’t think I have that much willpower,” she answered softly.

“Good,” he slapped her ass as they entered his room and he laid her gently on a very large bed with a fluffy duvet, “because I’m pretty sure I left my willpower on the dance floor.”

She’d never affected anyone like this, unless all this was bullshit. She remembered losing herself while kissing him on the dance floor, but he didn’t know anything about her. She could be Emma Simpson, a girl who likes to touch and kiss. One that has sex with boys and walks away feeling fine. She could be anyone she wanted to be.