Fiery red hair tickles my chin when I rest my cheek on top of Emerson’s head and flare my nostrils to drink in her scent. She’s half asleep, half comatose. Our night was long and filled with moments I will replay on repeat for many years to come. But this, having her in my arms again, smelling like me, is a comfort I’ve missed more than anything.
We lost so much time that I shouldn’t be wasting it, lying on the couch in my office, but only a fool wouldn’t relish the quiet after a storm. The air is fresher after a deluge, almost pure. It is the best time to gather your bases and work out which direction you should head next.
Today, my needles all point the same way.
In any direction Emerson goes.
Tonight was so magical that the hurt is gone, the anger dispersed. It is time to leave the past in the past and make every second she’s willing to share with me count.
A knock on my office door disrupts my silent deliberations on how to achieve that.
I grit my teeth, unwilling to let this moment end just yet.
“Go away,” I growl under my breath when the intruder knocks again, louder this time.
Whoever it is can wait. I have ten missed years to make up for. I’m not yet close to having my fill. If Emerson wasn’t on the cusp of exhaustion when her kiss forced me to release, I would bury my head back between her legs. I don’t care that I spilled my load inside her only an hour ago. Kissing Emerson’s pussy is as enticing as kissing her mouth. I will never get enough.
Another knock sounds.
“For fuck’s sake.” I bite back a growl while sweeping my fingers through my hair. It’s still damp, and the reminder as to why frustrates me as much as when I carefully peel Emerson off my chest and onto a pillow before I cover her with a blanket all my establishments have for this exact reason.
An oversized leather couch isn’t as comfortable as a mattress on the floor, but it saves queries from people undeserving to learn the cause of my offices’ designs.
From the rusted filing cabinet in the far-right corner to the bulky desk, everything about this office is a replica of the one in Emerson’s family’s pub.
I’m a fucking simp.
As a hazy memory of the last time I spoke those words ring through my head, I tug on my trousers, pull a shirt over my head, and head for the door. I only crack open the gleaming black material half an inch. Emerson is covered, but I’d never let anyone see her in a vulnerable state. Snoring with your mouth slightly ajar could be perceived as vulnerable.
My defenses lower a smidge when the face on the other side of the door registers as familiar.
“Hey.” Lynx smirks while shifting from foot to foot. “Is Emmy in there?”
I block the doorway with my frame, too exhausted to waste a single morsel of energy on him. “She is, but she’s busy.”
“Too busy for me?” He rethinks hispfftwhen I work my jaw side to side, my jealousy streak long enough to be obvious even from a distance. “Courier arrived with a package for her. She needs to sign for it.”
Curiosity echoes in my tone. “Sign it for her.”
“Already have. Just figured I’d give her an out if she wanted one.” He twists to his left and then shouts. “You good, girl?”
I realize I’m doing a shit job of guarding Emerson when her giggle sounds through my ears. “I’m fine, Lynx. But thanks for asking.”
My back molars crunch when Lynx says, “You sure? If I recall correctly, wasting alcohol was instant toilet-cleaning duties. He’s better at showering now than he was in his teens, but you should still consider a wet wipe.”
After snatching the small box Lynx pulls out from behind his back out of his hand, I slam my office door in his face.
I hear his laughter all the way down to the gallows of my bar, his howls only ending when he says, “It’s about time you rubbed some lubricant into that couch. The leather was getting stiff.”
I spin to face Emerson when she says with a yawn, “Was stiff? It still is.” She drags her hands over leather on the verge of cracking. “Did they not give you care instructions when you forked out for real cowhide?”
I shrug. The saleswoman spurted off a range of features, but I paid attention to the length and girth the most. It is an inch longer than Emerson and almost my width, making it the perfect size to force a close snuggling session.
When Emerson’s curious eyes bounce between the rusted filing cabinet, my desk, and the couch, I wiggle her package in the air. “A package arrived for you.”
“For me?”
Nodding, I toss it to her, and she catches it—even with her curiosity still paramount. She isn’t curious about the contents of her package. Her eyes haven’t left my desk.
