Perfect Alignment (29 page)

“Drew, I think we owe it to ourselves to try to make this work. For real. No endgame in sight.”

Drew rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and she immediately felt bad. He was clearly exhausted. Before she had a chance to apologize, he wrapped his arms around her, nuzzled into her hair and breathed deeply. “I know, Emma. I don’t want to put you off, and we will talk about it, I promise, but not tonight.”

She ran her hands up his back. “You’re right. I’m sorry, honey. Let’s get you into bed. You need rest.”

“Later,” he growled, and walked her backwards toward the couch, until she hit it with the back of her legs and dropped down. He kept pushing until she was full out along its length.

That tone, that look on his face. Emma shivered.

His knee pushed between her legs, pressed lightly against her center. She fought not to press against him, let him give her what he would.

“I missed you,” he repeated. “Missed your face.” His finger traced her eyebrow. “Missed your conversation.” He pressed his lips to hers, but didn’t really kiss her. “Missed your body.” His knee finally pressed in, gave her more of the contact she wanted. She held herself still, her heart beating wildly, her eyes fixed to his face. “Missed your submission.”

She swallowed hard, wasn’t sure if she was allowed to speak, to answer him. He didn’t give her a chance. His hand had been caressing her jawbone, but he moved it down to slide underneath her shirt and cup her breast, while his mouth trailed kisses to her ear. He sucked her lobe between his lips at the same time he pinched her nipple lightly.

Her stomach muscles clenched tightly with the effort to keep the rest of her body from moving. To keep her back from arching into his hold, her thighs from bracketing his leg and forcing him closer, her head from turning to find his lips with hers.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, sliding his tongue along the outside of her ear. “I’ve fallen asleep every night to thoughts of you in my bed, on my couch, on the floor.” He lifted his head, met her eyes as he squeezed her breast. “On the kitchen table.”

That startled a laugh from her, which turned into a gasp when he shoved her bra down and his hand met her hot flesh. His lips returned to her ear, but she could feel the curve of them as he smiled. “I love knowing that I can make most of those fantasies come true. And that I already had plenty of memories to draw from.”

Her yoga pants were soaked now, the seam pressed tight into her core from the pressure of his knee. He pushed her breasts together and toyed with both nipples at the same time, still whispering into her ear.

“In my dreams I fucked you, again and again, loving every second of it.” He bit not very gently on her neck, behind her ear. “But none of that, not one second, was as good as having you here, under me, for real.” His knee took up a short, pulsing rhythm, his fingers pulled on her nipples, his breath washed over her neck, cool against the moisture he trailed behind his kisses. “Knowing you’re here, to do with as I please. To pleasure all night long if I want to.” His hand fell still, his knee pulled back. “Or to just hold in my arms.”

She almost sobbed in frustration, her body needing him so badly, despite the way her heart and soul were rejoicing at his words. With him, it was all combined. The joys of the flesh inseparable from what her heart wanted, needed, no matter how much she’d tried to tell herself otherwise. If he’d wanted to just hold her, she would have been happy with that. Twenty minutes ago. Now, she needed him, needed his touch or she might just starve to death, right here, right now.

“Knowing,” he said, slowly pressing his knee back into place, gripping her breast in a squeeze with just the right amount of pain, “that you’re mine.” He pressed hard against her clit, bit down on her neck, sucked hard. Her release rippled through her, arching her back, her heels digging into the couch, hands scrabbling against the soft material, unable to grip anything.

“Please,” she moaned, her need still high.

“Please, what?”

“Please kiss me,” she begged.

He drew his leg from between hers, slid it down her other side so that his thighs pressed tightly to hers, his hard length cradled in the vee. He braced both elbows beside her arms and threaded his fingers into her hair. And then he kissed her. Though the hunger inside her didn’t diminish, she relaxed into the kiss, welcoming him with everything she had. His weight settled onto her, his scent filled her, and his taste. God, she’d missed his taste without quite realizing how much until she had him again. He moaned and she actually felt her eyes prickle at the unspoken acknowledgment that he wanted her as badly as she wanted him, despite the fact that he’d just told her so himself. Though the words meant everything to her, his unconscious actions thrilled her.

She ripped her lips free of his. “Drew, please.”

He smiled, his heavy-lidded eyes focused on hers. “Please, what?” he asked again.

Licking her lips, she gave it some thought. “Please get naked,” she demanded.

His lips quirked, but he said nothing about the fact that her begging no longer sounded like begging.

She was almost sorry for her decision when he rose, taking his warmth from her. But his hands went to the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth move, then immediately began to work on his jeans. Her throat went dry and she raised her hands slowly. “Please let me touch you.”

He didn’t answer, but he made no move to stop her as her hands came to rest on his chest, moving with him so that she didn’t impede his progress of working his way out of his pants without actually getting up from the couch. His skin was warm, and she traced his tattoo, which she swore felt cooler than the rest of him. She wanted to trace it with her tongue, but she had to wait until he was finished undressing. By the time he’d managed to free himself of his jeans, she was torn with indecision. So much skin to touch, to taste.

“Please,” she moaned in frustration.

“Please, what?” he asked with a knowing smile, resuming his place stretched out atop her.

“Oh god.” She bit his shoulder and he gave a soft chuckle. She traced the dark lines as she’d wanted, but her attention was split as she moved her hands down to clutch his ass, squeezing tightly. “Please, please can we move to the bed?”

He rose, offered her a hand, which she needed. He pulled her into him and she tried to kiss him, but he shook his head and pushed her toward the bedroom. Which was what she wanted, she reminded herself with an internal growl. She started shedding clothes, though, so that by the time they stood next to the bed, she was as naked as he was.

She pressed one hand against his chest to push him onto the bed, but he remained unmoving. She blinked at the reminder that she was only sort of in charge of this little adventure, and that there were rules. Leaning in, she kissed his unopened lips, slid her hands around his shoulders and down his back, enjoying the different muscles she encountered along the way to his ass. God, that ass. Subverting the impatience that was trying to take hold, she turned her lips to his ear.

“Please, can you lie down on the bed and let me ride you?” This time, she really did beg. Let her want and need color every syllable she whispered.

He turned his head, offered her his lips, which she took without hesitation, patient now. When he finally broke free, she whimpered but stayed still, waited while he climbed onto the bed, bunched the pillows up under his head and held his hands out to her. She climbed up, straddled him and froze. She was skipping the part he usually took care of. He smiled when she reached into his bedside drawer and retrieved the condom.

Pulling his cock into her hands, she caressed it gently, then squeezed firmly. His hips arched up into her grip. She lowered her head but stopped when his hands gripped her hair, hard. Now she couldn’t decide what she wanted. Beg for the taste of him, or go back to the original plan and ride him. She wanted both. She wanted everything.

“Please, may I taste you first?” Though she said the words out loud, she also begged with her eyes, getting into the spirit of the thing. She wanted his permission, wanted him to let her do this because she asked. His fingers relaxed and she slid her lips down over his shaft, her eyes still meeting his, full of the gratitude she now felt.

He smiled, but she saw his Adam’s apple bob too. Again, she loved the sign that he was as affected by what they were doing as she was. His cock twitched between her lips, recalling her to her task. She swirled her tongue around as much as she could, then sucked in, hard. His hips lifted, but she moved with him, not taking any more than she already had. Bracing herself on her elbows, she wrapped one hand around his base and used the other to work his balls. Everything about his reactions turned her on. His tight muscles, his ragged breaths, the way his hips kept inching up, as if he had no control over them. No control because she’d stripped it from him.

She moaned and his thighs tightened around her, then released. When she found herself wanting to let him go with one hand so that she could reach down and touch herself, she forced herself to move back. With one final pull on his shaft with her mouth, she released him, rose over him.

“Please, Sir. Now?”

His hands came to her hips, helped lower her over him. She gasped when he breached her, held herself still to feel that gorgeous fullness lodged just inside her opening.

“Christ, Emma.”

The words were harsh but sounded a whole lot like begging to her. Power and triumph slicked through her and she squeezed her pelvic muscles, then pushed down over him. He bucked up, filing her in two long thrusts. Oh yes, she had missed him. For the first time in her life, she had to bite back in the insane urge to tell someone she loved him. Now was so not the time and she wasn’t even sure it was true, exactly. But she sure as hell loved this. Rotating her hips brought a gasp from both of them. She brought her hands to his shoulders, rested some of her weight there and began to move. Riding him as she’s promised, as she’d begged for, she brought them both to the brink. When she wasn’t sure she could last a moment longer, when she was pretty sure he wasn’t thinking about anything other than finishing, she stopped.

“Please.”

He blinked, seemed to have to force his brain to work. His gaze focused on her, and he remembered where they were, what they were about. Their bodies slick with sweat, his fingers tightened their grip on her hips and he took a breath.

“Please, what?”

“Please can I make you come?”

His lips twitched. “You were doing a damn fine job of it.”

“Please can I come when you do?”

“You sure as hell better.” He braced his heels, pushed back into her and came. She had absolutely no choice but to follow him over.

****

When the flu had apparently swept its way clear of the police department and Drew had gotten some much-needed rest, he’d made his plans. He couldn’t exactly say he was comfortable with his decision, but he couldn’t come up with a better way to move forward. And it wasn’t fair to keep trying to force their relationship to tread water until it was time for Emma to go home and they no longer had any options.

He made arrangements to take Emma into Boston for lunch, to a restaurant she had said she’d like to try, though he really had a destination just outside the city in mind. Of course, the traffic gods were laughing at him and they made amazingly quick time. When he bypassed the exits for the city, she looked at him, but didn’t say anything.

He sighed. “I’ve asked my parents if we could drop by for a visit so I can introduce you.”

“Shit, Drew, you don’t think maybe I would have wanted to know that?”

“You would have just stressed about it the whole drive up.”

She looked down at her snow boots, jeans and sweater. “Maybe, but I would be wearing something more appropriate. And I’d have something to bring them.”

He laughed. “Baby, there is nothing you own that you couldn’t wear to my parents’ house, unless it’s something you would wear to a club. You look beautiful. And there’s absolutely no reason for you to ever give them anything.”

She made a noise that he didn’t bother responding to. And then she reached over and took his hand. There was no doubt in his mind that she was trying to give him support, rather than requesting it for herself. His Emma. He squeezed her hand, honestly not sure if he hoped that nothing would change after today, or if it would be the end that he had seen coming since he’d first walked into her hotel room in Boston. The end that had to come, because he couldn’t see any other options.

He pulled up in front of a drive that could use some serious shoveling. The house could use a new coat of paint, but luckily the snow covered a lot of sins. He went around to Emma’s side, but she was already stepping out. She held her hand out and he took it, hoping it wasn’t sweaty. Charming.

When he rang the doorbell, she gave him a funny look. He suspected that at her parents’ house, she would have just walked in, calling out a greeting. They waited long enough that he was debating a second push to the bell when he heard his mother’s steps approaching.

The door opened to a woman who looked fifteen years older than her age, her expression not inviting or warm. It was mostly neutral, with a touch of annoyance. His mother didn’t like her routine being disrupted, and her routine did not include visits from her children.

“Mom,” he said, “this is Emma. Emma, my mother, Noreen.”

Emma offered her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Robinson.”

“Noreen’s fine,” his mother said, then turned and walked into the house.

He didn’t bother to check Emma’s face to see her reaction. There would be plenty more in the next little while. His mother led them to the living room where his father sat in his lounge chair, beer in hand, gaze glued to the television. The gaze didn’t move until Drew led Emma right up to the chair. “Dad, this is Emma. Emma, my father Ray.”

“Meetcha,” his father muttered, glancing up before swiftly returning his attention to the news.

Never a slow one, his Emma didn’t bother to respond, just trailed along as he led her to the kitchen, where his mother had turned on the tea kettle. He held a seat out for Emma and took one for himself while his mother bustled around, putting cookies from a package onto a plate, pulling out mugs, milk and sugar and plopping them down onto the table, her whole demeanor screaming “put-upon”.