Текст книги "Fever dream"

Автор книги: Elsie Silver

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

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CHAPTER 31

Emmett

TONIGHT I’M SUPPOSED to eliminate another dater.

But first I get to endure the distinct pleasure of meeting all four women’s families, or friends—whoever they opted to introduce to me. Which is a fucking joke, because why would any of them want to introduce their family to me after my disinterest throughout this entire process.

Richard has arranged for all this to occur at the local rodeo this weekend, and I swear it’s to inflict maximum embarrassment. Now that someone has leaked the show, he’ll film anywhere with zero regard for my preferences.

I’ll also be doing a bull-riding demo. It wouldn’t be fair for me to compete at this level now. My days of tossing my hat in the ring on the local circuit are far gone, but it’ll make for good TV, or whatever the fuck Dick Wad always says.

I’m sitting at a picnic table, waiting to meet Catherine’s mom and best friend while the crew looks on. When they approach, I stand politely and shake their hands.

If I had to pick a favorite of the girls, it would be Catherine. She’s quirky, interesting, and kind. She’s not the hair-pulling type, either—for that, she gets extra respect.

We sit at the table with a pitcher of iced tea, a red and white umbrella fluttering lightly above us. The cameras surround us, but after this many weeks I’ve grown used to them.

We mostly chat about Catherine’s favorite topics, murder and kidnapping, along with a little light stalking. All in a day’s work when you’re pretending to date someone who’s obsessed with true crime.

Much like me, her mother and her friend seem charmed by her interests, and I find myself relaxing and enjoying their company. The crew must notice because Teri shoots me a double thumbs-up and a big grin, like she’s thrilled about whatever footage they’re getting.

I wonder if it ever leaves them feeling empty, that they’re forever producing the perfect scene.

I get a few questions about my intentions with Catherine, and it’s awkward as fuck. I can’t tell them the truth, that I’m just not interested in her that way.

So I settle on explaining how I’m still getting to know Catherine. I tell them I have a huge amount of respect for her and love how her brain works. I say that I admire the way she conducts herself on the show. It’s not overly flowery, and it’s definitely not some sort of declaration of love, but it is true, which is more than I can say for my next few family meetings.

The crew moves me to the next spot where I meet Jada’s family. I disassociate for most of the conversation and resort to saying things like, “It’s been a pleasure getting to know your daughter. And I can’t wait to see where this takes us.”

I keep it vague and distant, which is exactly how I feel about the whole thing.

When I move on to Akira’s family, I feel like a walking, talking zombie that tries to tell them the things they want to hear, that smiles at the right times, and laughs at their lame jokes.

I’m sure her dad picks up on it. His distaste for me is clear in every facial expression, but I don’t have the grit to rally. By this point in the day, my brain has spiraled into thinking about the only person who seems to hold my attention these days—Julia Silva.

She consumes me. It’s not fair to any of these women or their families. But what am I supposed to do?

I’ve tried to get her out of my head, but it never lasts. It’s a constant battle. While on camera, I try not to search the crew for her, but that’s a challenge.

Time apart combined with the way she stepped in when Carl was reaming me in his typical way has only intensified my attachment to her. His explosions are short-lived if you just grin and bear them, but no one has ever been there to stop them.

Until her. And she did it so effortlessly.

For a minute there, I bought her act. Until she locked the door and hugged me. She squeezed me hard enough that every other thought fled my brain—save for the ones about how good it felt to be held by her.

It made me want to take her back to my cottage and show her how consumed I am with her. Hell, I’d have settled for following her around for the rest of the day.

But I couldn’t.

When we separated, she didn’t prod me about my dad. She didn’t even address the incident, save for jokingly offering to kill him. Instead, we had a quick discussion about which rodeo would be best to set up a demo at and parted ways like true professionals.

We’ve kept our distance since then. Just like we promised over diner omelets and black coffee. Sure, we slipped that afternoon in the tack room.

But we course corrected.

Neither of us is oblivious to what’s at stake.

Now, with three of the four meet and greets out of the way, I prepare myself for the riding demo. Richard has left Evelyn’s family for the end of the night. He said something about saving the best for last, but I’ve begun tuning him out and didn’t care enough to hear the rest.

The barrel racers have gone. The steer wrestlers have gone. Hell, even the kids riding sheep have gone. And now, as soon as the competing bull riders have wrapped up, I’ll do one ride for show.

Through the speakers, the announcer explains bull riding. The way it’s scored and what it entails, because this rodeo always brings out spectators who don’t really know what they’re watching.

I walk toward the holding pens, and I can see the crew, the women, and their family members scattered throughout the stands. Behind the scenes, everyone knows me by name, but I barely recognize anyone. It’s been too long, and I’ve avoided these events like the plague just to keep my distance from Carl.

Darkness falls over the rodeo grounds, and the rodeo workers light the arena with large overhead floodlights. I watch a few of the younger riders go, offering them tips and encouraging words before I get myself dressed and warmed up. I strap on my chaps, my vest, my helmet, my gloves—everything I have is littered with sponsorship logos.

Most of the guys riding here can only dream of competing at the same level as me. And hell, one or two of them might make it. Mostly, what they’re going to get are head injuries and bad knees.

Who knows, maybe if they’d had Carl on their ass every step of the way, they’d make it further. Fucked-up as it sounds, enduring Carl has been worth the success it’s brought me. I’m a fierce competitor, unapologetic, focused, and willing to tolerate an abusive parent all because I love winning.

It’s damn near impossible to make it to the top of the sport, but even without an asshole for a dad, I’ve had unmatched natural talent on my side. Balance, inherent coordination, strength and stamina from days on the farm, mental toughness that doesn’t allow me to overthink. It’s all served me well. Some people might say admitting that makes me cocky—I say it makes me realistic.

I channel that arrogance as I make my way toward the pens, not feeling the least bit nervous.

Until I catch sight of Julia. Curly hair, baggy jeans, a cropped T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers.

I feel like in her mind she’s dressing not to impress, flying under the radar. But it doesn’t work on me.

She could wear this outfit, the denim minidress, or that red dress. She could wear a paper bag or a barf-covered sarong, and I’d pick her out of a crowd.

Either way, her presence here sets me on edge in a way I’ve never felt before.

I push away the nerves as I hop up onto the metal fencing bordering the chute. People are talking to me, giving me instructions, directing me, but I tune most of it out. This is all second nature to me.

I drop onto the bull in the narrow pen, and it jostles me, eager for the gate to flip open and set him free. I’m not worried, though. This isn’t a WBRF bull, and that’s where all the best bulls end up.

I wrap my hand, heating the resin on the rope. The motion lulls me into a certain sense of peace and familiarity. As I zone out, I enter a headspace where everything else falls away.

This always happens. Years of practice coming together in a perfect symphony. The moment flows from there. I secure my gloved hand and feel slaps on my shoulders.

The announcer’s voice crackles on the speaker. I hear my name. Bush, not Brandt. For a moment, I’m transported back to my teenage years. Being hauled from rodeo to rodeo. As much as I hated spending time with Carl, I fucking loved riding bulls.

I still do.

It’s one of the few things that no one can take away from me. I’m good at this. Hell, I might be the best.

I glance down at one of the rodeo cowboys surrounding me and give a quick nod, signaling for him to pull the gate open. And he does.

The bull shoots out. But it doesn’t turn hard or try to get rid of me in any overly dramatic way. It’s easy fun, and I smile as the bull bucks beneath me, mostly in a straight line. It’s just like the bulls of my childhood. It’s where I came from. And I enjoy the hell out of the moment.

Hand in the air, heels kicking back to see if I can make it buck just a little harder, the eight seconds come easily. When I jump from its back, I land on my feet in the center of the ring, and one of the clowns pulls the black bull away from me.

The crowd cheers, and people shout my name. I ignore all of them, because it’s Julia, standing at the outgate and grinning at me, that draws me out of the ring. I swear she bounces on her feet as I toss her a wink.

God, I can’t help it. I’m like a moth to a flame where she’s concerned. I make a beeline toward the exit—in her direction—but I’m intercepted.

By Evelyn and her family.

She squeals, jogging straight into the ring and wrapping me in a hug like we’re actually an item. Her parents stand by the fence line, watching placidly.

I wonder if they know she’s certifiable.

“Oh my god, you were amazing!” she shouts, buzzing with excitement.

I pull back, giving her a simple “thank you” while my eyes dart over her head, to where Julia stands.

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She looks substantially more subdued than she did mere seconds ago. No smile. No bounce.

My brows drop in concern, and Evelyn must notice because she pulls me away. Her hands grip the sides of my head, and she tries to pull me down into a kiss.

I shoot back, pushing her away harder than is necessary. But I’m startled by her audacity. I just hopped off a bull, and this woman I barely know is trying to kiss me, right here, right now, in front of everyone.

Including Julia.

I’ve kissed her once already while looking at Julia. While wishing she was Julia. Something that will never happen again.

“What the hell?” she says, looking offended.

But I don’t care. I step back even farther.

“What’s wrong?”

I bark out a disbelieving laugh and throw caution to the wind. I blurt out what’s been on my mind for weeks. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong is that you have zero respect for my boundaries. What’s wrong is you’re all over me at every turn. Read the fucking room, Evelyn! You’re only here because—”

I’m on the verge of telling her that she’s only here because Richard wants her to be.

But like I thought him into existence, Richard storms into the sand ring, his dress shoes slipping as he struggles to gain purchase. I blink, startled by his presence. I was so in the zone with my ride that it’s as though I forgot about him and the cameras entirely. Riding bulls is natural for me. So is finding Julia in a crowd. But putting on a show for the cameras is as unnatural as it gets.

“Emmett,” he practically shrieks. “Get back out there and redo this take, right fucking now!”

I glare back at him, offering a simple, flat, “Over my dead body.”

Then I check beyond him, wanting to make sure that Julia hears this part… but she’s gone.

My stomach plummets. I feel fucking sick. I feel out of control and undone. My chest hurts. My head hurts. My stomach hurts. And all I can think about is her.

Where Julia is now and how upset she must be.

I spin on Richard. “New rule, Dick Wad. No physical contact unless both parties are into it. You’re going to stop telling these girls to put their hands in my pockets or kiss me or rub my back. It’s fucking weird. It’s fucking uncomfortable. I fucking hate it. So, stop. Game over.”

Richard steps in close, dropping his voice to a venomous hiss. “This game is only over when I say so. You signed a contract. This is the job, boy. Suck it up. You’ve got beautiful women vying for your attention. All desperate for your dick. And here you are, acting all virtuous and shit. Pull it together. Go cry somewhere else. I chose you for a reason. And it wasn’t so you could fall in love with the help and turn into a total fucking prude.”

My molars grind. I fucking hate when he calls Julia the help. It makes me want to flatten his stupid, orange-tanned face.

“Redo the take. Now.” He spits the word out hard enough that his saliva hits me in the face. Carl used to get spitting mad, too.

But I’m not a kid anymore. I’m not scared of Richard Wadsworth.

I am scared of losing Julia, though.

Which is why I look down my nose at him and wipe the back of my hand over my mouth, clearing the wetness from my skin.

And then glare back and spear him with a simple, unaffected “No.”

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CHAPTER 32

Emmett

I DRIVE.

And I drive.

And I drive.

I take the back roads, the gloomy storm that’s rolled over the mountains matching my mood and only adding to my melancholy. I should be concerned about the show, but I can’t bring myself to be.

Not when my brain is full of Julia. And the sight of that smile vanishing from her face.

She left. I hurt her. And she left.

It doesn’t even matter that it was unintentional. Or that it was all Evelyn. She couldn’t stay to watch, and I’m sick with knowing I put her in that position.

And her phone going straight to voicemail has done nothing to help my nausea.

I drive until I end up at her building. Then I get out of my truck and stand in the pouring rain, staring up at the windows, wondering which unit might be hers.

Is she home? Is she still awake? Would she even want to see me?

My phone buzzes incessantly, and I finally pull it from my pocket. Messages from Richard fill the screen, many of them in all caps. They demand my return. They threaten adjusting the contract.

“Go fuck yourself, Dick Wad,” I mutter. But my voice comes out watery, more forlorn than angry. I suck in a few deep breaths as I pocket the phone again and turn away from Julia’s building. I can’t go see her like this. Sad, desperate, and confused.

So I walk. Rain pelts down in fat drops, soaking me to the bone. I walk.

And I walk.

And I walk.

And I think. Something I often avoid doing too much of, because heavy thinking typically uncovers heavy feelings for me.

I realize I should be concerned about the fall-out from fleeing the rodeo and blowing off filming, but that’s not where my anxiety lies. I can play that off as me having a diva moment. I have a solution for that.

What I don’t have a solution for is Julia. And all these… feelings.

It’s taken me numerous blocks of despondently walking circles through downtown Emerald Lake to realize that what I’m terrified of losing is her.

Something I’ve never felt before. Something I don’t know how to process.

It feels monumental, like I’m staring into the mouth of a shark about to swallow me whole. I take a deep breath, trying to name what I’m feeling.

Resigned. Because what is there to do?

Petrified. Because I realize that everything I thought I knew is about to change.

And certain. Because despite all my wallowing and spiraling, my feet have instinctively led me back here.

To her building.

Because in spite of the way the entire world seems to be burning around us, I refuse to leave her with any doubts about how I feel.

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CHAPTER 33

Julia

LIGHTNING FLASHES ACROSS the sky, and rain pummels the floor-to-ceiling windows of my condo. I’ve made myself a cup of coffee and sit curled in a tight ball on my couch. Watching. Thinking.

Okay, more like spiraling.

Seeing Emmett on the bull today stirred so many feelings inside of me. Terror. Pride. Anxiety. Awe. Dread.

And then the heart-stopping realization that I’ve gone and done what I’ve always sworn I wouldn’t: gotten attached to a fucking cowboy.

Which made watching Evelyn bound toward him like he was hers downright painful.

I fled before they could even get to the on-site elimination ceremony. It was unprofessional of me but… instinctual. I needed to get the fuck out of there.

My obsession with watching everything on set had backfired spectacularly and left me feeling like a green-eyed monster.

Between the emotional connection we’ve forged and the single orgasm he’s given me, I am feeling very, very attached to Emmett. Which is stupid considering I know why he’s on this show. I’ve encouraged him to keep it up. I want that payday for him.

But I also want him for myself. And based on how I felt tonight, wanting that is only going to end up hurting me.

A buzzing sound fills my unit. Someone is calling up.

With a heavy sigh, I pad toward my door and press the button to speak into the intercom. “Hello?”

“Jules. It’s Emmett.”

My heart clenches. He sounds distraught.

“Hey.” I don’t know what else to say to him right now. He hurt me, but he did nothing wrong. Which is a mindfuck to make sense of.

I know they redid the kiss. I know that’s the job. That’s the show. That’s what he—and I—signed up for.

But I couldn’t watch. I slipped out of the arena and drove home to lick my wounds privately. I wanted space. Quiet. Time to pull myself together. Emmett must have needed it, too, because I haven’t heard from him all night.

No call. No text. Just hours alone with a burning sensation in my gut from imagining him and Evelyn together.

“Can I come up?”

“Emmett.” I sigh his name, looking around my unit as butterflies erupt in my chest at the sincerity in his voice. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Please.” My heart squeezes. “I just need to see you.” His rough, confident voice cracks on the word you and tears spring to my eyes.

I always thought caring about someone would feel like constant bliss, but this feels more like perpetual suffering.

I know he is, too, though. And I hate the idea of him suffering alone.

I guess I’d rather we suffer together. Everything always feels better when I’m with him.

“Okay,” I whisper, pressing the button to unlock the front door against my better judgment.

I wait outside my door for him, heart beating faster when I hear the soft ding of the elevator arriving on my floor. But when he turns the corner, it seizes in my chest.

Emmett is soaked from head to toe. His hair drips onto his cheekbones, and his white T-shirt has gone translucent, his jeans heavy and dark.

He looks absolutely stricken.

I lay one hand against my throat and squeeze, trying to press away the lump that’s formed there at the sight of him. “Emmett, where have you been?”

“Walking. Thinking. Hating myself.” His voice sounds dejected, and he can barely meet my eyes as he trudges toward me. “Jules… I just… I needed…” He shrugs, glancing away for a beat as he wipes a palm over his mouth. When his eyes meet mine, my knees go weak. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

My throat feels tight, but I try to soothe him through the choking sensation. “You can always come here. It’s okay. I know you have to play along for the cameras. It was just a kiss, so—”

“A kiss?”

I bite the inside of my cheek and nod once. “With Evelyn?” He studies me with an intensity that’s difficult to endure. I offer him a wobbly smile. “Don’t worry. I didn’t stick around to watch.”

He tips his head back to gaze at the ceiling, exasperation lining every motion as he takes a raspy breath. My gaze catches on a droplet of water. I watch it trail down from a soaked strip of hair, over his square jaw, before tracing the bump of his Adam’s apple down his throat.

I want to lick it.

I close my eyes for a bit, hating my internal monologue.

“You should have stuck around,” he says, drawing my attention back to him. “Because if you had, you’d have seen me tell Richard where to stick it. There was no kiss. Jules, are you kidding me? I’m consumed by you. I can’t even think about anyone else. There was only a blowup on set and me fucking it all up.”

He approaches and stops before me. I stand my ground, blocking the entryway to my condo, still not sure it’s in our best interest for me to let him in. Emotions are running too high. We’re standing far too close to a dangerous precipice.

But when he lifts his tortured baby blues to my face, all my resolve crumbles.

“I don’t know what to do with all these feelings, Jules. You’ve brought a brightness to parts of me that have been forgotten in the dark for years.”

My eyes fill, and I reach for his elbow, giving him a tender squeeze. “Oh, Em.”

“I can’t shake you, Jules. No matter how hard I try. I wake up every morning and promise myself I’m going to stay away. I know I’m no good for you. But this feeling? It’s fucking inescapable.”

He claws at his own chest. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop looking for you. I can’t stop wanting you. Images of you fill my brain every second of every day. You’re everywhere. Like a song stuck in my head, even though I don’t want you there. I feel like I’m living in a fever dream that I can’t fucking escape.”

He’s breathing hard now, chest heaving. Eyes glistening.

And everything he’s said makes perfect sense.

“I know how you feel,” I say simply, getting lost in the tumult of his eyes.

He steps closer, pushing me back into my unit and kicking the door shut behind himself.

The apartment is quiet except for the steady rhythm of our breathing. His eyes hold mine—soft, searching, like he’s trying to memorize every line, every flicker of emotion behind my gaze.

“I need you, Julia.”

I nod over the lump in my throat. All I want to do is take care of him. Make him feel better. Show him that I need him too. Get him out of these soaked clothes and make him feel warm and sure again.

I reach for him, surrendering to instinct. His breath fans across my chest as I pinch the hem of his sopping shirt. Tentatively, I peel it back, lifting the cold, wet cotton while letting one hand slide over the hot, taut skin beneath.

He sighs beneath my hand, his muscles softening in relief. His head drops in my direction as I lift the fabric higher, tugging it free and over his muscled arms.

I take in every beautiful inch of him, licking my lips to keep my mouth from going dry at the sight.

He kicks his shoes off, which only serves to urge me forward. My fingers find his belt, the buckle jangling as I undo it and let it fall to the side. Then it’s buttons. A waistband. A tug.

I fall to my knees before him, peering up at his face. Strong brows, square jaw, baby blues full of longing.

My next tug is more desperate as I work against the wet denim. His control frays, and he pulls me back to standing, eyes burning with need.

“Lose the shirt,” he demands softly. And who am I to refuse him?

He steps out of his jeans as I reach down to grip the hem of my oversize sleeping shirt. In one smooth motion, I lift it and let it fall to the floor beside me.

Then I stand before the most beautiful man I’ve ever known, wearing only a pair of purple booty shorts and the truth of how badly I need him written all over my body. Goose bumps spray over my arms, my nipples stand pert and sensitive, and an inescapable ache curls low in my pelvis.

His gaze devours me, greedily roaming every inch of my body. My heart pounds, not from fear, but from something raw and honest I’ve never let myself feel before.

Finally, our eyes meet. And we’re back to staring. Like we always are.

He leans in slowly, and when our lips meet, it’s a promise. It’s a question and an answer all at once.

I pull him closer, craving the warmth and safety his touch brings. As he slides his hands down my back, every nerve ending sizzles and ignites, a sensation I can honestly say I’ve only ever felt with Emmett. Like every part of my body melts just for him.

He towers over me. Grips me. Consumes me. He drives me backward through the space, a man with purpose, and we both know where this is heading.

I kiss him as I move, letting him guide me toward my bedroom with his body.

We clear the doorway, and the backs of my legs hit the mattress. The jolt of awareness has us both drawing back, taking stock of our surroundings. My queen-size mattress on a suede platform frame, simple bedside tables. One glowing floor lamp in the corner, shedding a dim, yellow light through the space.

“Do you want me to leave, Julia?” There’s a fragility to his voice. He is genuinely worried I might turn him away. That I might not want him.

Even now.

“No. I want you to stay.”

He steps in closer, his hands finding my face, gentle and sure, thumbs tracing the curve of my cheek as if grounding us both. “Are you sure?” he asks, voice barely more than a whisper.

I nod, my words stuck somewhere beneath the swell of everything inside me. This isn’t just want—it’s trust. It’s hope. It’s the quiet surrender to someone who’s become my anchor.

I swallow hard, the weight of this moment folding into every inch of my skin. I want this. I need this. More than anything, I want him.

And I want him to know it.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I breathe, my voice barely steady but filled with all the certainty I can muster.

He leans in—slow and deliberate—and the heat of his lips against mine is like the first spark that sets a wildfire racing.

Our mouths meet in a soft, urgent kiss, filled with the promise of everything we’re about to give and take. My fingers thread through his thick hair, tangling in the soaked strands, pulling him closer. Desperate to feel his skin against my own. Like he’s the air I need to breathe.

Suddenly, I’m frantic. I want more. I reach into his underwear to grip him, sighing at the feel of his firmness. The silky skin. The heavy weight.

“Fuck,” he hisses before making quick work of his boxers.

His cock springs free, and I lick my lips, stepping back to look my fill. It’s thick, steely, and throbbing in my hand.

I take us in, panting, tongue darting out to wet my lips. The air around us hums. I swear I can feel his muscular body go taut like he’s ready to pounce the longer I stare.

And then he does. He reaches up, fingers tangling in my hair and tugging gently to draw my mouth upward for his taking.

The blunt head of his length presses at my hip, but he ignores it as he studies my face. His hands trail down my back, tracing the curve of my spine, fingertips skimming over bare skin with a touch that sends shivers racing down my arms.

He’s gentle, careful, as if he’s learning my body with every brush of his palm. Memorizing every curve. Cataloging every reaction.

I press closer, feeling the hard heat of his chest against mine, the solid strength of him beneath my fingertips. His breath is warm and uneven, lips brushing my ear as he whispers, “Tell me if I’m moving too fast.”

But I don’t answer with words. Instead, I tilt my chin up and kiss him again. Deeper this time, hunger mixing with tenderness, a delicate dance between restraint and reckless abandon.

His hands roam lower, slipping around my waist and ridding me of my underwear until we both stand before each other without a single shield up.

His eyes race over me, drinking me in before pulling me flush against his body.

I can feel every muscle, every heartbeat. The ache between my legs coils tighter, a delicious tension that makes my breath hitch and my fingers clutch at his broad shoulders.

He slides his hand down my stomach and between my legs. I know I’m warm and slick already, but the sudden electric contact takes my breath away. The lamp’s dim glow slices across his face, highlighting the way his eyes darken with desire—the same desire, the same need that’s been simmering between us for weeks.

“I want you,” he confesses, voice raw and low. “All of you. Every last inch. Any little bit of attention you’ll give me. I want it all.”

He’s careful, never rushing, always asking with his eyes if I’m okay, if I want more. And I do. I want all of this, all of him.

I’m frantic with need, and I push him down onto my bed, so that he’s laid out in front of me.

He’s wide-eyed, following my lead for the moment. His throat bobs as I run my palms up over his chest, coming to straddle him.

There’s nothing between us, nothing holding us back. His rock-hard, impressive length presses against my pussy. It feels decadent.

I rotate my hips, sliding myself on him, soaking him. Sighing contentedly as I finally feel his skin, hot and throbbing against mine.

Emmett’s hands wrap around my waist in a feeble attempt to slow me down as he groans his pleasure into the quiet room. His gaze trails over my body, appreciation shimmering in the shades of blue.

There’s awe there too. Penetrating lust. Fervent hunger.

“I thought I wanted to take it slow,” I murmur down to him, teeth strumming over my bottom lip. “But we can do slow later. I don’t think I can wait.”

He stares at my pussy, my lips gliding up and down over his length as I grind myself on him. “I don’t have a condom.”

I push up on my knees, hovering over his lap, feeling the head of his cock bobbing against my inner thigh before I reach down and fit his thick, smooth head at my entrance. “Do I have anything to be worried about?” I ask, squeezing his cock hard enough to make him hiss.

“Haven’t been with anyone in months. And I’ve been tested since.”

“Good. I’m on birth control and I need to feel you.”

With that, I sink down one inch, feeling him stretch me as I do. My head tips back, and his fingers dig in at my waist.

“Jesus Christ, Jules.” He pulls me down another inch, and this time it’s my turn to hiss. He’s big. Thick enough that I need a moment to adjust.

“Can you handle it, doll?” he murmurs, hands moving over my hips to grip my ass.

“Yes.”

“Good, take more then.” There’s a commanding bite to his voice that has my body singing for him as he pushes me down incrementally.

He groans at the sight before him, eyes fixed on where we’re finally joined. “You’re going to take it all, aren’t you?”