Текст книги "Fever dream"

Автор книги: Elsie Silver

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

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CHAPTER 36

Julia

“OKAY, SO YOU’RE going to sneak around the back, and I’m going to distract Emmett and the cameras at the front.”

I nod at Catherine, trying not to giggle at how excited the woman looks. She literally claps as she bounces on her feet. Me? I’m feeling a little sick about it. But Emmett and I both agreed that it would look strange if he left his house and didn’t come back every single night.

Which is what we have been doing all week. So we’re flying over the radar in order to fly under the radar—or something like that.

“I feel like I’m pulling off a heist! This is so romantic.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” I mutter, walking beside the taller woman as we head toward my car.

“No way.” She bumps her shoulder against mine with an unexpected level of camaraderie. “This is fun. Someone here might as well fall in love, and it sure isn’t going to be me.”

“No?”

She lifts a brow in my direction. “Well, for starters, no one here is going to get Emmett’s attention when it’s been on you since day one. And I don’t think I like him like that. I could see us being friends under different circumstances. He’s a good guy, even though Richard is doing his best to make him seem otherwise.”

My shoulders relax at her explanation. She sounds genuine. And I have to admit when Emmett told me about her plan, I was suspicious. Women like Evelyn have me second-guessing all the contestants.

But to her credit, Catherine strikes me as a real girls’ girl.

“We owe you one,” I say, tugging my car door open and propping one foot inside.

She waves me off. “Get outta here.”

We exchange a quick smile and then I pull off the farm, looking to everyone else on the show like I’m driving off into the setting sun, heading home for a perfectly normal night.

Except I turn the opposite direction at the end of the driveway and head straight to the Prickle Point parking lot. From there, I lock my car, grab my duffel bag, and jog across the road where I duck straight back onto Stal Brandt property.

I tiptoe along the road, heart beating so loudly in my ears that I can barely hear anything else. It’s only as I creep closer toward the house that I can make out the indistinct murmurs of Catherine and Emmett talking.

Is Catherine crying?

I shake my head and decide not to overthink it. I let her put on whatever kind of show is fun, because I imagine being stuck here filming for several weeks has gotten stale as hell. I almost feel bad that she’s spent so much time here all for nothing. But at least the end is in sight.

When I make it through the back door—almost silently—I click the lock shut and let loose a heavy, relieved sigh.

Then a small laugh. Because what the fuck am I doing? Sneaking around like this is… hilarious. Ridiculous.

They say that love can make you crazy, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s why we’re here. Doing this.

With Emmett still out front, I pad through the house, analyzing it with fresh eyes. It’s barren, basically unlived-in. There’s not much character in the place, no real sentimental pieces dotted throughout. Even though this is where he spends his summers, it feels like a stopping point.

I make my way toward the living room, avoiding the front entryway and any of the windows that might face out toward Emmett, Catherine, and the army of cameras I’m sure is eagerly recording their every move.

“I promise it’s going to be okay,” Emmett says, and his voice sounds reassuring as Catherine sniffles something back quietly.

“Have a good night and don’t overthink it,” he responds. “We’re going to make it through this, all right?”

I know they’re faking it for the cameras, but my hackles still rise at the use of we.

Unable to sit still and wait, I prop a hip against the back of the large leather couch and stare at the antique-looking piece of cowboy art hanging on the wall behind it. It reminds me of hotel art. Most likely one print of millions.

Nothing special in many ways.

And yet it ended up here. I wonder how.

The sound of the door clicking shut doesn’t make me turn. I can hear Emmett’s footsteps as he pads into the living room, and just knowing he’s approaching sends a spray of goose bumps across my bare arms.

I can feel the burn of his stare when it lands on me, and my stomach erupts with butterflies. I feel like a teenager with a crush. I want to turn and gawk at him, but the thought of making eye contact also makes me nervous.

As though we haven’t been alone before.

It’s been two days since I was last naked underneath Emmett Brandt.

The last of the summer sun drops behind the mountains, but the heat of Emmett’s gaze licks up my spine all the same.

I finally cave and glance over my shoulder. I almost groan when I see him. He has no business being this fucking hot.

Leaning a shoulder against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his denim shirt cuffed up to show forearms thick and roped with tension. His jaw ticks once, and when I shift my weight from one foot to the other, his eyes drag down my body like he’s stripping me.

Hell, maybe he is.

I turn to face him, ignoring the tightening low in my pelvis and trying to appear more casual than I feel. “You keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to think you’ve got something to say.”

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t even blink, just pushes off the corner. Every movement slow and sinful. The man drips sex. The look in his eye? Filthy.

This version of him is what Richard has wanted for the cameras, and a thrill travels through my body that he’s only giving it to me. He’s always stoic during filming—nothing like the man prowling my way right now, who looks like he wants to make a meal out of me.

“I do have some things to say,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “And I’ve been really polite about not saying them all damn day.”

He stops in front of me, one hand reaching over me as he backs me against the wall. The other curls around my hip, searing my skin through my clothes. His blue eyes are molten. His muscles taut. His powerful body barely held in check.

Everything about him feels wild and dangerous, and it makes my breath catch as I drink him in.

“Then stop being so polite,” I whisper, baiting him. Wanting him to snap. To take all this pent-up tension out on me.

His nostrils flare. “You sure about that, doll? ’Cause once I start tonight, I’m not stopping until I’ve had you in every way I damn well please.”

My pulse trips over itself. I try to act unaffected, but my body betrays me—thighs clenching, skin flushed. I stare at his mouth.

That rough, beautiful mouth.

“I’m not scared of you, Emmett.”

He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “You should be. Haven’t you been warned about me?”

I shiver. This version of him is electrifying.

My breathing turns ragged, and I meet his gaze before uttering what I know he needs to hear. “Yes, but I don’t care.”

And then he snaps.

He crashes into me.

I gasp, and he swallows the sound, tongue sliding in like he wants to devour me.

One hand fists my hair, the other grabs my ass, hauling me against him as if he can’t stand another second of space between us.

Clothes come off in a frenzy. His denim shirt yanked open by the snaps and tossed away before he stares down at the line of silver buttons running the length of my denim minidress.

“You wore this for me?” he growls, swiping his thumb over the top button like he’s planning all the ways he can destroy it.

“No,” I lie, breathless. “I wore it because I like knowing that when you’re filming on set with someone else, you’re dreaming about fucking me instead.”

His eyes go dark, pupils dilating. He looks ferocious.

And then he drops to his knees, tugging my panties down roughly before shoving the hemline of my dress up around my waist.

“Em—”

“You told me to stop being so polite.” His voice is gravel, his hands locking around my thighs. “So quit playing games with me and spread your fucking legs, Julia.”

Before I can even respond, he’s on me. Driving me up the flat expanse of wall at my back, hiking one leg over each shoulder. He manhandles me like he has every right to—like he knows I’ve been dreaming about getting fucked by him all day.

And when his tongue slides over me—slow, deliberate, devastating—I arch back and break. “Fuck, Emmett—”

“I want every sound you make,” he growls against my pussy. “Louder for me, doll.”

I don’t hold back. I give him every whimper, every moan. “Yes, fuck. Just like that. Please.”

I plead with him for more, and he doesn’t let up. Mouth working me over like he’s starved, like I’m the only thing that can satisfy him. His tongue circles, presses, flicks, and when he slips two thick fingers inside me, curling them just right, my entire body bows off the wall.

I come undone. My thighs tremble, and his name flies from my throat on a ragged cry.

But he doesn’t stop.

“Emmett… God… please. Please don’t stop.”

He drags me through my orgasm with excruciating attention to detail, wringing every wave of pleasure out of me until I’m gasping, boneless.

And then he stands, chest rising and falling as he licks my wetness from his lips with a toe-curling smirk. His jeans are shoved down low on his hips, cock hard and thick and ready.

“That’s a lot of pleases, Jules,” he says, low and proud. “You begging for more?”

I smirk, still breathless. “I meant it more like Is that all?”

My taunt is all he needs to lose it entirely. He spins me around to face the wall, palms splayed over my back as he bends me over.

“Keep talkin’,” he growls, hips bumping, lining himself up. “Let’s see how mouthy you are with my cock buried in that tight little cunt of yours.”

Then he slams into me in one hard thrust, and I forget how to speak at all.

He grips my hips as he claims me, holding on tight like he needs to make sure I’m real.

He sinks into me with deep, unrelenting strokes, the sound of his hips furiously slapping against my ass blending with our rough pants.

I gasp, working to keep up with the ruthless pace he sets. Eyes wide, lips parted, my entire body flares with overwhelming heat. Overwhelming need.

“Fuck, Jules. Look at you, taking it like you were made for me.”

“Yes,” I hiss. My ability to form coherent thoughts has fled the room. I am just sensation now. Mindless pleasure overtakes me.

Emmett drapes his chiseled torso over me, slowing for a beat. Kissing the back of my damp neck, he curses low and guttural against my shoulder, like he’s shaken. Like he’s been searching forever for this exact feeling.

“God, you feel—” He cuts himself off with a growl. “You feel like heaven. Always knew you would. Been thinking about having you here since the day I bent you over in my kitchen and had to pretend to be the gentleman that I’m not.”

I try to answer him, but all that comes out is a broken sound vaguely reminiscent of the word same.

He moves again, hard and deep, each stroke stealing the air from my lungs. The rhythm is relentless. It’s so good it almost hurts.

The cowboy painting on the wall rattles next to my hands as he pounds into me.

“You like this,” he says, voice rough-edged. “You like it when I bend you over, take you like this. Say it.”

I manage a glance over my shoulder and a nod, but he tightens his grip.

“Say it, Jules.”

“Yes,” I breathe, shaky and wrecked. “Yes. I like it—I fucking love it.”

“That’s right,” he growls. “You take every inch so well. God, I can’t get enough of you.”

His hand slips between my legs and finds my clit. He pinches it and my knees nearly buckle. I cry out, one hand clawing at the wall. The painting falls, the distant sound of glass shattering only vaguely registers for me.

I reach behind myself to hold on to his arm—scrambling for purchase, anchoring to the only thing keeping me from flying apart.

His pace falters for a moment, then a gruff, “You know what? Fuck it.” He picks up again, faster, deeper. Every thrust drives me closer to the edge.

“You going to fall apart for me, doll?” he pants. “Right here, against the wall, bent over with your skirt pulled up, all desperate and begging for my cock?”

Fuck yes.

I’m already there. My body coils tight, heat winding inside me like a fuse about to blow.

“Emmett,” I call, and it’s a warning—a plea.

“Let go. You’re fucking perfect like this,” he whispers against my ear. “Come for me.”

And I do.

The world fractures around me as I unravel—pleasure crashing through me, wave after wave, until I’m trembling and gasping and completely gone.

My body goes soft and pliant in his hands, but he doesn’t stop. He groans and buries himself deep with one last, fierce thrust.

He shudders, forehead dropping to the back of my neck, breath coming in ragged bursts as he follows me over the edge.

I can feel him thicken, seize, and fill me. His cock pulses hot and hard from inside.

Several seconds pass like this. The two of us, fused together, struggling to catch our breath.

We’re still pressed together, his arms wrapped tight around my waist, my body molded against his like he never wants to let go.

Quiet. Safe.

He slowly comes down, his breath growing even against my shoulder, his chest rising and falling against my back. One of his hands slides up, fingers brushing over my ribs, softer now. Reverent.

Like he’s still holding something fragile.

“You okay?” His voice is gentle, nothing like the man who just broke me wide open.

I nod, still catching my breath. “Yeah. Just… recovering.”

A laugh rumbles in his chest, and he presses a kiss to the base of my neck. It’s not rushed, not heated—it feels an awful lot like adoration.

He eases from me, both of us hissing at the loss.

His seed slips out, trailing down my inner thigh, and all I do is sigh.

There’s something satisfying about the sensation. He must agree, because when he steps back, I peek at him over my shoulder and find him staring at my leg.

He groans before reaching forward to drag two fingers over my inner thigh and up to my tender pussy.

I gasp at the feel, only to drop my forehead against the wall as he pushes his cum back inside me. He’s endlessly gentle, but I still feel the delicious sting.

“There. That’s better,” he mutters, voice brimming with possessiveness as he slowly removes my dress.

Then, without another word, he scoops me into his arms like I’m weightless and carries me across the cottage to his shower. He puts me down and turns on the spray, gripping me against his bare chest. After he tests the water temperature obsessively, he grunts his approval and steps inside, lifting me with him and squeezing me firmly.

I don’t protest and curl into him, my cheek resting on his bare chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear.

For a while, we stand in silence, steam rising around us as we bask in the feeling of skin on skin.

Then he speaks.

“You’ve got me in knots, you know that?” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “You show up on my farm with that mouth, that attitude, like you’ve got everything figured out. And then you look at me like you see me—and you like what you see. Even when I’m at my worst, acting like an asshole, doing this stupid show, dragging you down with me. None of it makes sense.”

I lift my head to look at him. He’s staring into the spray, jaw tense, like the words cost him something.

A specific L-word is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t want to scare him. Not when he’s already shaken by the depth of whatever we’re building here.

“I do like what I see,” I say quietly, dragging my lips across the water droplets dotting his chest. “You’re worth it, Emmett.”

His eyes cut to mine, incredulity shining in them. It makes me wonder if anyone has told him he’s worth fighting for.

“I told you, I’m not scared of you. I’m not scared of this.” I tap a finger on his chest.

“You should be.”

I shake my head. “No, Emmett. You’re the only person here who doesn’t realize there’s nothing to fear.”

His breath catches.

But he doesn’t deny it.

He just pulls me tighter against him, like maybe, just maybe, he’s not ready to say the truth out loud—but he doesn’t want to be alone with it anymore either.

So I let him hold me.

Then I let him fuck me again.

And again.

And again.

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CHAPTER 37

Emmett

I OPEN MY EYES to Julia pressed against me, and I decide that it’s my favorite way to wake up.

Her head on my chest, her arm slung over my ribs, and her legs tangled with mine. Merged against each other as warm summer light filters through the slatted blinds in harsh lines.

She’s warm and tan. The lines from her tank top straps crest over her shoulder and leave the perfect swooping line on the tops of her breasts. Her hair is curly and loose—just the way I like it.

Visions of last night hit me in flashes. Her bent over, her spine stretched before me. Her riding me, breasts bouncing, lips plush and full after sucking my cock like her life depended on it.

I feel like a teenager again. Like everything we’ve done together is a first.

It is in a way, seeing as how I’ve never felt like this before.

I stroke her hair, reveling in knowing that it’s Sunday, which means we have nowhere to be—no faking it for the cameras. Just this. Soaking her up. The feel of her chest pressing against my side as she inhales. Her breath fanning across my chest as she exhales. Her heart beating sure and even.

It thuds in time with my own, and I reach for her wrist, pressing my fingers against her pulse point. I can’t explain why, other than there’s something about feeling how alive she is that grounds me.

It tells me this is real and that she’s actually here.

“You having second thoughts?” she mumbles, catching me checking her pulse like a total weirdo. “Wishing I were dead so that you wouldn’t have to deal with the morning after?”

I chuckle and pull her tighter. “I’m just… I don’t know. Making sure you’re real?”

The apple of her cheek pops as she smiles against me. “I am real, and I am alive even though I’m pretty sure you tried to fuck me to death last night.”

“Jules, babe, you kept saying faster. All I was trying to do was keep you happy. Live up to the reputation. Keep the dream alive.”

She snorts a laugh, kissing my chest as I drag her so that she’s laid out right on top of me.

“Ah, yes, the man, the myth, the legend. He’ll fuck you so hard you’ll need your pulse checked.”

“You’ve got quite a mouth on you. Lying here acting like you weren’t the one begging for it last night.”

She shrugs. “It was okay.”

I nip at her neck playfully. “Keep running that mouth and I’ll find something better for you to do with it.”

She laughs, body rumbling against mine. “Unless you’re putting food in my mouth, I’m not interested.”

I trail a hand up her side, smiling at the ceiling. Mostly marveling at how someone like me ended up here with someone like her.

So fucking lucky.

When my fingers hit her ribs, she jolts, letting out a light, sleepy giggle. And I don’t know what comes over me, but I do it again.

“Emmett,” she squeals, trying to grab my hand.

But I can’t help myself. I’m happy. She’s got me feeling less serious than usual.

I tickle her again, eliciting another squeal as she writhes and tries to get off me.

“Emmett Brandt, you watch your fucking hands!”

“Oh, I’ll watch them all right. Watch them go right here.” I flip us, leaning over her and going straight for her armpits.

She laughs. She gasps. I watch the tip of her nose wiggle. A dimple pops on her cheek as I tickle her. Her breathless giggles turn to hysterical cackles.

On one hand, we’re both acting like children. On the other, this is perfect.

She’s fucking beautiful. Laughing in my bed with nowhere to go.

“Emmett, Emmett, Emmett!” She twists around, fighting me off—but not really. It’s almost as though she’s reveling in the feeling. The bliss, the attention, the thrill. And I am too. When I finally see a tear streak from the corner of her eye, I stop and kiss it away before withdrawing.

“How is that? Is it better being tickled to death than fucked to death?”

“No.” She laughs the word. “Being fucked to death is officially one of my favorite things to do now. In fact, I’d like to do it again, but I need to eat.”

It’s Sunday morning, which means I know exactly what to do with her. I push up out of bed before lifting her over my shoulder in a farmer carry that sets her back to squealing.

Then I land a firm slap on her ass and walk us both to the bathroom. “Can’t have my girl going hungry,” I murmur, nipping at her neck again as I back her into the shower. “Let’s wash you up before I take you to the farmhouse for a chaotic Brandt family breakfast.”

With Catherine’s help, Julia escapes through the back door, headed to where she parked her car at the base of Prickle Point. At the front door, I have a quick chat with Catherine. She puts on a hell of a show, admitting that she feels like I pay more attention to Evelyn than her. She points out that it’s unfair Evelyn’s had more one-on-one dates when she and I clearly have such a deep connection.

We’re both smiling as we talk, but it’s not because what either of us is saying is true. It’s because we’re both in on the joke.

I kind of admire the way this woman can tell a bald-faced lie while wearing a frilly pink dress and sporting perfectly curled blond hair.

I assure her that we’ll have plenty of time together and that she doesn’t need to worry about Evelyn because, yes, our connection is just that strong.

She grins like a loon as I usher her down the stairs and send her back to the driveway toward the bunkhouse. I head to my car and drive the short distance to Oma and Opa’s house where I find Julia already waiting, propped against her car, nibbling at her lower lip. She looks nervous, even a little uncomfortable, and I hate to see it, especially when the farmhouse is a safe space.

So, I step out of my truck, walk straight toward her, and wrap her in a hug. I cup her head against my chest and stroke her hair, kissing the crown of her head before admitting, “I missed you.”

She laughs against my chest. “That’s ridiculous. We’ve been apart for fifteen minutes.”

“Yep, fifteen minutes too long,” I reply matter-of-factly, before reaching for her hand and pulling her into my childhood home.

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