Page 60 of Emerson

Two nights. That’s how long I go without him.

Two. Nights. Saturday, I was busy at work, then kept myself busy with an emergency dinner date with Finn in the evening. I did indulge in copious amounts of wine. Not because I wanted to be drunk, but to ensure that I kept my own rules.

No sex on Penny nights. No fucking while drunk.

Sunday, the buzz of reality dimmed enough for me to continuously hover around the same two thoughts. We didn’t kiss, and his hands didn’t touch me a single time during sex. Not a single damn time.

What does that mean?

I decided by the time I pulled up to my parents' house for dinner that it meant he didn’t want me all that badly.

While the thought made me want to chew glass, because I feel half-crazed just thinking about him, I decided by the time I went to bed Sunday night that him being able to resist is good.

One of us needs some self-control.

By midday Monday, I was a jittery, spaced-out mess. All I could think about was sunset. By the time I left work, a single thought had me frozen standing next to my car.

I didn’t touch him either.

I made it home. I sat with Eleanor, petting her head and looking without seeing a thing happening on the TV. She eventually swatted me away, and I eventually gave up and got ready.

He wasn’t sleeping when I climbed through the window Monday night. He was watching the window like he was waiting for me. A lethal, intense look in his eyes.

It was nothing at all like what happened on Friday. The first thing we did was kiss, if you could even call the clash of flesh and biting teeth kissing. I didn’t just touch him; I marked his chest with my nails and dragged my palms everywhere I could reach. Dillon touched me back.

He held me against him, guided my hips to grind on his cock, and talked me through the whole night.

The last thing we did was kiss.

I couldn’t stop smiling on Tuesday.

Wednesday, I learned just how dirty fucking Dillon could be when I couldn’t stop rambling as he stripped me out of my clothes. He kissed my lips, then shoved my panties between them before he fucked me raw, wrapping my hair around his fist as he thrust into me from behind.

Thursday, I couldn’t sit without blushing.

Friday, I rode him until my thighs shook and my voice was hoarse from crying out his name. His fist stroked my cock the whole time, somehow pulling two orgasms out of me while he watched with hooded eyes. Then he flipped me over, threw my legs over his shoulders, and wrecked me so good, I wouldn’t be able to forget about him all weekend.

I have never been so consistently, deliciously sore. I’ve never soaked in so many baths or jacked off so damn much. I’m surprised my poor dick isn’t raw.

It feels like a sickness, how badly I want him. How much space he occupies, even on the days I don’t see him. Especially on the days I know I will.

The next two-day weekend without him makes me feel like an addict. By dinner on Sunday, my whole family is giving me a wide berth as I snap and bitch and complain about everything from the rainy weather outside to the fact that each of my brothers is annoying for different, specific, odd reasons. Ian breathes too loud. Zane smiles too much. Warren needs to stop looking at me like he can see what’s happening inside my head and doesn’t approve.

Ma thinks it’s hysterical.

To:EBStyles

From: DMont95

Subject: hi

I miss you, Emerson. Two days is too long.

I’m completely out of breath by the time I make it through his window Monday night. I dropped my bag off after work, fed Eleanor, and took the world’s quickest shower, prepping myself while I washed.

My pants are off by the time I make it to him, where he leans in the threshold of his bedroom and the hall. Like he saw me running and came to where he knew I would be. We kiss, sloppy and frantic, as I work his pants down. And I have never been so happy to be so much smaller than him because as soon as his pants and boxers fall to his ankles, he hoists me up and moves us so he can prop me on his dresser.

“I’m already prepped. Fuck me—hurry.”