Page 82 of Emerson

Subject: hey baby…

I’m scared as fuck that you won’t show up tonight.

Dillon isn’t in his room when I close the screen behind me. His en suite bathroom door is cracked open, light off. The lamp is on in the corner, though, casting a warm light over the bedroom.

I pause, crossing my arms close to my chest, and stare at the suitcase from the other night. Closed up and next to the bedroom door now, next to another one just like it.

It’s only four months, Emery. Calm the fuck down already.

Four months is nearly half a year. Lots of time to realize a lot of things. I don’t expect more nights with him on the other side of this—I just don’t. And that’s why I sit on the bed instead of going to search for him. It’s easier this way.

It takes him a few minutes, but he walks in, boots still on his feet.

“Hey,” he says, kicking off the shoes by his suitcases, and then he’s moving over to where I’m perched, waiting for him like I actually am his slut. Waiting around to get fucked and leave.

My stomach twists. “Hey.”

He takes one of my hands and gives it a little tug until I stand, and he uses the hold to pull me in. His nose immediately goes into my hair, and I close my eyes when he wraps me in a hug. “Shower with me?”

He smells like sweat and sawdust, and he feels strong under my palms. Capable of lifting me up when I nod. Capable of carrying me into the bathroom, kissing my temple, down my cheek and over to my mouth.

Capable of ruining me.

He does it slowly, standing under the warm shower spray. Wet skin sliding against wet skin, my back pressed against the cold tiles behind me. My hands are buried in the back of his hair, holding his mouth hostage against mine.

I kiss him until my body is climbing the ever-familiar peak. I kiss him so I can feel his groans. I kiss him so he can’t use his mouth to say shit that will haunt me every night from here on out.

The water starts to cool, and Dillon finally pries his lips from mine. He searches my eyes, moving one of his hands between us, wrapping it around my hardness. I squeeze my eyes closed and focus on the feel of him touching me.

The end is just out of reach, so close. Dillon switches his pace, shortens his thrusts. I knock my head back against the wall, a cry falling from my burning chest.

“Come with me, Emery,” Dillon says, thick and needy against my cheek.

He’s not asking me to go with him; that would be insane. I know that—I know that. I don’t climax from him asking me to share the release with him, though.

I climax because I’m capable of pretending. And I pretend that his words are asking me something different.

But the cum washes off in the water, and Dillon pushes open the door of the shower. Letting out all the steam and hopeless fantasies.

I let him dry me from head to toe. I watch him press kisses across my body. I urge my insides to stop aching, to just stop being so goddamn dramatic. To enjoy the moment.

I dress in silence, and Dillon kisses me all the way to the window as I walk backwards. He brushes his thumb over my cheek and leans down for one more peck. “Bye, baby.”

It’s not until I’m pressed with my back against the door of my apartment that I let the tears fall. It’s Wednesday. Tomorrow is a Penny night, and Friday morning…

I laugh, covering my wet face, and slide down to the floor.

“Why am I like this?” I yell, but unfortunately, no one is around to answer.

Dillon

“Dude, I’m coming,” I call out, unlocking the front door and swinging it open so the dick on the other side stops banging on it.

Warren is there, Ian’s head looking over his shoulder.

“Where is she?” Ian asks, looking at my empty arms with a frown.

“Sup, man,” Warren presses a case of energy drinks into my chest and breezes right by me.