He doesn’t hesitate, shoving my hips down against the bed and driving his cock between my legs. Thrusting hard, he holds me tightly in his arms. “Fuck, look what you do to me, Charlotte. You drive me crazy.”
I can’t get enough of him. My legs lock around his waist, and I pull his mouth to mine for another kiss. With Emerson, I don’t feel so inferior. Somehow, this perfect, amazing man makes me feel worthy, and my heart explodes in my chest every time I think about it.
“I’m addicted to you,” he groans while fucking me. “You were made for me, Charlotte. You’re mine, and I never want to let you go. Do you understand me? I’d fuck you forever if I could.”
My body cries out as he pounds harder and harder, the sensation of what he’s doing to my body mingled with the words he’s using to break my heart.
“I wish you could,” I cry. Looking up into his eyes, I whisper, “I was made for you.” The expression on his face seems momentarily surprised by my admission.
Resting his forehead against mine, he drives me to ecstasy, pounding his body into mine as if he’s trying to make me believe what he’s telling me. When I come, my nails dig into his back, holding him as closely as I can get him. Matching my intensity, he growls into my ear as he slows his thrusts and comes inside me. Gathering me up in his arms, he pulls out and lies on the mattress. I rest on his chest, and let the moment wash over me.
He loosens the ties around my wrists. Grabbing a wet washcloth on the table next to the bed, he carefully rubs it across my skin. When I look down, I see splatters of black across my chest and stomach. It stings when he peels the wax from my delicate skin, but after the last hour, it’s nothing. And I almost welcome the pain now, like it brings us closer together.
Then he cups my face and pulls me up to his lips, kissing me softly.
“You’re not mad at me anymore, are you?” I ask, my voice trembling with emotion.
His face softens. “I was never mad at you, Charlotte. I just wish you could see what I see.”
I don’t see what Emerson sees, but I wish I could. Maybe I never will. It wasn’t just Beau, but I think ever since my dad walked out on us, I built up a wall between men and me, making myself believe that if I wasn’t good enough for them from the start, I could never disappoint them. I would never have to live through anyone’s disappointment ever again.
“I wish I could too,” I whisper, letting him hold me tightly in his arms.
RULE #29: AFTERCARE IS THE BEST.
Charlotte
“Can I take you home with me?” Emerson asks, kissing my forehead.
“Of course,” I whisper, as if that’s even a valid question.
“We can continue your aftercare there.”
My heart does a little dance of delight because I don’t need to ask what aftercare is—I’ve done my research, after all. And Madame Kink—er, Eden—was very adamant about the importance of aftercare, and I mean…who wouldn’t love to be pampered and doted on? As if Emerson doesn’t do that enough.
“I sort of thought this was the aftercare,” I point out. He’s already cleaned off all the wax, made me drink a bottle of water, and cuddled me into cozy bliss for the last hour.
But he looks down at me and brushes my hair out of my face. There’s a humorless expression on his face. “You got a little upset. I just don’t want to send you home. I’d rather keep you with me all night.”
“Oh God.” I try to hide my face, still a little humiliated over the way I cried. He won’t let me turn away, though. Pulling my gaze back to his, he waits for my answer.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Charlotte. That’s a normal response to pain. I did that to you on purpose.”
“You wanted to make me cry?”
He runs his thumb under my eye, which I’m sure is just dripping with mascara from my tears. “Yes. I wanted you to let go of whatever you were holding on to. It was intense, I know. Are you feeling okay now?”
I nod. I feel better than okay. I feel both exhausted and raw, but also renewed.
“Good.” He kisses my temple. “Let’s go home.”
As we get dressed and walk quietly out the back of the club, so we don’t have to face anybody, I wonder if Emerson knows what he’s doing to me when he says stuff like that. Home, as if it’s ours. While we had sex, he called me his. He told me he wanted to fuck me forever, which could have been in-the-moment sex talk, but stuff like this keeps going to my head.
I feel like I’m his, and Emerson feels like mine. I’ve managed to block out any and all thoughts of forever with him and what that would look like because we made a deal two weeks ago when this started that no one could find out. That we would take whatever we could get.