9. Sara

SARA

The moment Emile texts me to meet him outside my building, I'm out the door in a flurry of motion that would put a cartoon character to shame. As I ride the elevator down to the lobby, I'm a mix of excitement and anxiety swirling together and need to remind myself to breathe. Emile has this effect on me. He makes everything feel more intense, more real. I don't want to get carried away, but I have big, big feelings for this guy.

When I step outside, Emile is a few car spaces down the street, leaning against a motorcycle and looking every bit the brooding bad boy in his leather jacket and worn jeans. But as soon as he sees me, that stern expression softens into a smile that makes my knees go weak.

"Hey," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he steps away from the bike to greet me.

"Hey yourself," I reply, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. "What's with the motorbike?"

"Thought we could use a little adventure." He grins and walks me over to it, lifting a black helmet up for me to take. "You up for it?"

I bite my lip, glancing at the sleek black machine. The idea of hopping on a motorcycle with Emile excites and terrifies me at the same time. "I've never been on one before," I confess, taking the helmet from him and inspecting it as if it holds all the answers to my uncertainties.

Emile steps closer, his warm hand brushing against mine as he sets it on my head and helps me adjust the straps. "Then I guess I'll share your first motorcycle ride too," he murmurs, and I suck in my breath.

"OK," I whisper.

Emile straddles the bike, offering me his hand to help me climb on behind him. I take a deep breath and swing my leg over, settling in close to his back. The warmth of his body seeps through the leather jacket, and I find myself clinging to him tighter than necessary.

"Where are we going?" I ask over the sound of the engine as he starts up.

"Somewhere special," he says, before revving the engine and merging into the flow of traffic. The world blurs past us, turning into a sea of colorful streaks as we weave through Sugar City's bustling streets. I can't help but laugh as I cling to his back, the wind whipping my hair and the thrill of the ride making my heart soar. It's like we're in our own bubble of adrenaline and possibility, cutting through the city's pulse.

Eventually, Emile slows down and turns into a quieter neighborhood, lined with trees whose leaves are bright and green with wide open flowers welcoming the early days of summer. We pull up to a stop in front of a charming, secluded park. The wisteria vines climb over old iron gates, and I can hear the soft murmur of a bubbling fountain inside.

Emile parks the bike and helps me dismount. My legs are wobbly, both from the ride and the proximity to him, but I manage to stand firm as I take in our surroundings.

"What is this place?"

"It's a little secret of mine," he says with a shy smile that makes my heart flip. "I come here when I want to be alone."

"It's beautiful." I glance around at the serene beauty of the park, feeling a sense of calm wash over me. The iron gates creak slightly as Emile pushes them open, and we step inside together. The park is like something out of a fairy tale, with winding cobblestone paths and colorful flower beds. A canopy of trees arches overhead, their branches intertwined like a living ceiling. The sun filters through the leaves, casting dappled light that dances on the ground below. "Are you sure you want to share this?"

Emile takes my hand. "Some things are too special to keep to yourself forever."

The undertone of his words sends a shiver through me.

We follow the cobblestone path until we find a secluded spot nestled among the trees with a perfect view of the fountain in the center of the park.

Emile spreads out a soft, plaid blanket on the ground, and we sit down with our backs against the sturdy trunk of an ancient oak tree. He pulls out sandwiches wrapped in parchment paper and giant muffins from a brown paper bag marked with The Cozy Bean's logo.

"Hope you're hungry," he says, handing me a sandwich. I take it, but my eyes linger on his face instead. There's something about the way the sunlight catches his hazel eyes, turning them almost golden, that makes it hard to look away.

"Starving," I reply, though my appetite isn't for food.

Emile's lips curl into a smile as he unwraps his sandwich, taking a hearty bite. I follow suit, but my focus never strays far from him. I can't help but notice the muscles in his jaw flexing as he chews. It's strangely arousing and distracting at the same time. I fantasize about running my fingers along those sharp angles of his jawline, tracing the contours of his square chin with my tongue. My breathing shallows.

I try to focus on my sandwich, but having him so close to me makes it impossible to think about anything besides replaying how it felt when he lifted me up like I weigh absolutely nothing then kissed the living daylights out of me. Emile looks up from his food, catching me staring. He raises an eyebrow.

"You don't like turkey?"

"Uh…I do. It's just…I'm…I'm not hungry for, um, for turkey."

He chuckles, the kind that rings deep and rich, vibrating the core of my being. "What are you hungry for, Sara?"

Heat rises to my cheeks, but instead of averting my gaze, I hold his stare, feeling a mix of boldness and vulnerability. Emile's laughter fades, replaced by a burning intensity in his eyes.

"I think I can guess," he murmurs, setting down his half-eaten sandwich and crawling toward me.

My pulse races as his face inches closer, and without thinking, I drop my sandwich to the ground. Emile's hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing across my skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I can barely breathe.

"Emile." My voice trembles.

"Sara?"

I don't have the words to answer him. Instead, I close the distance between us, my lips finding his in a kiss that feels both tender and desperately hungry. There's a momentary pause as our mouths touch, like the world holding its breath. Then, everything explodes into a beautiful chaos.

Emile's arms wrap around me, pulling me against his solid frame. My hands instinctively find his hair, tugging gently as our kiss deepens and takes on a feverish urgency. His lips move against mine with a perfect mix of gentleness and need, and I can't get enough of him.

He pulls back slightly and whispers in a low growl, "Tell me to stop. Tell me you're hungry for more. Tell me what you need and I'll do it, Sara."

"I'm hungry for you," I force out, gasping when he quickly pulls my sweater up over my head and drops it on the ground beside us, leaving me in my bra.

Emile's eyes darken as they linger on my exposed skin, his hand tracing the outline of my bra strap before slipping beneath it. My breath catches as he discovers the sensitive curve of my shoulder.

"Damn, Sara," he breathes, his voice husky and raw. "You have no idea what you do to me."

Every word sends a shiver down my spine, and I feel like I'm standing on the edge of something exhilarating and terrifying. His touch is electric, and I can't help but arch into him as his warm hands roam over my breasts, fingers gently flicking over the hardened nipples and causing an electrifying jolt of pleasure to course through me.

"You're so fucking sexy," he murmurs against my neck where he's planting wet, open-mouthed kisses. The sensation sends delicious shivers down my spine and straight into my center. "I'll bet you're dripping wet for me, too." I let out a soft moan at his words, wanting desperately for him to continue his exploration and find out.

"Emile…please…" I pant, pressing myself closer to him as if this act is somehow normal for me, and I often give myself freely to hockey players in secluded parks.

Emile inhales sharply as his hand slides down my curves to rest on my hip, fingers teasing the waistband of my jeans before continuing down over the top of the denim to cup my center in his big hand. I whimper. "Don't worry, little mouse. I'm gonna take you soon. But it's not gonna be here, much as I might want to. We'll have all sorts of time for that later. He nips at my earlobe before pressing his fingers against my core, letting out a moan. "And the wait will be worth it. I just know you're gonna feel like liquid silk."

All I can do is nod, unable to form coherent thoughts or words as I feel my body responding to his touch. His fingers rub me through my jeans, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my entire being. It's too much and not enough all at once, a wonderful agonizing tension building inside me like a lit fuse sparking toward detonation.

"That's it, Sara. Breathe through it. Let it happen."

I let out a strangled cry as he rubs faster, the pleasure building and threatening to consume me. My body grows hotter and wetter, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. I feel Emile's mouth curve into a smirk against my neck.

"I bet you'll come for me when I sink two fingers into that hot, wet pussy of yours," he whispers before pulling away slightly.

"Yes," I gasp, rocking against his hand.

"Yeah? You want that?"

"I do. Please."

I let out a whimper at the loss of his touch, suddenly bereft. But then he's back, his fingers sliding under the waistband of my jeans and tugging gently. For a moment, the denim is a barrier between us, and I can't help but feel frustrated. But then he works his hand beneath the fabric of my panties and lets out a long groan.

"Jesus, Sara. You're so fucking wet." His voice is husky, and I can feel the heat from his breath against my skin. As he slides his fingers into me, I cry out, trying to contain the sound. It's too late, though. It's too good, too intense. Every nerve ending in my body is alight with pleasure as he moves his fingers in a slow, steady rhythm. I press my hips against his hand, needing more.

"Fuck, Emile," I gasp, unable to hold back. "More."

Emile chuckles, then he starts to move his hand faster, circling his thumb around my clit as he thrusts deeper inside me. I moan, long and low, the pressure building up inside me. I'm close.

"That's it, baby. Let go for me." His voice is rough and demanding, sending shivers down my spine. I gasp as the sensation becomes too much, my body arching off the ground, every nerve ending alive with sensation as I climax hard against his hand.

"Fuck, Sara," Emile groans, kissing me as he brings me back down and gently removes his hand from my jeans. "That was amazing to watch. You're so beautiful when you come."

I blush, still catching my breath. "You think so? Even though you didn't er…get…anything out of it?"

Emile chuckles. "Trust me, I got plenty out of it," he says, lifting the hand that was inside me and holding to his nose. He groans. "And two fingers that smell like you are the least of it." My mouth falls open as he licks them clean, then just starts clearing up our picnic like all of this is completely normal. Although, is it? I've never dated a man like Emile before. In fact, I've never dated at all, so maybe this is normal.

He hands me my sweater. "Come on, little mouse. I promised you'd be back in time for your shift."