10. Storm

10

STORM

I didn't know what was up with me, but I knew I wanted more.

More of that.

More of Emmett's tongue on my lips. I wanted it in my mouth. Maybe I wanted it more places, too.

"I know you're trying to shock me by kissing me even though you're straight," he said.

"Well, I want you to do that again," I said, something stirring deep in my chest. "Does that shock you? Don't really care if it does."

I brought a hand forward, running it down the front of his shirt. I wasn't hung up about the fact that he was a guy. He was just a mix of everything I'd always found attractive. His full lips, his lean but toned body, his silky hair… even the way his skin smelled like some warm, spiced vanilla.

They were always things I'd been attracted to in women, but I'd never found a guy quite like Emmett.

Hell, I'd never known a guy even close to what Emmett was.

His good looks were in a league of their own. Initially I'd noticed that there was something pretty about him, and that was definitely true. But he also had a streak of fierce passion beneath the surface, and the combination turned me on in ways I'd never experienced before.

Certainly not with any guy.

"Christ," he said. "The guys are right over there."

"Then come back to my place?" I murmured. "Or yours. Hell, it isn't like our houses are far apart from each other."

"You're fucking crazy," Emmett said, but he didn't exactly sound mad about it. Didn't look mad about it, either.

I reached a hand up to run my fingers through my hair. "You might be right. I do feel like I'm losing it, a little. I just also feel like I fucking loved that. And I want more."

"Well, I don't think you're going to feel that way once you come back down to reality," Emmett said, his gaze hardening. He breathed in deep, giving me a once over before nodding. "I'm heading home. Have a good night, Storm."

He ducked back into the bar, and a minute later, I saw him leaving around the side of the place, walking over toward his dumb red Porsche that was still parked over in the Fixer Brothers office lot across the street.

Gone. Just like that. Leaving me here with one whole hell of a craving. Was he really just trying to mess with me, still, with that kiss? It sure felt like more. I couldn't have been the only one who felt that attraction, unless I was way off-base.

But I wasn't going to push it.

I wanted more, and I didn't know why the fuck I wanted more, but I wasn't going to be an asshole. If Emmett didn't want me, then that was that.

I could go home, jerk off, and go on with my life.

The first thing I saw when I turned onto my street a couple of hours later was the glimmer of dozens of little lights in Emmett's front yard.

"What in the fresh hell?" I muttered under my breath, laying off the gas pedal in the Bronco and driving slower past Emmett's house. "What are you doing , Fancy Pants?"

As my car slowed, I got a better look at what was going on. Emmett was out in his front yard in a white T-shirt and beat-up old pants, standing on a short ladder to hang up some sort of artsy bronze lantern in one of the tall oak trees out front. It was only one of a bunch of different little glowing lights he'd apparently decided to set up tonight. The sun was just setting, and his front yard looked like some sort of magical wonderland, dotted with multiple glowing lights hanging from different trees and strung along the shrubs on the far side of the lawn.

Emmett looked to his side as my Bronco passed.

I rolled down the window, calling out to him. "Need help hanging that up?"

When he saw me he teetered a little on the ladder.

"Oh, fuck," I said as I realized what was about to occur.

Emmett frowned, losing balance on the ladder and falling backward onto the lawn. The bronze lantern fell next to him, missing his head by a few inches.

" Whoa, whoa," I muttered, immediately throwing the Bronco into park and cutting the engine. I ran over to Emmett, who was on the lawn, cradling his ankle. "That was a nasty fall. You okay?"

"All good," he said, even though he was wincing and clearly still in pain.

"How's that ankle?" I said, ignoring his nonchalant attitude.

He groaned, sitting up in the grass and feeling around his lower leg.

"It'll be fine," he finally said. "I've sprained it before, and this isn't even that bad. Side of my foot hurts like hell, though."

"Could be a tarsal injury," I offered. "Teammate of mine got one last year. He was normal again within a couple of weeks, though."

Emmett cut a glare at me. He was breathing heavy, and clearly had been doing lots of physical work out front. I'd never seen him in such plain clothes before, and it was a departure from his usual suits.

He looked really good. He was fitter than I'd realized, and his biceps peeking out of the sleeves caught my eye.

"Go home," he said.

"What are you even doing out here?" I asked. "This place looks like something out of a fairy tale—"

"I'm putting up my fall decor. Sorry if you hate the whole fall theme, but I want to do it."

"Don't hate it at all," I clarified. "I think it looks pretty fucking awesome out here now, actually, and—wait, shit, Emmett, you're bleeding."

There was a trail of blood along the side of his arm that had smeared onto his white shirt.

"Jesus," he said as he saw the blood, wincing again. "Thought I felt my arm hit the side of the ladder."

He pulled off his T-shirt, wrapping it around the shallow cuts on his arm.

"Let's get you inside. You need to clean that arm off."

"I'm fine on my own," he told me, his tone a little sharper. He looked up at me and his anger was apparent.

I furrowed my brow. "I just want to help you."

"I don't need help right now," I said. "Thank you very much."

"Then sorry for offering," I shot back at him. "Didn't need help hanging the lantern, don't need any help with your ankle, don't need help with the damn cuts even though I've probably dressed more wounds in a single football season than you have in your whole life."

His eyes were cold. "Yes. I'm glad you understand. I don't need your help, though I appreciate the offer."

"Liar."

He stood up on the grass and I stood up right next to him, suddenly aware of my height advantage on him. Suddenly it didn't matter that it felt like we were in some sort of autumn fantasy-land full of little lights, because all I could see was the raw bitterness in his eyes. We may as well have been in a fighting ring.

Except he was like some fancy, pampered, privileged prince, and I was a beast.

If this were a fighting ring, he'd stand no chance.

"Call me that again," he challenged me, his voice even and calm.

" Liar ," I said, lingering on the word and holding his gaze firmly. Because fuck backing down.

Suddenly it felt like my body lit up from within. Adrenaline, ferocity, anger, and desire, too. I was too aware of the fact that he was shirtless now, and that he looked way too damn good in the low, glowing light. So he had real muscle under all his stupid expensive clothes, apparently.

Was he actually going to try to punch me?

Would I like it if he did?

And why couldn't I look at him without desire gripping me into some fucked-up chokehold that wouldn't let go? I did want to fight him, but I couldn't tell what else I wanted.

Too much. I was so filled with pure wanting that I could barely believe I was actually standing here looking at him shirtless, like some fevered fantasy that my mind must have been cooking up.

"Why are you offering me help, anyway?" he finally said.

"Because I saw the look in your eyes earlier tonight when I asked you to come back to my place with me," I said, lifting an eyebrow. "It's your favorite little time of the year, and you're lonely."

"Shut up."

"Yet you won't even let me hang a fucking lantern for you."

"You were just trying to push my buttons, asking me to come home with you," he said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you don't really want me," he said, raising his voice as his eyes flared wide again. "You don't really want me," he repeated.

He may as well have socked me right in the chest.

My heart squeezed, hearing the silent defeat in his tone.

There was something real about it. More real than all of the bluffing he usually tried to pull around me. He sounded lost , almost.

Had I really had that effect on him? Was Emmett really so confused about me?

My heart was pounding. The faint sound of the evening crickets just began to fill the air, and even though the air had become chilly, my skin was still burning hot.

I was confused, too. But right now I didn't think I cared much.

"You think I don't want you?" I asked.

He swallowed. "I know you don't."

I reached out toward his good arm, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward toward me. I was tired of pussyfooting around. Tired of waiting. I needed to touch him, needed to show him how I meant exactly what I told him, like I needed the fucking air I breathed.

This time, he kissed me again before I even made a move toward his face.

He pressed his lips to mine, shoving forward like he was trying to claim me.

Please. Yes.

Claim me.

Do whatever the fuck you want to me .

I breathed deep, pulling in a breath of his warm vanilla scent. I didn't have to be confused when I was close to him like this. I didn't think about what was going on with me, or why I wanted it.

Because his lips tasted like exactly what I wanted. His plush mouth, so hungry for the kiss that I desperately wanted to give him. I could tell he'd had more to drink at home because he tasted like whiskey again, the same as he had the other night. I was like Pavlov's fucking dog because I swore one taste of him activated every cell in my body, turning me on like nothing else could right now.

His tongue was against my lips. I parted them for him, letting my tongue slide out on his. Hot and wet and everything I wanted, and I didn't give a damn what it meant. The firm warmth of his hand landed against my hip, gripping me like he was holding on for dear life.

More.

All I wanted was more.

I closed what distance was left between our bodies, pressing the front of my body right up against his.

I'm kissing him again.

I'm fucking kissing another dude, and I'm so into it I might explode.

I knew I was rutting up against his thigh, and I knew damn well he must be able to feel just how hard I was.

Emmett Waycott was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. Such a challenge, and such a reward.

"You," I said, my voice heavy with breath as I broke off from the kiss. I hung near his face, locking eyes with him, the air between us electric.

"Thought you hated me," he said, his voice low. "Thought all you wanted was to be a big fucking pain in my ass. Ruin my career. Destroy me—"

"Shut up," I said, trying to pull him further toward the front door of his house. "Now will you let me help you with that arm?"

"No reason I couldn't do it myself, but if it makes you feel like a man, then sure, Storm," he said, knowing damn well he was trying to push my buttons again, now.

"Doesn't make me feel like a man," I murmured, running my hand along the side of his face. "But kissing you does."

I caught a lock of his hair, and it felt so impossibly smooth under my fingers.

"So you like it because of some power fantasy, huh?"

"I like it because it feels good. And I think you do, too."

His eyes flickered between mine, some mixture of frustration and lust on his face. "It feels good."

I nodded. " Mmhmm ."

We hung in silence for a moment before he pulled in a slow breath, breaking my gaze. He headed over toward his front door, which now had a fall wreath on the front of it, complete with plenty of golden leaves and branches and red flowers.

He pushed open the front door and headed in. I followed behind, instantly being met with the smell of delicious apple-cinnamon. His Husky, Pepper, ran up to greet us, and I gave her some love and pets.

"You really went all out with the fall stuff tonight, didn't you?"

"I do it every year."

The front door swung shut with a click behind us, and I followed him down the short entryway toward the living room. It was astonishing how different Emmett's house was from mine, even though they were next door to each other. He'd turned this house into a peaceful, spa-like sanctuary type of place, with plenty of sleek wood, ambient lighting, and modern decorations.

A short step led us up toward the living room, which had a fireplace that was burning and a long, L-shaped couch.

Through the living room was a side bathroom, and Emmett took out a first-aid kit that was well-stocked.

Finally, he let me help him. He didn't say much and didn't complain, and I washed off his cut, which was much less bad than it had initially looked. The bleeding had already stopped, and after cleaning it and wrapping it in gauze, I knew it would be fine within a couple of days.

Don't you see I can take good care of you, if you let me?

It was a strange, unbidden thought, but I was wrapped in so much inexplicable desire for him that I was tired of shoving it away.

"There," I told him, looking up at his eyes. "Was that so bad?"

He just gave me a look and headed back out into the living room. I followed, expecting him to ask me to leave.

"Tell me you're not going to fuck up my life."

That wasn't what I'd been expecting.

He was standing at the edge of his couch, on the plush white carpet near the glass coffee table, still shirtless. He looked so lickable, from his toned chest all the way down to the small, faint amount of hair leading down his stomach toward his cock.

His skin looked so smooth, and all I wanted to do was touch him again.

God, I really, really fucking wanted him.

"I don't want to ruin your life at all, Fancy," I said. "But I'm going to do whatever the hell I want to do, just like always."

He cocked his head to one side. "And that includes kissing guys?"

"Not kissing guys," I clarified. "Kissing you . Maybe doing more than kissing you."

I walked over to him, reaching out to grip his waist. His perfect little fucking waist. Strong and supple, and so warm. I groaned softly as I felt my fingertips on his smooth skin. Knowing Emmett, he must have had some elaborate, ten-step daily skincare routine, pampering himself from head to toe. He smelled good. He felt good. Every inch of him was irresistible, as far as I could tell.

"More than kissing sounds pretty off-base for a straight guy," Emmett said, but I felt him leaning into my touch, coming closer toward me as my fingers skated across the skin of his lower back.

"Maybe I'm not straight, then," I said off the cuff. "Maybe I don't know what the fuck I am. Maybe it doesn't matter ."

"It does matter, though," he shot back at me.

I groaned. "Fine. I know it does. But all I feel right now is that I like touching you, okay? And I love when you touch me, even though you're a mouthy, infuriating piece of work and I also want to punch you in the face about ten times an hour."

He hummed, his gaze skating over me, looking at me like I pissed him off just as much. He reached up to grip my shoulders and with surprising strength, he pushed me back and down onto the couch behind us, tackling me until he was on top of me.

Fuck yes, Emmett , I thought silently, my heart pounding in my chest. Quit doubting everything and just fucking take me if you want me.

Suddenly I was sitting back on his couch, my entire field of view full of nothing but him. His eyes were wild like they had been before, looking down at me.

I reached forward, grabbing one of his hands and gently holding it in mine. His hands were a bit smaller than mine, and holding his hand felt almost tender.

"You're stupid if you think I don't want you, Emmett," I told him softly and evenly.

"You're stupid if you don't think you're going to get up tomorrow morning full of nothing but regret, if we do… more, together."

"More," I pressed, "like the things I've been thinking about nonstop? The things that have been driving me crazy?"

His eyes were so beautiful. Green, but also gold a little around the edges, I could see now.

"Like how much I bother you?" he asked.

"Like how I want to feel your cock between my lips," I told him bluntly. I watched as his eyes blew wide, almost like he was in a daze.

"Storm," he whispered.

"I want to know what you look like when you come. What you sound like," I told him, squeezing his hand harder in mine. "I like driving you crazy. And I'm not afraid to give you more. Every time I see you, I just want another taste—"

He pulled his hand away from mine and reached up to my hair, running his fingers through it and giving it a tug. He leaned closer toward me, his face just inches above mine, holding my gaze.

His lips were on mine again in an instant. This time, his kiss was different than all of the others. It was still hungry, but it wasn't rushed— Emmett was leaning his body down onto the front of mine, letting the slick heat of his tongue come out against mine with a satisfied, slow patience.

Almost like he was teasing something out of me.

Taking his time.

Letting his movements be slow and firm, controlling the smoldering fire inside me like he was my fucking puppeteer.

Every nerve in my body lit up as he leaned against me, running an open palm down my chest. Somehow I'd finally managed to convince him that I wasn't going to get up and run away screaming just because he was a man. He still didn't like me. I knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. But I'd gotten through to him. When it came to being physical, I craved more every time I was near him.

"You want to taste me?" he murmured against my lips.

He turned his head just slightly to kiss against my jaw, and I felt like my whole body might melt right into his cloud of a couch.

Holy fuck , that felt good.

"I really do," I said, straight from my heart. I felt like he'd discovered a throughline straight to my cock, and with every touch, every word , now, he made my cock pulse again.

I rocked upward a little bit, grinding my stiff cock against his thigh, showing him exactly how much I wanted this. He let out a little moan, immediately leaning in again to kiss me, moving one hand down to squeeze my thigh.

He had me in a trance. I was pretty sure I'd never felt this hypnotized—this in the moment —with anyone I'd been with before. I'd only ever felt anything similar while I was hyperfocused in the moment playing football, but this moment was nothing like football, to say the least.

I'd spent entire relationships wishing for moments like this. Never quite being able to climb that mountain. To get to the place I was now, where every little touch sent my body into overdrive, where every little move Emmett made only teased my cock further, making me want so much more.

Like he was in control of me, and I was in control of him, somehow, too.

A disobedient little dance that we were both doing with each other until we couldn't take another second of it, our bodies begging for a desperate release from the tension.

"Why do you always smell so good?" I murmured against him, leaning over to press my face to the place at the crook of his neck, kissing and nipping at him there.

" Soirée vanille ," he said near my ear.

I bit the inside of my cheek. "I don't know what that means, but you speaking French in my ear is really working for me."

He hummed, sitting up a bit to look down at me. A lock of his hair fell across his forehead, glinting in the low light of the room. "It's the name of my cologne. Sweet, but warm and spiced, too. I wear it in fall, and always only a little bit. Never overpowering."

"In fall ," I said, sucking in a breath as I looked up at him. "Because of course you must have a different scent for each season."

"I do," he confirmed, unapologetic. "If you have a problem with that, I can't say I care, Storm."

I couldn't keep a smile off my face.

"No problem with it," I said, reaching up to run my thumb along the side of his face. His skin there was smooth, too, like I was touching silk. "You're pretty. Do you know how pretty you are? Handsome, too, but kind of pretty."

"I like the idea of being both," he said.

And goddamn, he sure was both, right now. The only light in the room was the last smudges of sunset filtering through his tall glass windows and the glow of the fireplace. I swore it made Emmett look like he had a halo behind him.

Suddenly, I wanted to see him naked.

Very much.

Adrenaline surged through me all at once, and I decided to go with it.

"Take your clothes off," I told him.