7. Emmett

7

EMMETT

His lips on my skin.

At the corner of my mouth.

His tongue on my goddamn neck .

Every bone in my body ached as I woke from sleep for the second time that night, stirring in bed.

My cock was hard. Again. I shoved it up against the mattress, pushing it in like I could somehow get relief from rutting up against something. Anything. Fuck .

I'd been so good until I got home and got in bed. I'd managed to make it back to my kitchen, chug a ton of water, and spend time scrolling through work emails for at least an hour without thinking about Storm once.

Ignoring the memory of his touch.

Of the fact that he'd kissed me, all because he had some psychotic desire to get under my skin.

I'd eventually gone up to my bedroom, though, the rest of the night feeling like some distant memory that couldn't possibly have been real. Storm Rosling wouldn't kiss me. He barely knew me, and what he did know, he certainly didn't like.

Sleep came quickly, but the dreams came just as fast behind it.

" Tell me to stop ," Storm said, so close to me, in the first dream. We were back in his backyard, but alone this time, not surrounded by a party. I could feel his lips against my ear as he whispered. " And I'll stop anytime ."

How long had it been since I'd been touched like that? Since I'd even let anyone get that close?

"Don't stop," I told him, knowing I shouldn't say it even in a dream. "Please don't stop."

"Then tell me you want more," Storm murmured, and as I felt his palm reaching down for my cock, I woke up.

Aching.

Harder than a fucking rock under my sheets.

I groaned, turning over my pillow to the cold side. Dim light came through the sheer curtains in my bedroom. I knew if I got up and looked out past my backyard, I'd still see the figures in Storm's backyard, out there partying and having fun.

The second dream blurred with reality. I dozed again, this time dreaming that I was right here in my bedroom, with Storm lying down right next to me.

"You don't even like men," I told him, a now-familiar ache building in my chest. "Why are you doing this? Why are you here?"

"Why not?" he said back to me before leaning in and kissing me again, with a lot more tongue than he had in real life. "I just want to play."

My cock throbbed.

My brain protested.

I'm not your toy, I thought, but I opened my mouth to his. Greedy and desperate. Pulling him up close against me in the bed, grinding up against his thigh, grasping for any inch of skin on skin I could get until my cock felt like it was going to explode—

I woke up again, sitting up in bed, this time.

" Christ, " I muttered softly. "I fucking hate you."

Was I going to push my hard-on up against the mattress like some hormone-laden teenager, or was I just going to get it over with, already? I wrapped my hand around my cock and started to pump it in my fist.

I was almost angry with how good it felt. Finally relieving something that had been building up all night. Building up since I'd met Storm, maybe.

He's just eye candy, and you're only human .

I tried to think about anything else as I got myself off. The hottest porn videos I'd ever seen. Thoughts of stripping guys out of fancy suits. Fantasies about professors and students. Anything generically hot.

But the memories of my dreams were burnished into my mind like a bruise.

I gripped my cock, the image of Storm's stupid naked photos flashing through my mind. I'd barely let myself look at them, but that memory was a permanent part of my mind now.

And the thought of what Storm had done to me earlier tonight—in real life—was on me forever now, too, like a fucking tattoo.

His possessive kiss.

The fact that he'd had zero hesitation.

I hate you , I thought.

But on top of it was another, quieter thought, too: I want you to do it again.

I felt a wave crashing down on me and before I could stop myself, I was coming, thinking only of how Storm's lips had felt in real life. Hating how much I'd liked it. Wishing I wasn't so desperate, yet craving him like a drug.

"God," I muttered under my breath as I breathed heavy, floating back down to reality.

I'd gotten it out of my system. I'd let myself think about the stereotypically hot muscular guy with the stereotypically hot body, and now I could regain some shred of sanity. I cleaned myself up and when I stopped to look out my back windows, there was no one outside on Storm's lawn anymore.

Tomorrow, I was going to be back to myself.

Back to my priorities.

No more fucking around.

For a few days, it felt like my plans were working. I plunged deep into wrapping up a few former marketing clients in the Lux Marketing offices. I held a meeting with Walter Cutmore and a former client who was running a granola bar startup company, and it felt like a return to who I knew I could be.

The meeting went smoothly. Everyone acted professional and businesslike. Veronica, the woman who owned the granola company, certainly hadn't ever been a red flag or problematic in any way, and Cutmore approved of her.

" That's the kind of client I like to work with," he said after she left that morning. "She's a good family woman, too. Devoted to her husband. Three kids. Good churchgoing family."

I clenched my jaw. "It's always a beautiful thing when people are devoted to what they care about."

I meant what I said—Veronica was wonderful, and I always respected people who cared deeply about their own faith.

But after years of working for Cutmore, I knew the implications behind his words. Once, over a few glasses of scotch, he had said a few things to me that I'd never forgotten in my life.

"There will come a time when you need to grow up, Emmett," he'd said to me, his gruff face forming a stern expression. "I know your father is too soft-hearted to tell you, but you need to end up with a woman one day. Now I'm not anti-gay , or whatever the media would label me. But the only proper place for a man of business is with a true family ."

It was the closest I'd ever been to quitting Lux Marketing.

I'd gone to my father the next day, telling him what Cutmore had said. My father had always known that he was on the conservative side, but he'd never expressed any opinions about trying to make me end up straight, before. Or maybe he just wanted me to fake being straight for the public, which was even worse.

"What does he expect me to do, marry a woman and just pretend I'm attracted to her?" I told Dad. "How cruel would that be to the woman? To my damn children , if I had any?"

"It's ridiculous," Dad said. "We need him out of the company."

I'd found Dad dead on the floor less than three weeks later, and my life had spiraled down into a balancing act, where I was just trying to tread water.

I knew I couldn't work for a man who had Cutmore's opinions. But in the days after Dad's death, I could barely remember how to breathe.

So when he told me, now, that Veronica was the " good kind " of client, I hated every last implication that was laced beneath his words.

"You don't have to worry about Storm Rosling," I told him, though I'd already said it to him half a dozen times this week. "I've got a handle on it."

But do I?

And do I even want to, just to keep a person like you pleased?

It all started to fall apart a few days later.

"We're really impressed," Tad Williams, one of the brand execs at Racks superstores, told me as he stood up and shook my hand. We were in the Fixer Brothers offices, and we'd just had the first in-person meeting with Racks. "I'll be in touch over the next few days after speaking with a few of my colleagues."

I was hopped up on way too many shots of espresso, and I hoped to hell that Tad couldn't feel the jitter in my hand as we shook.

When was the last time I'd actually been that nervous for a brand meeting? These days, I could conduct most business meetings in my sleep, let alone easy, preliminary, get-to-know-you meetings like today's.

But as usual, the Racks and Fixer Brothers deal was anything but typical.

"I had no idea how dedicated Racks was to young athletes," Shawn told him, standing and shaking Tad's hand. "Ten percent of all proceeds going to underprivileged kids sports programs… that would be a dream for us."

"And Storm Rosling may as well be the poster boy for that," Nathan said with a smile. "He came from poverty, and now he's a superstar."

I winced internally.

We'd managed to make it the whole meeting without bringing up Storm, but I knew it would have to come up sometime.

Tad clicked his tongue. "Didn't I hear Storm Rosling got into a bar fight a couple of weeks ago? Something like that?"

"Not a fight," I quickly said. "Nothing like that. It was just an exchange of words."

"I could exchange some words right now, if you'd like," a voice came from behind me, toward the open glass doors of the conference room.

A bolt went down my spine.

I knew that velvety voice, by now.

I turned to see Storm leaning in the doorframe, giving his signature smile to Tad.

"Storm! There's the man himself," Nathan said. "Didn't know you were coming by the offices today."

Storm nodded. "Sawyer had contacted me about going over some initial backyard landscaping ideas, and I said I'd be happy to swing by."

I'd never seen Storm dressed like he was today. He was in a fitted, light grey-blue button-up shirt and nice dark slacks. His hair was still a bit ruffled on top, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to expose his forearms. But with the nice clothing, he looked every bit like a movie star off duty.

He looked great .

"Wow, what a surprise," Tad said, walking over to introduce himself. "You seem even taller in person. I must admit, Storm, you helped me win my fantasy football league last year while you were still playing in Texas."

"Glad to hear it," he said. "I didn't love everything about living in Texas while I was on the team, but I always tried to play my heart out."

Tad frowned. "Oh, no? They're my team. I have a winter home out in Texas. Love the land, love the people."

My mind was like a repeating loop.

Storm, for the love of God. Don't. Say. Anything bad about Texas.

"Winter home, huh?" Storm said, and I could see something flash behind his eyes.

Fuck. Don't say anything bad about rich people, either, please?

"Oh, yes," Tad continued. "Texas is beautiful in winter."

"More of a summer guy myself, but I know what you mean," Storm finally said. "There definitely is a lot of beauty in the land there."

I felt like I'd just gone up and down a roller coaster about six times in a row. The excess caffeine was still coursing through me, and I couldn't take it anymore.

Storm looked over at me and caught my eyes, giving me a look up and down that made me molten at the core.

Happy now? his look said, as if he'd given me some gift by not picking a fight with Tad.

"Well, my second favorite team is of course the Ferals," Tad said with a polite smile. "I'll always be rooting for you guys as long as you're not up against Texas."

He chuckled and Storm smiled. "Pleasure to meet you, Tad. I should go find Sawyer now."

"Thanks for peeking in, Storm," Shawn said.

Storm turned to leave the room but just before it, he turned back, looking at me.

He caught my eye and, in the least subtle way possible, blew me a kiss.

Blew me a fucking kiss, like he was Marilyn Monroe.

He left the meeting room as my cheeks flushed hot.

"I can tell he's quite a character," Tad said.

For God's sake .

After we'd walked Tad out to the front and he'd gotten back in his car—he had the same Porsche as me, although his was blue—Shawn and Nathan turned back to me.

"Happy hour across the street?" Nathan asked. "Got any time, Emmett? Our friend Chase has his brother Jamie in town, and he's both gay and single. Just sayin'."

I glanced across the street at Jade Brewery, its now familiar cabin-like front entrance and big back patio surrounded by trees.

The truth was that I didn't really have time. I almost never did. Without even looking at my calendar app on my phone, I could name at least six different things I should have been working on tonight instead of heading over for a beer at Jade Brewery.

But after this afternoon—after this whole week, honestly—I felt like I'd stuck a fork in an electrical socket.

I was spent.

And while I knew damn well I wasn't in the market for some sort of blind date or hookup with this Jamie guy, I knew I needed to put something in my mind that wasn't just endless thoughts about Storm Rosling.

"Let's do it."