Chapter 51

Fifty-One

SCOTTIE

The more time that passes, the more my legs throb.

I've tried to talk myself down from the high I'm feeling after rereading Emory's texts, but nothing is working. I've jogged up and down the stairs, splashed water on my face, and now I'm in the kitchen, gulping down water like I haven't drank anything in days.

My mouth is dry with the thought of denying myself the simple pleasure of watching his blue eyes take me in. They're always so serious and brooding, but lately, when we're alone, they're full of something else.

I don't know what it is.

Desire?

Craving?

Longing?

Every time he touches me, it feels like he's trying to prove something, and I can't pretend that I'm not starting to believe him.

My glass of water clanks on the counter when I hear the door open.

Heat rushes to my toes, and suddenly, I'm weak at the knees.

Emory mumbles something that resembles a curse to Shutter, and I silently laugh.

I quietly tiptoe to the pantry with my phone in hand. When I hear his bag drop and his footsteps grow fainter, I type a message.

I've always been good at hide and seek.

It's true. I don't discuss why I was so good at hide and seek, but there were times I would hide all night long—well after my worst nightmares would stop seeking.

I stare at the ceiling when I hear his footsteps seize. I roll my lips together until I feel the buzz of my phone.

You know I don't like to lose.

You can't be a winner all the time.

When it comes to you, I can.

Warmth spreads, and my stomach flutters. I nibble on my thumb with a smile hiding behind my hand. It's an unfamiliar feeling. I'm light and airy for the first time in my entire life, and I don't know how to handle it.

I just know that I don't want to let it go.

My senses sharpen when I hear his footsteps approaching. I step away from the door and press my back into the shelf lined with pasta.

The longer you make me wait, the longer I make you wait.

I hear his knuckle rap against the counter, and my legs wobble. A burst of flirty nerves rush up my throat.

Sounds like something a loser would say.

You're asking for trouble again, wife.

Guess you'll have to punish me.

I freeze when the door to the pantry opens slowly. I see his large hand first, pushing on the wood with the tips of his fingers. In the dark of the kitchen, he's nothing but a looming shadow, but I know it's him just by the width of his shoulders.

"You like playing games, don't you, wife?"

His low tone makes me drop my phone. I'm weak-kneed and dizzy with a yearning I've never experienced before. If he asked me to strip right here, I would without any hesitation.

He walks closer, only taking a few steps until he's right in front of me. I peer at him from my shorter stance and nearly fall into his chest when he cups my waist and pulls me into the kitchen.

My tongue jolts from my mouth to lick my bottom lip, and the sound that leaves him goes right between my legs.

"You want to be punished, baby?" I've never heard the tone he's using with me right now. My breaths are choppy, and I'm practically panting. Blooms of pleasure rush to my breasts to the point that the cotton of the shirt sends hot tingles everywhere.

"Maybe," I answer.

The room spins as he turns me. I feel his mouth against my ear when he grips me tighter around the waist.

"Hands on the counter."

I don't like to be bossed around.

He knows this.

I know this.

Yet, I do exactly what he says.

My shaky hands fall to the edge of the granite. The slip of my shirt being pulled up against my skin excites me. What are we doing? The headstrong part of me is withering inside, but the way his hands feel on my body outweighs every single breath in my lungs, let alone every willful thought.

Emory's palm grazes my curves at the same time his teeth pull on my earlobe. My head flies backward, and I grip the counter so I don't slip. "No panties? You do want to be punished."

I gulp before letting out a shaky breath.

"Hold on tight, baby."

I gasp when he smacks my ass. I turn my head, still holding onto the counter, and catch his wild eyes. The light over the stove shines on the side of his face, and he's so hot I forget that he just spanked me.

It blinds me so fiercely that I don't even realize how much my body enjoyed it.

Emory smirks while sneaking his hand down the front of my body and in between my legs.

He groans. "Ah, fuck. You do like being punished."

My head falls to the crook of his neck when he feels how wet I am. I want to be embarrassed because I've never shown anyone this side of myself—not to this extent, at least. But I feel so safe with him that I'd show him all of me, even the ugly parts.

"I just like you," I admit.

I love the way he touches me, like he knows exactly what I need and wants to give it to me.

Emory's hand disappears, and he spins me around again, but this time, I'm facing him. I'm plopped on the counter in the blink of an eye, and he crowds my space as soon as he spreads my legs. He acts so swiftly and confidently. I love every single second of it.

"But I'm your husband," he whispers, dipping down to his knees. "You're supposed to love me."

If he keeps it up, I just might.

He pulls me to the very edge of the counter, and my palms fall to the cool stone to brace myself. His hot mouth disappears in between my legs, and I'm instantly on the edge of madness.

The strokes of his tongue push me to move my hips against his face, and a whimper falls off my lips the more he licks me. I can't think straight. I don't feel anything but pleasure and him , which is a very dangerous concoction.

"Emory," I breathe out his name like I'm going to faint. What is he doing to me?

My body twists, and so does my heart.

He pulls back and stares up at me with passion. His hot mouth is covered by me, and when our eyes connect, I feel my pulse skyrocket. "Tell your husband how much you love him, and then maybe I'll put you out of your misery."

I pause when the tiny voice in the back of my head says it without hesitation.

We're both caught up in the moment, so if I say it aloud, he'll think it's just because I'm turned on and can't deny him.

Right?

He flicks an eyebrow at me while standing, and I give in.

"Fine," I say. "I love you."

I do. I really think I do.

Emory's eye twitches, and his hand sweeps up my leg. My hair tumbles down my back when my head tips from pleasure. He moves against my clit, and it sends me spiraling.

"Tell me you're mine, Scottie." I feel his gruff voice against my skin when he leans in closer to my ear. He's so possessive of me, and it seems so real.

"I'm yours, Emory."

"Tell me your name." His finger enters me, and he pushes on the spot that makes me feel like I'm flying.

"Biscotti," I say, trying to win back some of the control.

"Don't play with me." His palm scrapes against my clit. "Tell me your name."

I tighten all over. "Sc-Scottie…" Jesus.

My hips move against his hand, and I don't care that this crosses every single line I've drawn between us. I don't care that he's seeing me in this vulnerable state and that he's asking me to say things I wouldn't say otherwise.

"Scottie what?" He's as impatient as I am. If I weren't mistaken, I'd think he likes to watch me fall apart from his touch just as much as I like to show him.

"Scottie Ols–Olson."

"That's my girl," he coaxes, adding another finger inside me.

I break apart in his grip like shattering glass.

He swallows my moans and licks up every single whimper that falls from my lips.

I'm barely coming down from my high when Emory pulls his hand out from between my legs and places me on my feet. He turns me around, and my world spins.

"Mine," he grits.

I spread my shaking legs, eager for more.

A gust of air cools me as he pulls his pants down. He positions himself from behind and grips onto my hips like they're his lifeline before pushing inside.

"Fuck, Scottie."

My hands spread on the counter, and I push against him to get a better angle. The deeper he goes, the more I succumb.

"You feel fucking incredible."

I whimper each time he hits a certain spot. His hand falls to mine to steady us, and when our fingers intertwine, my knees buckle.

"I've got you," he whispers, taking me deeper with his other hand wrapped around my waist. "Let go for me again. I'll catch you every time."

My body trembles, and my legs shake. He grips me tighter, and I fall over the edge again with his name falling from my lips.

"Tell me you're mine again," he groans, pumping into me faster and faster.

"I'm yours," I moan, tightening around his cock.

"Fuck, you've got a hold on me, baby."

In the middle of a whimper, Emory's fingers dig into my hips, and he pulls out of me. A gush of warm liquid hits me in the lower back, and the sound he makes is the hottest noise I have ever heard.

We stand there for so long his come drips over the curve of my ass and falls to the kitchen floor. His forehead rests against my sweaty skin until both of our raspy breaths are calm enough to move again.

The shuffling of fabric catches my attention, and when I peek behind my shoulder, Emory is shirtless. He bundles his shirt up and wipes the mess between my legs and back before turning me around slowly. He weaves his fingers through my tangled hair and stares down into my eyes.

My head is messy.

It becomes even messier when he presses his mouth to mine and leaves me breathless with a kiss that ends with me having an unforgettable feeling.