Page 29 of Staff Only

But as soon as the elevator dinged, the doors opening to let us out on his floor, he bent at the waist and swept me up into my arms. “Hey!” I protested, kicking my feet and bucking my hips.

“Quit squirming or I might drop you,” he warned in a rough growl, and even though I had total faith in his strength, I decided to settle down like a good little boy. In fact, I was quite comfortable there in his arms. I hooked my arm around his neck and rested my head on his shoulder, loving the bunch and tug of his muscles as he walked us down the hallway.

He paused in front of his door so I could insert the key in the lock. “You might need to jiggle it a little,” he instructed.

“That’s what he said,” I muttered cheekily, before managing to get the door open.

My husband carried me over the threshold, kicking the door closed behind him, before he set me down. I looked around the apartment curiously. The place was clean, his breakfast dishes stacked in the drying rack. The furniture was nice but maybe a bit bland, and the space was tidy, though sparse. I got the impression he didn’t spend all that much time here; it had that unlived-in feel, but I had a feeling that was about to change now that I was here.

“The building is a little old,” he said apologetically, “and it needs some work.”

“Don’t you dare apologize. You’ve seen where I live. This is practically a palace compared to what I’m used to.” While we talked, I headed through the kitchen, barely glanced at the living room, then kept on going down the short hall. I peeked into the bathroom, but I made it more than clear that I had a destination in mind—the bedroom.

He trailed after me, looking more nervous by the second. If it weren’t for the hard bulge in his pants, I might’ve assumed he didn’t want me. He licked his lips, his throat moving with a heavy swallow. He paused in the doorway, watching me with hooded eyes. “I hope once we get Eva out of our lives for good, we’ll be able to afford a bigger place, with room for a nursery.”

I stopped in front of his bed and turned to face him, smiling tenderly. “I’d like that,” I said, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk. His eyes were laser-focused on what my hands were doing, working their way down the row of shirt buttons.

“I-isn’t it a little early for bed?” he asked, gulping. For some unknown reason, he had his body locked down tight.

When he hesitated to join me, I raised an eyebrow at him, peeling off my shirt. I stood there for a moment as he drank me in, his pupils dilating as he followed the trail of dark hair downward. “Don’t go all shy on me now,” I teased, biting my lower lip, eyes flashing.

“It’s not that I’m feeling shy. It’s that…” he began to explain, but his words cut off as I shoved my pants and underwear down in one move. I peeled my socks off slowly, one at a time, in the absolutely sexiest strip tease ever, leaving me naked in front of him for the first time. I swore my heart stopped for a full three seconds, before it took off again at a gallop. The way he watched me made me feel sexier than I ever had. Now I just needed to entice him to play with me.

He watched as I crawled across his bed, wiggling my ass in the air, dripping with slick. “What a nice bed you have here. Much softer than your desk,” I joked with a husky laugh.

He groaned, gripping his cock tightly through his pants. “I want to make love to you, Roland, I really do, but… I don’t think I’ll be able to go slow.”

“Who said anything about slow?” I peeked over my shoulder at him and tilted my hips toward him in invitation. “We have all night, sweetheart. We have more than one night, in fact. We have a whole lifetime of nights. We’ll have another chance to go slow.”

“Say that again,” he blurted, stalking toward me.

“Which part?” I asked, thinking back over what I’d said. Something had clearly triggered his lust.

He threw off his jacket, tearing at his shirt. “You called me sweetheart.” Who knew pet names would be what did him in?

My grin grew sly. “So I did. Would you prefer I call you… honey? Darling? Dearest?”

We’d spent so long toeing the line, and I had resigned myself to never calling him anything but Monsieur Holland, so formal, so distant, yet another barrier between us. Calling him a cute nickname, it had brought the final walls tumbling down. Emerson was mine, and I would do whatever it took to keep it that way.

His moan was louder than I could’ve anticipated as he kicked off his clothes as quickly as he could, fumbling and desperate, and made his way across the mattress to me.

I was guilty of having imagined him naked since that first time I met him in person, and I’d assumed after all this time that I’d painted a fairly accurate portrait in my mind, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. He was gorgeous.

I needed to touch every inch of him, taste everything he had to offer—but it seemed he had a similar plan. As his mouth lowered to my slick hole, I bucked in surprise.

“Fuck!” I cried, before pressing back into him hard. He mouth was so hot and wet and so, so eager. He was like a man starved.

First he teased around my hole, savoring my flavor like a fine wine, before he added his fingers. One finger, then two, scissoring them to stretch me out. By the time he added a third finger, lapping at my taint to catch every drop of slick that escaped, I was arching my back and whimpering. “Emerson, please,” I begged. “I need more. I-I need…”

“Don’t worry, omega mine. I know what you need,” he grunted, removing his fingers and leaving me feeling suddenly empty.

Taking me around the waist, he flipped me over onto my back and settled in between his thighs, my cock pinned between us as he lined his blunt head up against my entrance. There was a light sheen of sweat across his skin, his chest already heaving to catch his breath, and I loved knowing I’d worked him up like that before we’d barely had a chance to get started. “Hold on to me, love,” he instructed.

I tried to, my hands scrambling for purchase on his shoulders, but my body seemed suspended in an in-between state, half dazed, lust and need making me clumsy. And then Emerson surged forward, impaling me on his cock, and I gripped him with my whole body, thighs clamping down around his hips, a strangled cry escaping my lips.

Even as he sheathed himself inside my tight channel again and again, setting a furious rhythm, the wet slap of slick skin filling the room, I was incredibly aware that this wasn’t just fucking. This was making love, because we were devoted to each other with every fiber of our being, and no joining of our bodies could ever be anything but love.

My need for him had been hovering just beneath the surface ever since we said “I do,” and now that he was inside me? I was a goner.

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