Page 179 of Cerulean Truth
“Then don’t. You have me,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Any way you want, you have me.”
A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face, and he held my gaze as his knuckles gently grazed the underside of my breast, his touch both tender and electrifying. I sucked in a sharp breathas his other hand slipped beneath my shirt, his thumb tracing slow, languid circles along my stomach. My eyes pleaded with him to move faster, to end the sweet, torturous anticipation, but he only took his time, as if savoring each second, each heartbeat, committing the feel of my skin to memory.
His fingers trailed further down, beneath the waistband of my pants, raking along my inner thigh with deliberate, teasing strokes until he found the undeniable evidence of my desire. His breath hitched as his fingers brushed over my slickness, and he let out a low, primal growl. “You’re fucking soaked,” he murmured, his voice thick with adoration and barely restrained hunger.
He moved his fingers slowly, torturously, circling my clit in a way that sent jolts of pleasure through me, leaving me gasping. His eyes remained locked on mine, dark and intent, watching every reaction, every quiver that ran through me. His other hand settled firmly on my hip, grounding me as his touch grew bolder, his fingers slipping inside, filling me, pressing into the places that made my back arch and my breath catch. I clutched at his shoulders, my nails digging into him as the sensation built, raw and consuming.
“Look at you,” he whispered roughly, his voice thick with desire. “Falling apart in my hands.”
He leaned in, his lips grazing my jaw, then moving lower, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along my neck, leaving a trail of warmth that heightened every shiver, every pulse of pleasure building between us.
I couldn’t hold back, my breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps as his touch grew even more insistent, his fingers curling in perfect rhythm, hitting that place that made me melt, leaving me trembling. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and intense, taking in every reaction, every judder. "Iwant to watch you come for me," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly command that left me breathless. “Now.”
And then I did. I shattered, the waves of pleasure crashing over me as I came, his name spilling from my lips in gasping, breathless moans.
"Fuck, Emma, you're stunning," he growled, his fingers moving steadily, drawing out every last tremor until I felt utterly relaxed, completely spent, and entirely his.
His lips found mine again as he withdrew his hand from my pants, trailing his touch softly along my skin. He kissed me deep and slow, pulling me back into the warmth of the moment.
But before I could fully catch my breath, James’s Nexus stirred, alerting him to something that made him frown.
Seriously? Another interruption? Were we cursed or something?
He glanced at his message and muttered a string of curses under his breath that could have made the devil blush.
His eyes met mine, regretful. “I am so sorry, but I have to go.”
I blinked, trying to process. “Now?”
He swallowed, still visibly caught between his desire and his duty, the proof of my release still lingering on his fingers. “I know it’s the worst possible timing, and I know we need to talk—about everything, about us. But right now, I need to…”
“Go,” I finished for him, my voice carrying an edge of disappointment I couldn’t quite hide.
He nodded once, reluctantly, before finally letting me go. As I stepped back, watching him draw a portal, his gaze held mine, conflicted, until he vanished into the light.
A sigh slipped from my lips, weighted with frustration and longing. How much longer would James keep me at arm’s length? How much longer would he flicker between hot and cold? And, maybe most importantly, how much longer could I keep riding this emotional rollercoaster?
FORTY-NINE
JAMES
It had been a week since my last kiss with Emma. A week filled with endless Council crap, Board crap, United Chiefs crap, Offensive crap, and Radical crap. And, of course, Julian crap—who was still obsessively tracking Emma’s every move.
I wanted to talk to Emma, to finally tell her how I felt. Feelings that had only grown stronger, to the point where I couldn’t go a single day without her on my mind. And it wasn’t just her lips, her body, or anything physical. I was fucking yearning for her presence, aching to just sit with her, to hear her voice, to be part of her world in whatever way she’d allow. I even found myself missing her relentless stubbornness whenever she wasn’t around, the way she’d argue every point, the way she held her ground.
But this whole situation with Julian was driving me insane.
Emma couldn’t or didn’t want to understand how Julian—an Offensive once upon a time—leaving during a battle where her life hung in the balance, was unforgivable.
It made him completely untrustworthy and the more time she spent with him, the more anxious I got. Worried he’d take her from me. In any way or form.
Ever since he’d arrived, I had noticed that whenever Emma would be somewhere, Julian would not be far away. He was always nearby. Watching her.
They were interacting as friends, yes, but in those quiet moments where Emma would read a book somewhere by herself or go out with Enya for drinks, I would keep tabs on Julian and he would keep tabs on her.
And Emma not believing me and writing it all off as misplaced jealousy was driving whatever was left of my sanity right off the hill. There was something real between us but her not believing me over Julian was fucking it all up.
Was my distrust tainted by juvenile jealousy? Maybe, but that didn’t make it any less justified.
