Page 98 of Cerulean Truth
Nino sat next to me, and we went over some covert op. To ensure we wouldn't be overheard, we took our chairs a little farther from the group, which they were used to, as Nino was the only other Offensive, and we conversed privately rather often.
Emma, however, shot me an inquisitive look, almost offended she was being left out. I shrugged, not really knowing how to react.
I noticed Emma and Justine watching me quite often through the night.
After closing the bar, I bid a quick goodnight to everyone and made my way to my loft. Alone in the dim light of my room, I kicked off my shoes and lay back on the bed, eyes closed. But my mind was anything but quiet. Emma—Emma was all I could think about.
Her laughter, her sharp gaze that cut through my usual defenses, the way she leaned in, just close enough to brush her shoulder against mine, as if daring me to do something. The memory of her scent—something light and maddeningly out of reach—had my pulse quickening. My hand slid under the covers, fingers brushing under my waistband, and I gave in to the pull, to the need that had been simmering for too long, relishing the feeling as I began to stroke, imagining it was her touch.
I pictured her close, her warm breath brushing against my neck as she leaned in, fingers tracing over my skin, each touch leaving a trail of heat. My grip tightened as I imagined her lips pressing against my throat, her fingers exploring, teasing me with slow, intentional movements, her eyes dark with that same hunger I felt now.
My breath quickened, and I let the fantasy deepen—her hand wrapping around me, firm and warm, her movements in sync with my own, building that ache, that relentless pulse that wanted nothing more than to feel her, to pull her close. I could almost feel the weight of her against me, her body pressed tight, her nails scraping along my skin, her breath catching in time with mine. Each motion grew more intense, more consuming, until I was lost in her, in the thought of her name on my lips, her gaze meeting mine as I shuddered, every thought, every sensation fixed on her—only her.
TWENTY-FIVE
EMMA
"JAAAAAAMES! HELP!”
I woke up screaming. Again.
This time however, the early morning sun shone through the window and I hastily rose from my bed, hoping I’d still be in time for my daily training.
Considering our civil conversation at the Cube the night before, I harbored high hopes for a friendly interaction with James. But as I found myself back in one of the upper training rooms at the Scola with him, it was apparent he had retreated to his usual dark self.
The training room was spacious, with polished marble floors that reflected the light from above. Tall windows lined one wall, offering a wide view of the gardens outside, lit up by a warm orange glow. And I would’ve appreciated those views, if it hadn’t been for one mister Dark ‘n Stormy, ruining my dayagainwith his foul mood.
Despite my attempt to extend an olive branch at the Cube, our entire session remained shrouded in silence, signaling that our fight from the day before was far from over.
I didn’t care.
Much.
As we started off, James stood across from me, his expression unreadable as he watched me with narrowed eyes. The weight of his demeanor suffocated any attempts at conversation. Even the usual sounds of training equipment being used by other students down the hall, seemed muted, as if our room itself held its breath in fear of James’s possible eruption, his silence feeling like the ominous calm before the storm.
I shifted uncomfortably, a sense of doom seeping into my bones.
Why was he so… angry?
“Giving me the silent treatment today?” I ventured, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
James shot me a glare that spoke volumes, his eyes like thunderclouds rolling in.
Okay then. Did I not interpret it correctly last night that we had buried the hatchet? Perhaps he was still upset over my outburst...
“Look uhm, about yesterday. I shouldn’t have criticized your teaching. It was unfair, I was frustrated and I took it out on you. I apologize sincerely,” I said softly, hoping to mend the rift.
“I don’t care, Emma. Let’s just focus on training,” James retorted, his tone drier than my throat on a hangover.
I rolled my eyes at his response, wondering why he always had to be so difficult.
"What's going on with you? I thought we were okay?"
He ignored my question and grunted.
“Really? A grunt? That’s all you’re giving me?” I quipped, the sarcasm in my tone barely masking my frustration.
James's lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenched as he stepped onto the mat, his bare feet sinking into its padded surface.
