Page 50 of Higher Ground
“I didn’t bring a?—”
“I don’t care.”
“Em, that’s?—”
“Silly, I know. But you can pull out. And Clayton was an … anomaly … I have polycystic ovaries, the chance of me getting pregnant is really low. Please.”
Well, fuck, if she was asking nicely.
Byron thrust into her, and just as he suspected, he slid right in. Emory gasped, but her body adjusted to Byron’s length. He paused, part waiting until she was ready and part making sure he wasn’t going to blow his load too soon. Fucking Emory was always incredible. But fucking Emory raw, it was something else. Byron couldn’t remember anything ever feeling this amazing.
“You’re fucking perfect, you know that?”
She didn’t answer. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Emory slammed their mouths together. This time, their kiss was wild and frenzied. A tangle of lips and teeth and tongues. Emory rocked her hips into Byron.
“Move, please,” she moaned into his mouth.
Something rumbled from Byron’s chest. “Perfect. Fucking. Manners.” He slammed into her with every word.
They moved in sync, using each other as they headed towards a fierce peak. Byron reached between them, pressing his thumb against her clit. Emory’s head dropped back as her release tore through her. The fluttering of her walls on his dick tipped Byron over the edge. He felt his balls draw up and yanked out of her, spilling his seed into his hand.
Emory had dropped back onto her shoulders. Her chest heaved, and her mouth hung open, but there was a glint to her face.
“Maybe I should work on the farm more often,” she said with a smirk.
Byron closed his eyes. Fuck.
“You can’t,” he grumbled, turning towards the old tap in the corner.
The water was icy cold, and there was barely any pressure left in the pipes, but it was enough to wash his hands. He splashed a little water over his face for good measure, then adjusted himself and pulled up his pants.
He turned back to Emory with what he hoped was a sorrowful expression. Her face was down, chin practically on her chest as she pulled her leggings back over her waist. She didn’t look up when he stepped in front of her.
“Emory, look at me, please.”
For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t. She searched the ground for her hoodie, wrapping her arms around her middle. When she looked up, there were tears in her eyes.
“What are we going to do, Byron?”
He bit his lip. He had been meaning to ask her the exact same thing. “I don’t want you to go,” he admitted. “But you can’t stay. You’ve worked too damn hard to throw away your degree just to work on an old farm with me.”
“But I don’t want to be without you.”
Byron wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. Her hair was loose in its ponytail, and he sank into it. Coconut, he realised. And lime. It must have been her shampoo, but the smell was comforting. He soaked it in.
“I don’t want to be without you either, Em.”
Chapter 25
Emory
Emory was still reeling over, well, everything when Byron woke her up for breakfast the following morning. She’d barely been able to sleep, worried about the potential implications of what they’d done in the hay shed. It had been, to be frank, unbelievably fucking mind-blowing. Something extra had charged through them, and she’d been so swept up in the moment, she’d done something she didn’t want to regret.
She hadn’t lied to Byron, but there was always going to be a slim chance. Her overconfidence in her diagnosis had failed her once before—even though she considered Clayton her best mistake. With everything between her and Byron as fresh as it was, the last thing she wanted was to end up forced into a decision. Again.
She’d said as much to Byron last night. He’d reached across the bed and pulled her into his chest, kissing the top of her head and running his fingers along the length of her arm. Without telling her they didn’t matter, he’d held her fears and promised they’d figure something out. That no matter what happened, itwould be okay. For the most part, she’d believed him, but the fear gnawed at her from deep inside her chest.
In any other situation, it was an easy fix. Not an ideal one by any means, but only a quick trip to the pharmacy and an embarrassing form to fill out. But last Emory checked, unless they called Tucker to bring his boat back, they still couldn’t leave Gardner Farm.
