Page 59 of The E.M.M.A. Effect
Gale’s eyes snap open, meeting mine without faltering. The depth of emotion I see there nearly undoes me—hunger, need, desperation, and something deeper that I’m not ready to name.
I tug at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. “Don’t you dare quit,” I gasp, feeling an intense tension building within me.
He responds by redoubling his efforts, his strong hands gripping my thighs as he devours me with renewed fervor, sucking my clit.
The tension within me coils tighter and tighter, like a spring wound to its breaking point. Gale must sense how close I am, for without breaking rhythm, he slowly brings his hand up, fingers poised at my entrance.
I nod frantically, beyond words at this point. He slides two fingers deep inside, curling them in perfect synchronization with his tongue, milking my G-spot until the world explodes into a kaleidoscope of sensation. I’m lost. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me, each one more intense than the last.
Through the haze of my climax, I am dimly aware of Gale’s continued movements, drawing out my pleasure until I am a trembling, oversensitive mess. Only when I weakly tug at his hair does he finally relent, pressing a soft kiss to my inner thigh before resting his cheek against it, his breath coming in heavy pants.
As the aftershocks subside, I look down at him, taking in his disheveled appearance. His lips are swollen, chin glistening with evidence of his efforts. His eyes, when they meet mine, are darkwith unfulfilled desire, but there is also a hint of pride there, at having pleased me so thoroughly.
I reach down, cupping his face in my hand. He leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When they open again, the raw need I see there takes my breath away.
“Please,” he whispers, voice rough and desperate. “I need... I need...”
“What?” I ask, my thumb tracing his lower lip, pressing over the ridge of his teeth. “Tell me.”
He swallows hard, conflict clear on his face. This proud man, always so in control, is struggling to voice his secrets. But I need to hear it—need him to surrender that last bit of himself to me.
“Fuck me,” he finally rasps, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Use me. Please, I... I can’t take waiting anymore. I’ve waited for years.”
The desperate vulnerability in his plea sends a fresh wave of desire through me. I sit up, pulling him into a fierce kiss, tasting myself on his lips. When we break apart, both panting, I push him onto his back, straddling his hips.
He looks up at me, gaze desperate, his hands hovering uncertainly at my waist as if he isn’t sure he is allowed to touch. I can feel his thick cock, so hard and ready beneath me, his hips making small, involuntary movements seeking friction.
I lean down, my lips brushing his ear. “Are you sure?” I whisper, rolling my hips teasingly against him. “Once we do this, there’s no going back.”
He shudders beneath me, hands finally gripping my waist with bruising force. “Yes,” he groans. “God, yes. I’m yours. I think I’ve always been yours.”
I sit back up, drinking in the sight of him—flushed, desperate, and entirely at my mercy. As I slowly begin to sink down ontohim, savoring the delicious stretch, a sudden, wild thought occurs to me.
I pause, causing Gale to let out a frustrated whimper. “Wait,” I say, my voice tight with the effort of restraining myself. “I need to know something.”
Gale’s eyes, hazy with lust, struggle to focus on me. “Anything,” he pants.
I lean down, my lips against the shell of his ear, and whisper.
Chapter Eighteen
“What if I wantallof you, not just your body?” Harriet’s whisper was barely audible over the crash-boom of his heart. Each syllable seemed to hang before him, ripe and bright with possibility. “Would you still want to do this?”
One second they’d been going at it hot and heavy, and now here he was, frozen, the little hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. His mind reeled, the implication of her words hitting him like a freight train made of thorns and petals. God, he craved more of her, of her control, so badly that he could still taste it, just like the sweet heat that he licked between her legs.
He needed to taste more: the hollow behind her knees, the curve of her ankles, the lines of her waist; he needed to discover every secret spot that made her spark with pleasure. He wanted nothing more than to give her that fierce, panting release over and over and over.
The glow from his bedside salt lamp cast a warm, rose-gold hue across her skin, highlighting the dips and swells of her small, compact body. Shadows danced in the hollows of her collarbones, creating an interplay of light and dark, while her pussy hid within a mound of soft blond curls. He couldn’t play it cool, not when there was a beast within him, hungry, needy, sustained not by food and oxygen, but salty arousal and traces of jasmine perfume.
He studied her face, as if seeing her for the first time.
Her cheeks were flushed, like she’d just run a mile. There was that tiny wrinkle between her eyebrows—the one that always seemed to show up when she was nervous. God, her lips were swollen, and it was because of him, his mouth, he did that while her eyes were bright with want, but with a sudden hesitancy, like she was about to jump and wasn’t sure if he’d catch her.
More than tonight? All of him? Jesus. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out everything but her voice, her touch.
He wanted to say yes. Fuck, he wanted to say yes so bad it hurt. But the weight of the word crushed his chest, making it impossible to speak. To breathe.
What if he wasn’t enough? What if he opened up, laid himself bare, and she saw all the cracks, all the ugly broken pieces he’d always tried so damn hard to hide?
