Page 61 of The E.M.M.A. Effect
Chapter Nineteen
For one slow-motion honey-drip moment, I melt into Gale’s broad chest, basking in the afterglow. My naked body tingles with satisfaction and a certain quiet triumph while the weight of me pins him down, sending a thrill straight to my core. No way am I letting this beautiful man float away—he’s mine now, grounded by our touch and hungry for more.
On the nightstand, a clock ticks away, desperately trying to remind us that time exists. As if we care. Right now, tangled up in sheets with thread counts higher than my credit score, I feel like we’ve stumbled into some kind of temporal loophole where only Gale and I matter.
I press my lips to his collarbone, savoring the tang, and wonder if it’s possible to bottle this feeling. I’m hyperaware of every point where our skin touches, the way his chest is a landscape of firm planes and gentle valleys, rising and falling in a rhythm that could lull me to sleep if I wasn’t so jangled. I press my palm flat against his sternum, feeling his heartbeat—strong and steady, like he’s some kind of human metronome designed specifically to keep me in time, in tune, in sync with this perfect moment. And God, do I want this song to keep playing on repeat.
I prop myself up on an elbow, looking down at Gale with the satisfaction of Artemis surveying her chosen prey. His hair is tousled, his eyes warm and vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen before. In the warm glow of the bedside lamp, he looks like a mortal touched by divine favor.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Okay?” he echoes, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, ‘okay’ is like calling a hurricane a light breeze. This?” His fingers trail down my spine, making me shiver. “This is... I don’t even have words. Like trying to explain what lightning feels like from the inside out.”
I can’t help but giggle, feeling drunk on endorphins and the way he’s looking at me. Like I’ve stumbled onto some secret frequency where everything hums just right. “So, what you’re saying is... you’re notnotokay?”
“I’m saying I’m pretty sure I’ve reached some higher plane of existence,” Gale replies, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
He catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm that’s so tender it makes my insides turn to goo. It’s like he’s trying to pour every ounce of emotion he can’t put into words into that one simple gesture.
I curl into Gale’s side, his arm a comforting weight around my shoulders.
“You know,” I murmur, my fingers tracing absent patterns on his chest, “after Zach, I told myself that I was happiest when I was alone in my condo, just me and a glass of wine and a good book or show.”
“And now?”
I prop myself up on one elbow, looking down at him. The dim light from the salt lamp casts a warm glow on his face, softening the edges. Everything feels crystal clear suddenly—the way he yields to my touch, how naturally he follows my lead, the perfect give-and-take between us.
“Now I know I was settling. For less than this. Less than you.”
He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Careful,” he teases, “you’re dangerously close to being sappy.”
I wrinkle my nose at him. “Don’t let it go to your head. I still think you’re a pain in the butt sometimes.”
“But I’m your pain in the butt,” he says, pulling me closer.
The word “your” hits me like a good whiskey, makes heat pool low in my belly.Mine.The possessiveness of it, the way he offers himself up so freely—it makes me want to pin him down and mark him, claim him, make him say it again and again.
Instead, I laugh, trying to steady my voice as I settle back against his chest. “Yeah, you are.”
“Can I tell you a secret?” he says.
“Of course.”
He traces one of my nipples with the thick pad of his thumb. “These are more gorgeous in person than I imagined them to be. And believe me, I imagined.”
“Right back at you.” I squeeze his pecs, loving how he arches into my touch, always so responsive. “I guess we’re evenly matched.”
“Seems so.”
We fall into a comfortable silence, but my mind keeps echoing with that word:yours, yours, yours.
“Tell me something,” Gale says after a while, his fingers playing with the ends of my hair.
“Hmm?”
“Something you’ve never told anyone else.”
I think for a moment, feeling unexpectedly shy. “Sometimes,” I say slowly, “I worry that I’m not as smart as everyone thinks. That one day, someone’s going to figure out I’m just faking it most of the time.”
