“Oh, sure,” Emerson shrugs, “I know that. In theory. But it’s hard not to feel kind of obligated to them now, no matter how badly they mess up.”
“I know what you mean,” I nod, “I feel the same way about my dad. Like, since he lost mom, I always have to be there for him, even if he barely gives me the time of day.”
“Look at us,” Emerson laughs, “A couple of bleeding hearts.”
“I guess so,” I smile.
Our bountiful plates of food arrive—crab cakes for Emerson, vegetable pot pie for me—and we dig in eagerly, plowing through every bite of buttery, flavorful goodness. We even go in for a couple slices of blueberry pie to top things off. I’m surprised we don’t roll out of the restaurant at the end of our meal.
By the time we make it back to the motel, we’re happy, sleepy, and more than a little handsy. My every nerve sizzles with anticipation as Emerson unlocks our motel room love nest and walks in before me. He flops onto the soft queen bed, and I tentatively ease myself down next to him. The whole being-alone thing is still so novel for us that I find myself feeling a little shy. Emerson can sense that I’m still getting my bearings, so he just lets me curl against his side there on the bed. His arms close around me as I press my back against his chest. We drift into a post-dinner nap, the sound of the waves cocooning us as we lay there.
Even in half-slumber, I can feel my body responding to Emerson’s. Our chests rise and fall together, our limbs shifting to accommodate each other. It’s so simple, so easy. Like we were built for each other. By all rights, I should be feeling so much pressure and anxiety about what we’ve promised to give each other this weekend. But I’ve never felt more at peace.
I don’t know how much time goes by before I turn myself to face Emerson there on the bed. His blue eyes ease open as I lay my head next to his on the pillow. Our mouths twist into matching grins as he runs a hand along the curve of my waist, and I rest my hands on his chest. Without a word, he brings his lips to my neck, kissing me slow and deep. My back arches as his lips move down my throat, across my clavicle, over my chest.
My blonde hair is splayed across the pillow beneath me as I writhe blissfully at his touch. I run my fingers through his tousled chestnut hair, tugging him closer toward me. As I press myself flush against his body, I can feel that he’s growing harder by the second, just from kissing me. God, that’s hot.
His lips continue to caress every inch of skin they can find as he slips his hand beneath my gray sweater. The touch of his hand is cool against my flushed skin as he trails up my flat stomach, the tips of his fingers brushing against my ribs. I hold my breath as I feel him reach around my back and unclasp my bra with a flick of his wrist.
“Someone’s had a lot of practice with bra clasps,” I tease breathlessly.
“What can I say,” He grins, “I’ve have very capable hands.”
He finally brings his lips to mine as he cups my breast in his hand, running his thumb ever-so-lightly over my hard nipple. That slight touch sends a pang of desire straight into my core, radiating out through my entire body. His tongue glances against mine, and I kiss him back, deeper and more urgently with every passing moment. I feel his hand skirting along my torso as I let my own fingers trail down the hard, rippling line of his abs. He groans softly as I trace the length of his stiff member through his jeans.
I take a deep breath as Emerson pops open the button of my jeans. Pulling me close, he slips his hand between my jeans and panties. My sex is aching for his touch, and I can’t help but let my knees fall apart, spreading my legs wider for him. His fingertips brush against the thin panel of cotton covering me, already wet with desire for him. I grab onto handfuls of bedding as he pushes aside my panties and rests two strong fingers against my throbbing sex.
“Emerson,” I breathe, my head falling back against the pillow as he traces a long, slow line along my slit. I can’t form any other word besides his name, whisper it over and over again as he strokes me, parting me a little deeper each time. I bury my face in his chest as he roves along my sex, laying those two expert fingers against the hard nub of my clit.
I’ve never been touched like this by a guy, never gotten off with anything that wasn’t battery-operated before. For the briefest moment, I worry about whether or not I’ll be able to come with him. That is, before he starts tracing long, slow circles around that bundle of nerves, rubbing with just the right amount of force. A sweet, aching pressure starts to build in my core as he picks up the pace, rubbing and flicking my clit in a way I’ve never felt before. My back arches as he goes on, switching up speed and motion just at the right moment, never leaving me hanging for a second. My mouth falls open with wonder as I reach my tipping point. I’m right on the edge of spilling over with pleasure when he says:
“Come for me, Abby.”
And I do, a shudder of bliss rolls through my body as I clutch onto him with all my might. I’ve had orgasms of my own creation before, but never have I come with another person. And certainly not for another person. Spent, I fall back against the bed, my chest heaving. Emerson lays down beside me, resting a hand on my stomach.
“Holy shit...” I breathe, “I think you’ve killed me.”
“I couldn’t help myself,” he murmurs, “Nothing turns me on like seeing you let go. It’s the sexiest thing, Abby. You have no idea.”
“So then...are we gonna...?” I ask, glancing down at his gorgeous body.
“Nope. We already decided on tomorrow,” he grins mischievously, “That was just to hold you over.”
“What?!” I exclaim, “But—”
“We’re sticking to the plan,” he says firmly. “Tomorrow, when you’re no longer a The Younger Woman, it’ll be a different story.”
“Ugghh,” I groan, burying my face in my hands. “Guess you have a lot more will power than I do, then,” I tell him.
“I like the thrill of the chase,” he grins.
“Hey,” I say, with mock sternness, “Don’t torment me, now, or I won’t give you your real birthday present.”
“You got me a present?” he asks, seeming genuinely touched.
“It’s nothing, really,” I reply, wanting to temper his expectations some. “Just...I thought you might like it, so...”