Hard Sell| ETHMA

27

ETHAN
Friday Night, October 6

I thought I knew every type of sex. Fast sex. Playful sex. Angry sex. Dirty sex. Public sex. Vanilla sex . . .

The moment I set Emma on the bed, I know tonight is different. I know that whatever's about to happen between us will go beyond anything I've known before.

Because tonight matters. She matters.

And I intend to show her.

Emma's hands reach for me the moment I lower over her, but I gently take both her hands in mine, pressing them down to the mattress as my mouth moves over hers.

She huffs in protest but kisses me back, her lips and tongue greedy, her hips tilting toward mine in invitation.

Lifting her hands above her head, I pin her wrists with my left hand and use my right to skim down her side, flattening my palm to her hip. Slow down. Let me savor you.

I feel the moment she capitulates, her breath coming out on a sigh against my lips. She tastes a little like wine and whiskey, but mostly she tastes like her. That elusive, captivating element that is simply Emma.

No woman has ever gotten to me like this one does. No one's ever wiggled beneath my guard to make me long for things that aren't even real.

Usually I push aside these realizations, determined to keep her at a distance, however I can.

Tonight —just for tonight—I let her in.

I let her in the way she let me in, telling me every heartbreaking detail of her early life. I want to tell her that it's made her strong. That every hardship she's endured has made her remarkable.

But I don't have the words, and I'm not sure she'd be ready to hear them even if I did.

Instead, I show her. I show her with kisses, first on her sassy mouth, then along the sensitive column of her throat.

I tell her with my hand drifting over her side, her hip, her thighs, until we're both panting for more.

More touching, more contact, more everything.
I slip a hand beneath her sweater to where her skin is hot and just the slightest bit damp. I unhook her bra, then slide my hand upward, palming her breast, heavy and perfect in my hand.

She groans, twisting her wrists to be released. I relent, only because I need her naked and writhing beneath me.

I peel her sweater over her head, both my hands cupping her breasts before the garment even hits the floor.

She says my name on a sigh, almost like a prayer instead of the usual curse. I close my eyes, trying to shut out the importance of the moment, then realizing I don't want to.

I open them, looking into her face as I use my fingers to tease her nipples, holding her gaze as I lower my mouth to her.

I know this woman's body better than I've known anyone else's, and I know that for all her strong feistiness, her breasts are sensitive. I keep my touch light and teasing, my kisses soft and fleeting.

When I finally wrap my mouth around a nipple, sucking with gentle pressure, she arches into me, her hands holding my head close.

I've never been so damn hard, and my need to drive into her is strong.

Instead, I ease my hand beneath the elastic of her yoga pants, stroking her lightly over the soft fabric of her underwear until wetness greets my fingers.

We both moan the moment my fingers slip beneath the fabric, touching her for real. She's wet and more than ready for me, but again I restrain myself from ripping off the rest of our clothes and burying myself deep. I want to be careful with her, want to prolong the moment.

I stroke two fingers over her, pressing and circling, teasing, until her panting breaths are punctuated with pleas. I ease a finger inside her, my thumb circling.

The moment before she comes, she stiffens slightly, and I move up, capturing her mouth and every cry as she tenses around my fingers, bucking beneath my hand.

I know then that I'm totally lost to this woman, because bringing her release feels damn near better than anything I've experienced in the past.
The moment doesn't last long as a peak sexual experience, though. The minutes that follow far surpass it.

She pushes me to my back, her hands drifting over me, getting rid of my clothes, kicking off the rest of hers until we're both naked and shaking with need.

My hands find her hips, urging her forward, over me, but she wiggles away, bending and wrapping her lips around me. I fall back on the pillow with a groan, my hand reaching out, skimming over her back, over her perfect ass, then up again, fingers tangling in her hair.

I let her work her magic as long as I can stand it, which I'm embarrassed to say isn't very long.

My hips arch, and I pull her back with a gasp. I need her, but not like this. I need . . . "Inside," I manage.

Emma doesn't hesitate. She digs around in my wallet for a condom and rolls it on. She moves over me, pausing for a heartbeat, then lowering, sinking onto me. Clenching around me.

We freeze as our eyes lock, acknowledging the moment. The importance of it.

Then my hands find her hips, and we begin to move. She sets the rhythm, sultry and languid, and I cooperate. Up until a point.

I lift, moving deeper, urging her on. More.
She complies, her hips circling faster. Her head dips back, her hair wild down her back, her breasts on display in all their perfection.

I'm gone. She destroys me. With my last ounce of self-control, I press my thumb to her center, ensuring that she falls with me when I go over the edge.

We don't just fall. We fly.

Until we crash.

She collapses forward, and I pull her to me, rolling us to our sides, our bodies still joined, our beating hearts pressed together in a thundering rhythm.
When I catch my breath, I press a kiss to her forehead, and her hand slides over my waist, drifting over my back in an idle caress.

After a few more moments of silence, I feel her smile against my chest. "I'm not doing very well with my no-hookup rule, huh?"

I smile and smooth back her hair, pulling away slightly so I can see her face. "You didn't hear me complaining. Besides, I figure we're smart enough to get away with it."

"Get away with what?" she asks, tracing a nail down the center of my chest.

"Sex without the other stuff." Love.

"Ah," she says lightly, and I know she heard my silent addition.

We say nothing more as we drift into a sated sleep, and it's not until I wake much later that I realize she didn't confirm my sex-without-love assessment.
For the life of me, I don't know if I'm relieved or disappointed.