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His tongue pops into the side of his mouth as his eyes race over my face like he’s searching for something.
Finally, one hand moves. His thumb presses against my chin to pry my lips open, and his cock surges, brushing against my cheek lewdly. “Then open your fucking mouth and choke on it, Julia.”
I open as his hips flex, and he shoves himself in. My lips latch on, suctioning tight. And then I strap in for the ride. My jaw goes slack, and my neck softens as I give myself over to Emmett.
His hand strokes my head in praise. “You look like a fucking angel down on your knees for me, Jules. Working so hard to keep up. How’d I get so damn lucky?”
My chest fills, and I gaze up at him, telling him with my eyes that I feel the same way.
He holds me, works me, uses me. And yet I’ve never felt more cherished—more vital to someone.
A roar of laughter filters in from outside, a stark reminder of where we are and what we’re doing, but rather than dissuading us, it drives us on. He turns more frantic while I turn more impatient.
“I’m close,” he mutters roughly right as I feel his cock turn even more rigid against my tongue. “Go
I moan desperately, slipping my tongue over his head on every thrust.
We clash, and yet everything is in perfect harmony. My lashes flutter, and I hold on tight as he uses my mouth.
“Just like that. Take it.” His movements turn jerky, and so do his words. “Take. That. Cock.”
His voice washes over me like scalding water. My nipples ache against my bra, my pussy lips slipping as I move my legs, widening my knees for extra purchase.
Then a ragged, “Fuuuck,” as he holds me down, filling my mouth and my throat. The satisfaction of him pulsing inside of me soothes the angst that overtook me earlier.
I swallow as his touch gentles and his length slips from my mouth—feeling far more accomplished than I should for a woman who is failing spectacularly at her job.
And when I look up at Emmett, all I see is adoration. No trace of the edge and anxiety from before. Pride surges through me.
I did that.
My satisfaction is short-lived when I glance at my watch and realize we only have a couple of minutes to spare before our poor decision-making blows up in our faces. He sees me do it but doesn’t say a word.
Instead, in a split second, he’s dropped to his knees, coming to my level.
Then he’s holding my cheeks and kissing me. Soundly.
His kiss says more than words ever could, and I smile against his lips.
“Thank you,” he breathes against my mouth, while propping his forehead against mine.
The position is intimate, as though we’re sharing a secret.
And maybe we are. Because we both know that thank you meant something else entirely.