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Everything around us ceases to exist, every point of contact between us like a hot brand. And I’m frantic for more of him.
I press in, only knowing that I want to be closer. Knowing that every part of me is warm and safe wrapped in his arms.
My tongue meets his in a slow, intentional dance. He kisses me thoroughly. He doesn’t rush, but he’s not casual either. He kisses me with purpose.
My body hums. My hands roam. Chiseled abs, broad chest, muscled shoulders. But Emmett doesn’t take any liberties with me. He controls the pace, kissing me like his life depends on it—like it’s a lost art form.
I haven’t been kissed like this in… ever.
Eventually we slow, the fervor ebbs, and we both surface for air. Our foreheads tip together as we catch our breath. I try to make sense of how I went from dressing him down to this.
Emmett presses a quick kiss to the edge of my mouth and pulls me in, my head resting near his shoulder. He runs a hand over my straightened hair and gives me a quick, disbelieving hug. Seconds pass as my mind struggles to keep up.
How can I go there with anyone else after you?
My chest twinges, the weight of his confession sitting wonderfully heavy.
“I’m glad we cleared that up,” his deep voice rumbles in my ear.
Then he exhales hard and steps back, looking wide-eyed and startled by what just transpired. “I should get back to set.”
I nod dumbly. “Yeah. You should.”
Because what else is there to say? Thank you? Have fun dating seven other women? Go save your family farm?
Never mind my red minidress.
This is trouble.
No, this is a fucking mess.
And I’d still do it again.