Page 89 of The Wild Card

I feel heat crawl up my neck. “Emmie.”

“What? I’m allowed to appreciate.” She twists her wrist, and my hips buck. “Just relax. Let me make you feel good.”

I let my head fall back against the couch, watching her through half-lidded eyes. She’s still straddling me, her hand between us, working me with a rhythm that’s going to end this embarrassingly fast.

“Emmie—” It’s a warning.

“I know.” She speeds up, twisting her wrist on the upstroke. “It’s okay. Let go.”

“I can’t—I’m going to—”

“That’s the idea.” She kisses my jaw, my neck, the spot below my ear that made me shudder earlier. “Come for me, Crew.”

I do.

Harder than I have in years, maybe ever, spilling over her hand with a groan I couldn’t hold back if I tried. She strokes me through it, murmuring soft encouragements against my skin, until I’m shaking and spent and boneless beneath her.

We stay like that for a moment. Her hand still wrapped around me. Her forehead pressed to mine. Both of us breathing hard.

“So,” she finally says. “That happened.”

I laugh—actually laugh—and it surprises both of us.

“Yeah.” I lift my head to look at her. “It did.”

She’s smiling. Soft and warm and a little bit smug. “I’d say the physical component of our arrangement is off to a good start.”

“I’d say so.”

I should move. Clean up. Put some distance between us before this starts to feel like something it’s not.

Instead, I kiss her forehead and stay exactly where I am.

Just for another minute.

Chapter Twenty

Wine & Whine

Emmie

“So let me get this straight.” Sadie tops off my wine glass—her third pour, my second—and tucks her feet underneath her on the couch. “He kissed you. Like, really kissed you. On the patio of Mi Cocina where anyone could see.”

“Yes.”

“And then you went home.”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

I take a very long sip of wine.

“Emmeline Rose Marshall.” Sadie’s eyes go wide. “Something happened. Something happened and you’ve been holding out on me for—” She checks her phone. “Three days! Three days of radio silence!”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Busy doing what?” She gasps. “Oh gosh. Busy doing who?”