Work Text:
Emmett: hey there
Those were the two words Emmett Forrest had typed into his phone, before he promptly deleted them. Burying his face into the old, worn-out pillow on his bed, he muffled a long groan.
Emmett hadn't seen Elle for three endless days. Three days since she'd single-handedly won the Brooke Wyndham trial. Three days since he'd hoisted her into the air in triumph. Three days since the imprint of her hand in his had become an indelible memory.
Three days since he'd left her to talk with Warner.
And it had been radio silence ever since.
It was a bad sign. He knew that. Accepting that was a different story entirely, but he could respect Elle's choices. After all, she was the most intelligent, capable, and resilient person he knew. So what if she and Warner had rekindled their relationship? He couldn't fault the guy for wanting her back, although Emmett barely understood why he'd let her go to begin with.
And it wasn't like anything had ever transpired between himself and Elle. No promises, no hint of anything outside of friendship. Just blind hope on his end.
Although, he could swear it had taken Elle tremendous effort to tear her eyes away from his the last time he’d seen her.
Emmett was certain now that he'd imagined it.
His stomach churned, remembering how Warner had treated her. The bastard hadn't believed in her for one second since she set foot on campus. Assumed she'd slept with Callahan to get the internship. And the fact he'd been with Vivienne right up until a few days ago confirmed exactly the type of man he really was.
Elle deserved so much better.
Not necessarily himself. Literally, anyone else apart from Warner would be a pill he could swallow more easily. Okay, most of Harvard was made up of snooty dirtbags, so ideally not someone here. Bars were crawling with scummy pricks. A guy back home in LA, maybe? Not that he needed to approve.
His feelings meant jack shit in this situation, anyway.
But if she was happy...
Emmett scrolled through their text exchange the day before she'd helped him nail Argitakos on the stand. The day she'd bought him a suit, increased his confidence tenfold, shouted to the rooftops he was hot, and made him think for a fraction of a second he really was.
Elle: hihi :) cant wait to see you in the suit tmrw!!
Emmett: thanks
He took the pillow and encased it around his mop of auburn locks, sinking into the fraying sheets.
Fuck, I'm so lame.
Emmett recalled how he'd spent no less than a half hour glued to the phone, typing and retyping messages. He'd considered:
Emmett: today was really special
Emmett: you made me really happy
Emmett: this meant a lot to me, elle
Instead, he settled for—
Emmett: thanks
He loathed himself. He usually loathed himself, but this was a new nadir of self-contempt, even by his own standards.
Suck it up. They could still be friends. They were still friends...right?
The two of them hadn't been apart this long since their study sessions began.
When they’d split up at Wyndham mansion, Emmett hadn't even considered the possibility of Elle getting back together with Warner. He'd felt absurdly confident—an egregious misconception on his part. Elle never asked him to wait outside for her; only acknowledged that she'd see him later. But he was too hyped up—from their win, from the charged proximity following their embrace—to let her out of his sight. Emmett never wanted to be separated from her again, if he were being honest. Seeing Elle crushed by Callahan's abuse had been the catalyst for all his roiling emotions. And he’d be damned if it ever happened again, especially under his watch.
But as time ticked by, his confidence shriveled like a raisin in the sun. As ten, then twenty, then thirty minutes came to pass—Emmett could only deduce that his worst fears had come to fruition.
Elle and Warner had reconciled.
Of course they had.
Emmett reflected on how clear she’d been with him from the very start.
It wasn't just the pining or the hare-brained schemes to get Warner's attention that should have tipped him off either. No, it was the part where she aced the LSATs, got into Harvard fucking Law School and traipsed across the country. All for the explicit purpose of winning back that schmuck's love.
But somewhere along the way, he convinced himself that Elle had moved on. Their late night study sessions that morphed into lengthy, profound conversations—talks that at first revolved around Warner, but eventually expanded into their own myriad interests. The occasional movie night, where they'd flip-flop between cheesy sci-fi and mushy rom-coms. And those lunchtime rendezvous on Barker Center Lawn, where Elle never failed to bring him a surprise treat to boost his mood.
Just last week, she discovered Emmett sprawled out on the grass while researching a case, and plopped down beside him with a salad.
"So I brought you some Skittles—but!" Elle dangled the candy in front of him. "I also have a baggie of walnuts, and you have to promise to eat them. Did you know walnuts are good for brain power? I was trying to figure out alternative snacks to bring because while I know Skittles are your favorite, and far be it from me to deny someone the rainbow, you are putting straight up garbage into your body."
"Excuse you," Emmett said, sitting up and playfully snatching the bag. He ripped open a corner of the packaging and poured the contents into his palm. "I believe these technicolor beans also contain fruit juice."
"Walnuts are a fruit, too!"
He blew a raspberry of disbelief before tossing back a few morsels. "If this is a ploy to deny me my rightful sugar intake, I will not abide by this blasphemy."
Elle shot him an exasperated glare and flitted her head away. Stabbing her fork into the lettuce, she shoved a mouthful past her lips. "Fineee. Prevent your body from getting the sustenance it deserves. I'll be over here having a life-affirming salad."
Slinking into her periphery, Emmett cocked an eyebrow. "Says the girl who drinks an Iced Honey Almond Milk Flat White daily."
She took in a gasp, as if shot. And yet she moved closer to him in challenge. "I need that drink to live on this planet, and you know it."
"Just calling the kettle black, that's all," he teased, his shit-eating grin so contagious that Elle couldn't help but throw him a reluctant smile in return.
That was when he noticed just how intimate they'd become—her back casually resting against his arm, her glorious curls grazing his ratty corduroy jacket. It was a sensation that had been growing stronger day by day; this unspoken, irresistible pull drawing them together.
"Open your mouth," she breathed, issuing a command that gravitated him closer without even moving. The piercing intensity of her gaze stitched the meager gap between them tight with threads of tension.
It wasn't the first time Emmett considered kissing Elle Woods. She'd invaded his dreams for months now, infiltrating every corner of his subconscious. He became consumed by the illicit fantasy of molding his lips to hers.
Emmett honed in on her strawberry-tinted pout, the scent of her spicy yet saccharine snickerdoodle perfume permeating his senses. He wondered what it would be like to taste, to lick against her tongue, to see how truly sweet—
Then she'd stuffed a walnut into his mouth, cackling at his gobsmacked expression and, of course. The outcome was an incredibly natural progression—for friends. Which they were. Friends. Best friends, as Elle reminded him constantly.
He recalled that one time she belted a rendition of "Best Friends" by Mailorder Comedy for him, using her bed as a stage. The subsequent screaming from her next-door neighbors to quiet down was deserved at the ungodly hour of 2:00am, although he couldn't help but be enamored by her chutzpah.
The weekend after winter break, he surprised her with a package of Pillsbury cookie dough. He'd intended for them to bake it, only to resort to consuming the raw product because Elle insisted, "That's what cool besties do."
And, of course, there was the infamous handshake™. Her fingers were practically doll-like against his own—large, skeletal and coarse. Emmett invested in a tube of drugstore-branded hand cream so he could try to smooth the callouses dominating his palms. Not that it helped much, considering Elle's frequent, almost ritualistic touching of his hands. Because this handshake was a daily performance. And multiple encores were inevitable.
Elle wasn't wrong, per se—she was undeniably his best friend. He just...wanted to make sure she was cared for. Protected. Cherished. To hold her. Lose himself in her embrace. Brush the silken, blonde strands from her shoulder. Feel her fluttering pulse as he ran his mouth against—
You know, normal thoughts to have about one's best friend.
Who was he kidding?
Forty-five minutes after Elle had left him to talk to Warner, Emmett still stood marooned at the Wyndham mansion. And after taking ample time to marinate on it, he felt beyond foolish for even considering Elle might want more than mere companionship from him. It was better to bury the emotion. Compartmentalize it. Move on.
Maybe they could still be friends? If Warner let her, that is…
The thought of the alternative was decisively dangerous to his entire ecosystem, and Emmett eliminated it from his mind before he shut down completely.
He left the estate and trudged home to definitely not cry into his pillow like a total loser.
Later that same night, Emmett huddled under his blanket, red-rimmed eyes struggling to decipher the words in his dog-eared copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. It was almost poetic—who else would find solace in a book about the absurdity of existence while their own life seemed to be the punchline of some kind of cosmic joke? As Emmett tried—and failed—to hold back another wave of tears, his phone pinged with a text.
Vivienne: where you at, counselor? the party's hopping
What had he expected? That she would send him the meaning of life, the universe, and everything?
Left with no fucks to give, Emmett responded:
Emmett: i'm not coming. i don't do parties
Vivienne: elle has been waiting for you
His gut coiled into tight knots as he typed:
Emmett: give her my best. thanks again for all your help with everything
Vivienne: coward
He hurled his phone across the mattress.
Was he being a dick? Absolutely. Could he stand to watch an Elle and Warner love-fest? Not a chance. Emmett would need to summon the kind of willpower normally reserved for choking down expired milk—an endeavor he regrettably had more practice with than he’d care to admit. And he wasn't exactly eager to relive that delightful chapter of his life anytime soon.
Self-preservation was a skill Emmett had become alarmingly adept at, if only for avoiding any conflict that involved his heart.
If Elle herself reached out to him, though, he’d go to her no matter what.
But that text never came. So neither did he.
Emmett hoped no one spilled the beans and told Elle that he brought all her friends and family together for the trial. Chugging Red Bulls like it was his job—it may as well be now, he supposed—Emmett juggled non-stop phone calls while orchestrating every meticulous detail with Brooke, Vivienne and Enid. Countless hours of planning boiled down to one singular courtroom moment, all to ensure Elle's success.
It was best Elle didn't know. The gesture far exceeded the bounds of mere friendship, even he had to admit that. Keeping her in the dark spared her the guilt, so things wouldn't be awkward when she couldn’t reciprocate his feelings.
Of course, that would require him to even see Elle.
So there he was, three days later, grappling with what to say, how to say it, and how to move forward in whatever kind of relationship they were going to have from now on. The unbearable limbo Emmett drifted in loomed like an ominous storm cloud. He missed Elle terribly. It had already been too long. Too long without her clever quips, her sunshine energy, her thoughtful heart.
Emmett wished he had realized earlier how maddeningly deeply he'd fallen in love with his best friend.
He needed to do something.
Emmett: :)
Yeah, Emmett, that wouldn't be weird or suspicious. He promptly deleted it.
Emmett: you're my motherfucking best friend
Song lyrics aside, out of context, that sounds like you're drunk texting. Delete.
He was just about to hurl his phone across the room when it chimed with a notification:
Elle: hi
Emmett shot up like a jack-in-the-box, clutching the cell with both hands. Oh holy shit. Holy fucking shit.
Emmett: hi
His response was instantaneous. Maybe he should have waited a few minutes, so he didn't look so desperate? A bead of sweat slid down his clavicle as he awaited her response. They'd been thinking of each other at the same time. Emmett considered how romantic that sounded. As if romance were something still on the table.
Elle: wanna come over?
She wanted to see him. Emmett couldn't hide the thrill that surged within him at the prospect. With a racing heart, his thumbs flew across the device.
Emmett: to study?
Then the minutes ticked by.
Was she distracted? Maybe Warner had been with her and was just now heading out? Emmett took a glance at his bedside alarm clock: almost 8:00pm. It was technically early for their insane sleep schedule, and it was the weekend now, so...
Another ding cut through the mounting tension created by no one but himself.
Elle: no
Elle: bring one of your geeky movies :)
His heart stumbled over itself so hard it felt like it was doing barrel rolls. She asked to see one of his movies. Emmett’s pulse stuttered as he tried to think of one that wouldn’t bore Elle to tears or make her deep dive analyze it all night. Not that he didn't love either outcome—sleepy Elle was beyond adorable, as was critical-thinking Elle who debated him at every opportunity.
God, he was so fucked.
At least he had the perfect film in mind.
Emmett: on my way
After throwing on a freshly laundered Superman t-shirt and some sweats, Emmett made the journey to Elle's dorm. His place wasn't exactly close to campus, but it was in convenient proximity to the T and merciful on his ever-dwindling bank account. An account that threatened to hit zero sooner rather than later. Thankfully, he had a few interviews lined up this week. Elle would be thrilled to hear the good news.
Just like she'd probably be bursting at the seams about Warner.
Emmett wrestled with the gnawing anxiety swirling in his gut, wondering what they'd even talk about. It had been so easy with Elle, right from the very beginning. But now everything had changed in the blink of an eye.
Or maybe he was just overthinking it.
After knocking on Elle's door, Emmett stepped aside to lean against the adjacent wall. He sucked in a meditative breath and resolved to act completely normally.
Hearing the faint creak of the door opening, he spun to face her. With a smile too wide and a voice too loud, Emmett shot finger guns with both hands and exclaimed, "Howdy, friendo!"
Oh, dear God. He wanted to end his life right here. This was a terrible idea.
But then Emmett regretted the action even more when he caught sight of Elle, half-hidden behind the narrow opening. She forced a smile, but it lacked her usual effervescent bubbliness, like soda gone flat. The charming dimple she always sported was barely there. Her bloodshot eyes betrayed her exhaustion, despite her best efforts to hide it. And the energy emanating from her was...defeated?
The fuck—
"Elle, what happened?" he asked, voice weighted with concern as he leaned into her. Emmett reached up a hand to cup her cheek, but—
Callahan.
He would never touch her without permission again.
Instead, he jammed the hand into his pocket, nails digging into the meat of his palm to hold himself back. The crease between his brow threatened to split his skull open.
Elle's mouth parted, eyes wide as she studied him. "Why would you think something's wrong?"
Denial. He couldn't very well put her on the spot if she wasn't ready to share. It would be beyond rude to point out how positively destroyed she looked, and Emmett would never. But how was it possible for her to be this distraught again, and so soon? After winning the trial and reuniting with her ex, Elle should have been over the moon.
She'd gotten everything she wanted, hadn't she?
Regret hit him like a brick wall. He'd clearly missed something important over the last few days. Had already failed her again.
But what hurt Emmett the most was that Elle only chose to reach out now—under the guise of a casual movie night. Acting as if nothing had happened. As though she'd been afraid of burdening him.
But he wanted to be burdened, to lift every one of her worries and load them onto himself instead. Emmett hoped she would depend on him even in the toughest of times. Did Elle know it was okay to lean on him?
He wouldn't allow her to forget. Never again.
"I know you," Emmett said, locking her eyes with fierce resolve. "And...whatever happened, I'm here for you."
She donned a pout, looking a little miffed. "I'm better now that you're here. Well, c'mon in." Elle swung the door wider to allow him space to enter.
He thought about asking her what the hell that meant, but became quickly distracted by what she was wearing. Long, golden curls cascading down and around—
"My—my sweatshirt?" The words tumbled out of him and Emmett's body nearly followed suit as he entered the room.
The garment swallowed her whole, hiding every curve and edge, except for her uncovered, shapely legs that went on for days. Normally, Emmett would have been thankful for the modest attire—if it weren't something that belonged to him. Because all at once, his mind descended straight into the gutter with little hope of recovery.
Why was she wearing it? Had it become an article in rotation? Did she put it on it often? Or did she skip a laundry day, maybe?
"Oh," Elle tossed with nonchalance, rolling a shoulder as she closed the door behind her. "Yeah."
Like a puppy desperate for treats, his eyes begged for answers. Elle was good at reading people, right? How could he get her to reveal more information without blatantly asking?
"I forgot you still had it," Emmett mumbled with eyes welded to hers, dropping his messenger bag beside the couch and plopping down onto the cushion. He resisted the urge to say things like—it looks good on you, keep it, wear it always—
What's underneath?
The thought briefly flew into his traitorous mind, before he punted it straight into oblivion—reminiscent of Charlie Brown's futile attempts to boot Lucy van Pelt's football.
Emmett's luck wasn't much better, as the image of a stark naked Elle took up permanent residence in his overactive imagination.
It took him a moment to realize that Bruiser had commandeered his lap, and he gave the creature a rigorous scratching behind the ears. Emmett needed to be careful with his nervous energy, or he'd end up scratching a hole right through his little noggin.
Approaching him with a decisive stride, Elle skated her teeth along her bottom lip. Starlight danced in her deep, oceanic gaze and Emmett could drown himself in those pools for all he cared.
"You wanted it back, didn't you? The sweatshirt?" she asked, standing directly in front of him with a look of pure innocence.
A protest died on his lips when she'd seized the hem and began peeling the fabric up. Time was an illusion as he slipped into a surreal trance. Emmett had to be imagining it—the slow drag of the material rubbing over every inch of her heavenly torso, how her lithe, alluring body squirmed while removing it.
Maybe he should've been born as a cotton plant. Nonexistent stress, zero money worries and the very minuscule possibility that he could have become that very sweatshirt.
He really was so fucked.
There was a perfectly fine zipper right there, and yet she'd chosen to remove the article of clothing in the distinct way that showcased the bare, bronzed skin of her midriff. Emmett's pupils dilated as his gaze rocketed to the round swells of her perfect tits, freed from confinement. The low, low plunge of her tank top, revealing a swath of exposed skin. Pebbled peaks poked out from underneath the razor thin, hot pink material—the outline of them transparent as a pane of glass.
He ached to do unspeakable, obscene things to those tits.
Mother of Christ.
She was sending him a clear message. Emmett couldn't believe how blind, how supremely stupid he'd been this whole time. The answer was right in front of him, beaming like a neon sign.
Obviously, Elle felt completely at ease around Emmett. Comfortable enough to let him see her at her most vulnerable. To her, he truly was just a best friend, someone she trusted implicitly to never make a move.
Maybe she didn't see him as a man, either.
Emmett realized he must have manhandled poor Bruiser's body with scratches too aggressive, as the animal abandoned him, seeking the refuge of his doggie bed near the door.
Rejected by a dog too. Awesome.
He choked back a silent sob as Elle ruffled her hair, batting long eyelashes while holding the offending garment out to him. Elle's tousled tresses, voluptuous figure, hypnotizing eyes—the woman was actual, living porn. He was certain this had to be a fantasy scenario if not for his presence in it. Her actions provoked dangerous thoughts within him. Thoughts that he swiftly needed to eliminate.
Of course, while Emmett's mind was distracted, his mouth had other plans. "Yeah, I'll, uh, take it back." He stuttered a nervous laugh, snatching the sweatshirt in a fluid movement and curling it around his hands like a faux muffler. "Always need a sweatshirt, right? Are you cold? It's cold in here, right? Are you sure you don't need it?"
Elle crossed her arms with a playful tilt to her lips, pressing her cleavage up and together and fucking shitfuck—Don't look, dumbass.
"You okay there, friendo?" she asked, arching a lone eyebrow.
There was no one in the world Emmett Forrest despised more than himself.
Although Huntington Warner III was a close second.
"Great, I'm super great, never been greater," he babbled as he worked to tear his gaze from the newly visible skin, tossing the sweatshirt toward his messenger bag. Emmett noticed his knee bouncing aggressively and halted the movement with a jolt, shooting her a sledgehammer grin.
Amused, Elle dropped beside him on the couch and assumed a crisscross position. Her shorts were hiking up, up, up. She'd never shown this much of her body to him before, and it absolutely decimated his concentration. Emmett was fucked up enough to let her do it—to take those sharp, manicured nails and slice his restraint into ribbons. She could tear off whatever else she wanted from him, too—
"It's been a while," Elle said, her hand coming up to brush a matted bundle of hair from his forehead. When did I get so sweaty? Didn't I just imply it was cold in here? Shit—
"Yeah," he replied, entranced. But Emmett had something important to say before anything else got in the way. "Hey. I never got to tell you the other day, but...I'm really proud of you."
Her fingers stilled at his temple, and she observed him with a careful expression.
"You were amazing out there, Elle. You've worked so hard to get to this point. No one is more deserving of that victory. I want you to know how happy I am for you. I'm pretty sure firms are going to be fighting tooth and nail to get you on their staff one day. And one of them will be lucky enough to retain you."
A winsome blush skated along her cheeks, and it was too, too captivating. "Thank you," Elle murmured, eyes meeting his—large, round and encompassing. "I couldn't have done it without you, though, Em."
Her stare was too intimate, the pulsing energy between them too electrifying for his heart to handle. So he naturally had no choice but to ruin the mood.
Showcasing the widest, toothiest grin in his arsenal, Emmett crooned in a warbling baritone, "Me and you shall be pals until the end—"
Elle shoved a cushion in his face, snorting. "Omigod, pick a key, you lunatic! I could barely recognize the song—"
But he turned the tables, tossing it back in Elle's direction and playfully advancing on her. "How rude. Elle, don't they tell you in school everyone can sing?"
Twitching her nose, Elle hugged the cushion close with an evil grin. "Everyone can sing, but not everyone should sing," she lilted, as if taunting him.
"Miss Woods, are you insinuating that despite my obvious charisma, I, in fact, do not serenade like a nightingale?"
"I liken it more to a vengeful goose honk."
His laugh blared like a horn as he hovered over her. "Oh, that's it—"
Emmett rippled his fingers against her sides as Elle let out an earnest, joyful cry. The tinkling bells of her giggle truly was the most gorgeous sound in the entire world. Without fail, it inebriated him, making his entire body tingle with warmth.
It was a comfort that he could make her laugh. He hoped he might always hold that talent.
Elle reached a hand up to curl against the fringe on his forehead, just like she did earlier. Somehow, the mood shifted again, so fast that Emmett felt himself enveloped by her stare. His pulse raced with a fresh wave of hope, something unstoppable and magnetic, wondering why her fingers lingered near his temple—until she'd booped him on the nose, and he instantly recalled his friend zoned forever status.
Sobered, Emmett scooted back, flopped over the armrest and rummaged through his bag. With a triumphant, out-of-tune rendition of the Legend of Zelda chest-opening jingle, he produced his prize in slow motion, grandly displaying it aloft.
Elle perked up, and with a sweeping gesture, Emmett presented a DVD case to her. "I believe the lady ordered one geeky movie, extra nerdy?"
She drew her bottom lip under her front teeth, eyes wide as she examined the item. "Galaxy Quest?"
Wiggling a trio of fingers in the air, he said, "Three words: Star Trek parody."
On a sharp gasp, Elle turned the cover to face him, pointing at it. "Ohmigod. Sigourney Weaver as a blonde? Sign me up."
Emmett blew out a chuckle. "Didn't realize you were a fan. What an unintentional victory."
"We watched Alien one year for our annual Delta Nu Spooky Soiree and I became obsessed with her. So fierce. A serious babe. Total badass. Oh! Did you know she was in Ghostbusters?"
"There is no Dana. Only Zuul," he deadpanned.
"Of course," she said with an eye roll. "I temporarily forgot I was speaking with Mr. Wibbly-Wobbly himself."
Emmett sucked in a meditative breath before he pursed his fingers together and gesticulated in her direction. "I am once again asking you to respect the Time Lord."
"It's really hard, though, when he's a fashion disaster," Elle singsonged.
His metaphorical clutching of pearls could not be more obvious. "Excuse you. A fedora is a fashion statement."
She uncrossed her long legs, tucking them under herself as she set aside the DVD case and leaned towards Emmett. It took every ounce of willpower within him to not look down at her spectacular chest, just inches from his jawline. With decisive authority, Elle delivered her verdict. "No matter the era, that slipped stitch edge, soil-inspired scarf was atrocious. It cannot be denied."
A sputtering laugh burst out of him. Emmett crooked his elbow on the couch and rested his head in his hand, watching her with charmed eyes. "I can’t believe you've compared my attire to dirt."
Elle threw her head back with a tortured groan. "Omigod, you own a replica?"
He tossed a smug grin in her direction. "I will wear it proudly by your side at the soonest possible occasion."
"Please do not," she said with amusement, gravitating closer to him. "I can’t bear to see you in saturated mustard hues."
"Oh, I will relish your subsequent reaction."
"Thank God winter is over, and I have months to mentally prepare myself."
Months. She saw them still being friends that long. Maybe Warner wouldn't get in the way of their friendship, after all?
"I much prefer you in blue," she trailed off, playing with the hem of his Superman shirt. "It brings out your eyes."
Elle looked up at Emmett, and her close proximity allowed him to see how truly bloodshot her eyes were, how the delicate skin underneath puffed from swelling. What had she been crying over? He needed to know. Wanted to make it better. Wanted to hold her, brush his fingers across her ruddy cheeks, tell her he'd do anything to make her feel good, and then fucking deliver on every promise.
Instead, he said, "Cool, thanks."
Cool. Thanks.
Emmett acutely felt the moment his own soul rejected him, vacating his body to seek better prospects.
And yet, Elle just smiled sweetly, and he was thankful she never saw him as the loser he was.
"Ready for that movie?" she asked, releasing his shirt and feeling as if he'd lost a fragment of himself along with her touch.
"Yeah," he said dispassionately, working overtime to compartmentalize his inadequacies and maintain a semblance of normalcy.
With a nod, Elle grabbed the DVD case and sauntered over to the television, back to him as she bent down to load up the player.
Emmett instantly became distracted by the spherical perfection that was her ass, swaying hypnotically as she set up the movie. It was tight. Strong. The impulse to stop her movements with his palms and bury his face between her soft cheeks was incredibly tantalizing. Did she know how skimpy those shorts were? That he could see...
But she dropped the disk and then—
Emmett short-circuited.
As if he'd been warped into the future, Elle sat beside him again, television remote in hand while staring at him with an expression of meek curiosity.
His skin tingled with fever, sweat trickling down the plane between his shoulder blades as intense heart palpitations wracked his frame. Emmett wiped his palms over his pants in an effort to collect himself. The fuck just happened?
There was only one other time he'd recalled feeling this odd sensation—
Emmett's train of thought was interrupted when Elle mumbled with a pout, "You know...I am kinda cold, actually."
"Oh," he pressed out, still focusing on rebooting his brain. Wriggling a bit in her seat, Elle shot him a downright despondent expression, and an idea cracked through his broken skull. "You want my sweatshirt back?" Emmett offered with hope.
"Not particularly," Elle's voice trailed off as she continued watching him expectantly.
Of course. The sweatshirt probably wasn't even that warm to begin with, having seen years of continued use. And it would be too good to be true to see her wear it again.
"Why don't you grab a sweater?" Emmett suggested. "I'm sure you've got a million to choose from."
Elle puffed out her cheeks and—Dear God—that petulant, combative expression was just too, too adorable. She was clearly insinuating...something? What did the woman want from him?
Averting her eyes, Elle fumbled with the remote in her hand. With a voice barely above a whisper, she hid from him further. "I wanna be spoiled."
He wasn't sure he'd properly understood. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." She met his gaze with defiance. "You said you'd be there for me, right?"
"I mean...sure?" Puzzled by her vague request, Emmett cocked an eyebrow, as if asking her to throw him a bone.
Blowing out the most colossal, exaggerated sigh he'd ever seen Elle muster, she withered as her head collapsed into her hands. "The blanket," she uttered with a level of exasperation that could have moved mountains. "The blanket on the bed, Emmett."
Why didn't she just ask to begin with?
Girls were strange.
Elle was strange. Strange and fascinating and strong-willed and brilliant and unapologetically herself. She was a woman who could do anything. Be anything.
But she wasn't usually this strange.
Chalking it up to whatever Warner did to fuck up Elle's mental state this time, Emmett conceded to her demands. Striding over to her bed to retrieve the flamingo-colored blanket, he presented it to her with eyes that pleaded—Will this make you feel better? What else can I do to comfort you? How can I be useful to you?
Meanwhile, his mouth said, "Here you go," as he dumped it onto her lap.
Her flummoxed, wide-eyed expression made him want to submerge himself into a pit of quicksand.
Emmett understood why his soul would never return to his body, and he respected its choice.
Situating himself as far from Elle on the couch as possible, Emmett threw her a sideways grin, hoping it didn't look as forced as it felt. "That should keep you warm."
A line creased between her brows, bringing the blanket around her body. As she lifted it up to her marvelous lips, he couldn't help but fixate on them. Perfect, plump and pink, just like the bedding. If only she'd ask him to join her.
"C'mere," Elle told him as she hived underneath the plush velvet. "We can share."
There is a merciful God in heaven. A Goddess, actually. Her name is Elle.
Emmett scooted over to her with a self-deprecating air. He dimly wondered whether he had any right to be here. And if her boyfriend was going to pop out of nowhere and pummel him.
But all doubts vanished when she tossed the fabric over them and burrowed into his side.
The sprinkling of rouge across her cheekbones must have set off a chain reaction, because he was sure his internal thermostat had gone haywire. Emmett hoped Elle couldn't hear the uptick in his heartbeat as she leaned her head against his chest. So close. Dangerously close. If she tilted her head up, he could kiss her.
Then, as if willed by him, Elle slanted her chin up, sore eyes smoldering, teeth sinking into the fullness of her lower lip—
And because Emmett could never keep a good thing going, he pulled away and sprang up from the couch. "Hold on, let me shut the lights."
Hitting the light switch, Emmett stood for a moment in the darkness, willing his pulse to slow. You're just watching a movie with your best friend. It's innocent. Don't project your weird fantasies onto her, moron.
Turning back to Elle, he was again struck by her shining eyes, the blanket cloaked around her frame like a present made to be unwrapped. The blue glow from the television cast shadows across blush-dusted cheeks, full, supple lips, and the desire to cup her face and smother her with kisses was—
"You ready for the movie now, Em?"
The startling realization that he might be incapable of making it through the film without sporting a boner was evident.
With a mental salute to his fortitude, Emmett strode back to Elle and sat beside her, intentionally placing some space between them. Throwing his arm over the back of the couch, he opened his body to her and asked, "What's a comfortable position for you?"
A coy smile ruffled her lips as she patted his knee. "Move your leg."
Emmett lifted it onto the sofa at her command, and she promptly scooted into the newly created space. Between his legs.
Never mind. This is hell.
Elle cocooned herself into him, legs lounging next to his bent one. As she draped the blanket across their forms, she mused, "Hmm, something's missing."
Canting her head up to look at Emmett's surely dumbstruck expression, she tugged at his arm atop the couch. Yielding, Elle moved him like a rag doll, placing it under the covers and around her waist. Repeating the same treatment with his other arm, both limbs were now caged around her.
The way she melted into him sent shivers skittering down his spine. He felt the moment she truly relaxed—shoulders dropping, muscles going limp. It was as if this were all she'd needed to feel safe. His arms. His touch.
Emmett distinctly felt his blood pressure rise along with his cock.
They had never been this close before. And Elle silently gave him permission to touch her.
He floated on cloud nine. The knowledge that his mere presence brought Elle comfort drugged him—did dangerous, despicable things to his mindset.
Emmett was thankful the episode with Callahan hadn't rattled Elle permanently.
As relief engulfed him, Emmett allowed himself to bury his nose into the silkiness of her blonde tresses. "You smell good," he murmured, unable to stop himself as he pulled Elle closer.
But her sharp inhale snapped him back to his senses. "It's not that 2 in 1 Shampoo I got you for Christmas, right?" he asked on a shuttering breath. Too close.
"As if," Elle grinned up at him. She snuggled closer, if such a thing was possible. "Comfy?"
Absolutely not.
She'd situated her ass in the perfect position to rub against his groin whenever she moved. His sweatpants weren't that thick. And her shorts were effectively nonexistent.
God, she must trust him so fucking much. He wanted to thank whatever deity put him on this planet, that they allowed him the opportunity to not only meet Elle, but get to know her. Become her friend. Or...whatever capacity he could serve her in.
At the same time, he cursed his very existence for having to endure the sweet torture of her backside against his crotch.
And so, channelling the spirit of the Doctor, Emmett simply responded to Elle with, "Yup. Allons-y!"
Holding her as they watched the film, he tried valiantly not to get in his own head. What would Warner think of this? Is this position even appropriate for best friends of the opposite sex? And while at first Emmett was pleased at himself for selecting a comedy, her proximity to his dick had her pushing back against him every time she laughed. Heck, whenever she so much as breathed, he felt it in the very marrow of his bones, the aching throb of his cock...
How was it possible her laugh alone made him so, so happy?
Emmett reviewed Civil Procedure cases in his mind. Strawbridge v. Curtiss. Hoffman v. Blaski. Hickman v. Taylor. Anything soul-crushingly droll to keep himself from imagining that he meant more to Elle than he really did. Every tiny shred of hope she offered him sent his heart leaping with misplaced optimism.
Her nails traced gentle patterns along his forearms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Emmett tried not be a creep as he resisted the urge to press a kiss against the crown of her head, to whisper into her ear that she was safe, that she could let herself go, that she could tell him anything. Even if it concerned Warner. Especially if it concerned Warner.
The things he would do for her, if only she asked.
Or even if she didn't. He'd try to do them anyway. As long as it was for her.
"Omigod," Elle said at the conclusion of the movie, tilting her head up to look at him. "Never have I been so moved by an alien death."
He beamed down at her. "Right? Surprisingly tender."
"But I have thoughts." Her eyes scrunched up, and Emmett could practically hear the gears turning.
His mouth curled into a fond smile. "Go on."
She pulled back, shifting into a kneeling position to face him. The blanket billowed to her hips, but he couldn't bring himself to let go of her waist to adjust it. If he did, would he ever be allowed to touch her like this again?
"Okay, so like, first of all, loved the movie. Great choice. It felt like the perfect balance between your boring space odyssey shit—"
"Watch it," he warned with a playful smirk, wiggling his fingers against her abdomen to entice a bubbling of giggles from her. It really was his favorite sound.
Emmett paused his tickling assault and Elle recovered, palms steadied upon his chest. "—and my super cute comedy stuff. But!"
One of Emmett's eyebrows levitated. "But?"
"So I'm being led to believe that NASA or the U.S. Government or whatever surveillance system we have wouldn't notice a fucking spaceship enter the Earth's atmosphere? And before you go on telling me to suspend my disbelief, please tell me—who is paying for the damages to the convention center that was ruined by the crash? What about the injured people? How many died? What about their families? Where is their justice?"
I love her.
"Don't tell me it's all gonna get swept under the rug," she said before he could interrupt. "Did you see how many fans those actors had? The media would be all over that shit. The internet was a thing back then, you know?"
"By 'back then', you mean less than eight years ago?" It was impossible for him to hide his amusement.
"And who exactly is producing that revival television show? You'd think if it was that popular, it would have warranted a sequel years earlier. Where did the money come from to produce it? How are these actors not being accosted constantly by paparazzi for the spaceship crashing incident? Is no one questioning the literal alien woman arriving on Earth? And starring in a television show? What about becoming a U.S. citizen?"
Emmett wanted to stop her mouth with his, suck her words inside himself and tuck them away for safekeeping.
But he could never do that. And so the idea dissolved with the rest of his hopes and dreams.
"Can't you just enjoy the happy ending?" Emmett asked.
"Can't you just enjoy bantering with me?" Elle quipped with a cocky grin, looping her arms around his neck.
His palms drifted of their own volition from her waist to run along the expanse of her back. Emmett didn't care to stop them. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure than arguing with you about this all night."
"Ugh." She poked him in the pectoral. "You would, wouldn't you?"
"I never get tired of you." There was a momentary, fleeting thought that it sounded a little too honest.
But Elle didn't seem to notice, sporting a gleeful expression as her hand trailed up to tap his nose, before curling around his neck again. "That's 'cause I'm super lovable."
A normal man who'd been goaded this much might pull her in closer, press his hard body into the softness of hers, run his mouth along the column of her throat and tell her all the ways in which he would show her his love.
But Emmett just shrugged, tearing his gaze away from hers. "Whatever you say."
A prolonged silence set in.
He'd made things awkward again. What could he possibly say to salvage this? And did they really have anything left to discuss, anyway?
Talking with Elle had never been this difficult before. So what changed?
Warner is back in her life now. Undeserving prick—
He squashed the ugly feeling down, like he did with all his problems—ineffectively and with great self-doubt.
Emmett concluded that he'd been the common denominator, the source of all the fumbles of the evening.
He needed to leave.
Too bad his arms didn't get the memo, as Emmett kept holding Elle to himself. It wasn't like she was letting go of him either...
"Why didn't you come to the party?"
His eyes flared at the meek, hesitant question. As if unable to hold his gaze, Elle let her head drop onto his chest. "I missed you."
I missed you too, he wanted to say. More than you could ever know.
But why? Why was she seeking Emmett’s comfort when she already had him?
Be elated she gives you any attention at all, the dark corner of his mind said.
How do you confess to your best friend that you’ve just figured out you’re in love with her? And that maybe, subconsciously, you’ve felt this way from the beginning? How do you explain that you skipped out on her victory party because the thought of seeing her with another man was unbearable? That maybe your friendship had always been some kind of blurry line, and you've been teetering around trying to find out which side of it you belonged on?
"I started job hunting," Emmett said. It wasn't a lie.
At that, Elle perked up, arms retracting to fold into her lap. He felt gutted by the loss of her heat. "Any prospects?" she asked.
Emmett attempted a smile. "Some promising interviews lined up, actually."
"Really?" Elle's face lit up like fireworks in the night sky.
"Yeah. The publicity from the trial really helped push my resume to the top."
"Oh, Em. I’m so glad." She threw her arms around him again and God, what he would give to feel her nails run along his scalp, sink into his curly hair—
For fuck's sake. Get a grip.
But this time when Elle pulled back, she hovered, face remaining so, so close to his. Emmett could feel her quickening breath, the slight shiver of her petite frame in his hands. That familiar magnetic pull was back, drawing him into her orbit.
She'd been different tonight. More clingy. And was it possible for her to be even sexier? The desire to urge her deeper into his grasp, mold his mouth to hers, take everything she had to give—
He stopped that line of thinking right in its tracks. Emmett must have been truly, irrevocably fucked for imagining her behavior as anything but friendly.
With supreme regret and self-loathing, he patted her shoulders in an effort to get her to back up.
Elle's face slackened as she took the hint, depositing herself back on the couch. The way she looked at him as if he'd wounded her...
Why was everything so hard tonight? Why was she being so…
"Well, I held up my end of the bargain," Emmett blurted, standing up and throwing on his messenger bag before his brain had a chance to catch up.
Elle straightened with alarm. "What?"
"Lots to do, interviews to prepare for, resumes to send," he rambled, turning back on the lights and retrieving his disc from the DVD player. It was a perfectly viable excuse that Emmett planned to take full advantage of. He edged toward the door. "I can't miss the last T."
She stood with purpose, making her way towards him as he turned his back to her. "Would that be so bad?" she asked.
The small, trembling soprano of Elle's voice stopped him in his tracks. "What?"
His breath hitched as he felt her forehead hit the tender spot between his shoulder blades. "Couldn't you...stay?"
The implications were staggering, and Emmett's entire body tingled with possibility.
The woman was a seductive enchantress. Wrapping him around her little finger. Wringing him dry of his resolve.
Emmett had never been so tempted.
But then he remembered Huntington Warner III's room was just four doors down, and his burgeoning libido wilted like a dying plant.
"I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Elle," Emmett said, tone frosty and bitter.
"Why not?"
The question was filled with such honesty, such blind innocence that he was helpless but to turn and confront her.
Elle's eyes sparkled, as if enticing him to say something, reveal something. But what was there to say that wouldn’t obliterate everything they’d built until now?
Emmett let the silence stretch between them until she retreated, her eyes cemented to the floorboards below. "Do I have to beg?"
Oh, please. There was nothing on God's green earth that would elate him more than seeing Elle Woods plead for him. Preferably on her knees, sick fuck that he was.
But Emmett had promised himself he would take care of her. And if she needed him to stay...he could probably manage a distanced crash on the couch.
Right?
Wrong.
Because distance was the opposite of what Elle had in mind, apparently.
Emmett lay on the far side of Elle's bed, both of them facing away from each other. The once lively pink room had muted with nightfall, lit only by the streetlight glow filtering through the sheer curtains. Clinging to the edge of her full-sized mattress, Emmett struggled to maintain as much space as possible from her soft, irresistible body.
Quiet, he told himself. Stay as still as possible. Don't think about how tantalizingly close she is. The sweet fragrance of her sheets. What you'd do to her if only this were a dream...
It hadn't been that long since they'd agreed to go to sleep, and yet time seemed to stretch into eternity.
Just as he'd begun to drift off, Emmett detected a faint reverberation through the sheets. Unease clenched in his belly, prompting him to roll over.
Abject panic and dread gripped him in equal measure as he took in the sight of Elle's trembling back.
No, no, no—
"Hey, hey," he soothed, placing a gentle hand atop her upper arm.
Taking it as an invitation to curl herself into his embrace, a sob roared from deep within her.
She'd been bottling up the hurt all this time. So strong. Elle didn't have to restrain herself, not with him. Didn't she know that?
Emmett's heart cleaved open as he cupped Elle's face with his palms, running thumbs across damp cheeks. Cheeks he longed to press comforting kisses to, lick away the salt of her tears.
"Something is wrong," he said with determination, leveling her gaze. "Tell me, or I can't fix it."
She let out a chortled, sardonic laugh. "You can't fix everything, Forrest."
"Try me."
Elle swallowed audibly, lashes sweeping downward. "I'm not wanted," she uttered in a voice so frail and fragmented, Emmett wasn't sure he'd heard her properly.
But he had, and he wouldn't let her get away. Not again. "That’s the fucking biggest lie you’ve ever told," he said with wild eyes.
"It's true, though."
"It sure as hell isn’t." Emmett forced their eyes together once more. "Who doesn’t want you?"
"You don't!" she cried, and he flinched instinctively.
"The fuck? Of course I want you—” Upon realizing how it sounded, he amended, “—to be happy. I want you to be happy.”
“Same,” Elle murmured, sniffling as her small fingers closed around his wrist.
The imploring, anguished way she looked into his eyes made him all at once bold and unsure. Emmett felt himself at the threshold of a precipice he wasn’t certain he could return from should he fall.
"Did...did I do something?" he asked, hesitating.
Silence suffocated the air, choking Emmett with a sense of foreboding as he braced for her response. It was as if they were both holding a suspended breath, waiting for the other to budge.
The stillness was excruciating.
Her lungs emptied, and Emmett found himself doing the same, in wait of her reply.
"Nothing," she barely managed, taking his hands from her face and shoving them back at him. "You did nothing. Forget what I said and let's just go to bed."
Elle turned away, retreating back in on herself, and—no.
He simply wouldn't accept that.
Emmett was undeniably on the verge of figuring out what had gone so wrong and how he might set it right. He couldn't bear to see her this way, never wanted to see her this way again, would do anything in his power to alleviate the pain.
That urge dissolved every shred of sanity he had left as he threw himself off the cliff and past the point of no return.
Slowly, he edged a little closer and ran his fingertips up her bicep in a soft, deliberate trail. It was okay to touch, right?
Goosebumps blossomed in their wake; her skin's reaction drugging him. The woman he loved was so, so close and all he could think about was using his mouth to evaporate every shred of self-doubt she’d carved into her heart. Show her she was wanted. By him.
“Nothing?” he repeated with a shaky half-laugh. Emmett's forehead settled against the base of her throat, before tracing his nose along her shoulder, featherlight lips skimming tender skin. He drew nearer, but canted his hips away, so she couldn’t feel how much it affected his body.
She should tell him to stop. This was the moment Elle should be pushing him away, telling him she wanted Warner, reminding him that they were friends. Only friends. Forever friends.
But Elle did none of those things.
Her tortured gasp egged him on, pulse fluttering under his hot breath on her neck. He'd stolen a kiss there, too, unable to stop himself.
“Elle.” It came out huskier, more needy than he'd hoped. Emmett pressed a more solid kiss to her exposed shoulder, and a tremor rippled through her frame in response.
Encouraged, he slipped an arm around her middle, brushing tentative fingers along the bare skin between her tank top and sleep shorts. Fuck, she was so unbelievably soft. He kissed her shoulder once more, lingering this time, seeking permission. And when Elle gripped his forearm and squeezed, she moaned his name on a shuttering exhale.
The way she'd said it was feral, unbidden. Each syllable dragged reedy and raw and strained, scraping through her throat. It was as if he'd never heard his own name before. Wanted her voice to wrap around his name like that again, and again, and again—
“I don’t want to do nothing anymore," he admitted in a low rasp against her ear.
It was the closest he'd ever come to revealing his true feelings. Would they reach her?
But he'd barely needed to wait for a reply as she spun around, trapping her palms against his warm, ruddy face. “Neither do I.”
And then Emmett’s world descended into delirium—sweet and sinful and debaucherous—as she closed the gap between them.
Kissing was something Emmett could handle. Sex he'd fumbled through a few times with previous girlfriends and somehow avoided completely embarrassing himself. Though his experience was limited at best, his earnest desire to please managed to get him pretty far with satisfying a woman.
The idea of doing any of the above with Elle Woods, on the other hand, terrified him.
Not because she wasn't sensitive, considerate, patient, perfect—she was all that and more. No, it was because he was positive she was used to a certain caliber of lover he just couldn't deliver on. At least, not yet.
And he knew all this had culminated because of something Warner had done to Elle. Somehow left her feeling unwanted, desperate for Emmett to fill the void—seeking release, fulfillment, and acceptance in his arms.
He could deliver on that. Even if it wrecked him, knowing she wasn't truly his, Emmett could take it. Anything, just to see her smile again. Couldn't he?
Emmett steeled himself to try.
Elle straddled him, threading her hands through his messy locks as he surrendered against the headboard. Encircling her slender form, Emmett clutched her as if he couldn't bear to let go. It was as though the outside world ceased to be—their existences distilled to the feverish sensation of her mouth on his.
Emmett barely knew where he started and she began. Her intoxicating, sugar-spun scent consumed him, while her demanding fists balled into his t-shirt to keep him close. Widespread hands journeyed across Elle's back, reveling in the provocative curve of her ass that teased his tented groin.
Time slipped through his fingers like sand, the minutes both eternal and fleeting as they tangled together on her bed. If Emmett could live in that moment for the rest of his life, he near would have. He wasn't sure whether Elle was just much more experienced than him, or if she had some innate sense of how to drive him wild. Probably both.
And that obscene, perfect mouth of hers. Greedy, yet playful. Nibbling on his lower lip yet nearly devouring him with the languorous, sensual stroke of her tongue. Peppering closed-mouth kisses across his neck and jaw, until she sucked so hard on his Adam's apple he thought he'd bust right there.
They'd barely done anything, and yet he dangled right on the edge.
Emmett had always known wanting. Wanting was for new clothes in place of thrift store castoffs. Wanting was the taste of a home cooked meal, rather than take-out leftovers. But this wasn't wanting. Elle was a decisive need in a way he couldn’t properly convey. Because he could endure wearing ratty corduroy, survive on reheated scraps, but he wasn’t certain he could go back to a life devoid of her.
"I thought you weren't interested," she mumbled between sloppy, indulgent kisses.
The fact she considered that for even a single moment eviscerated him.
Emmett broke their connection, tracing his thumb up along the curve of her mouth, and she parted it for him. Long lashes fluttered closed as she waited with anticipation for him to close the gap. But he wouldn't have that. Instead, he abandoned her face to grasp the slim fingers clutching his shirt, moving their conjoined hands down, down, down—
Together, they gasped as Emmett pushed her hand against his bulge; she from the shock of the act, and he from the blessed relief of her delicate palm. Elle gazed into his eyes with hunger, and he knew, he knew she wanted this too. Wanted him.
"Do I look fucking uninterested to you?" Emmett asked, not daring to so much as breathe until she'd made the next move. "You’ve been saying cute stuff all night. Do you know how hard it’s been holding back?"
"Then don't," was her ravenous response, dragging his mouth to hers once again. He cradled his hand along her nape to angle her jaw, encompassing her in a deep, soul-searching kiss. Tunneling his fingers through the blonde tendrils at the base of her scalp, Emmett relished the way she melted into him at the gentle touch.
Then she began stroking his cock through the fabric of his sweatpants and fuck—
Emmett was done. He waved the white flag. She could have him.
Elle came up for air gasping and he'd leaned his head down to suck on the tender juncture of her neck. Any time breathing became an absolute necessity, Emmett would latch on to something else of hers—her thudding pulse, the contour of her ear, the elegant line of her jaw—
"I have an IUD," she bit out through a moan.
The knowledge arrested him.
"Oh. Wow. That's great," he said dumbly, unsure of how to even respond. He hadn't even thought that far ahead.
"I've been tested recently, too." She pulled back to look at him. "And you?"
"Yeah, last fall and I haven't..." Emmett's voice faltered, vulnerability creeping in. He wanted to be honest, even if his lack of sexual encounters were embarrassingly minimal. "Elle, I haven’t…not since college and even then—" She blocked his mouth with hers, silencing his insecurities, and he caved to the softness of her tongue.
"Let me take care of you, Em."
Her words did things to him.
Or more accurately, his throbbing, impossibly hard dick.
He clutched at the back of her tank top, frozen in place as she licked the shell of his ear. "God, I want to,” she whispered. “Please?"
Holy fuck.
A dream. This had to be a beautiful—
"I wanna see you come," Elle said seductively into his mouth, teasing his lips with hers.
—wicked, magical, hedonistic dream that he never wanted to awaken from. An impossible dream that was somehow becoming possible.
She rubbed herself against his arousal, and Emmett threw his head back in total submission. His beautiful, regal goddess.
"I want to be good for you," Emmett tried to object, his composure slipping as he unwittingly ground himself into the hollow between her warm, toned legs.
"You already are," she said, drawing him in and brushing a hand through his chaotic mane.
The woman was wildfire incarnate, blazing with raw, fervent energy. Her vulnerability was matched only by her fierce courage. To call himself merely enchanted would be doing a gross injustice to her. No, he was a man obsessed—by her complexities, her contradictions, and the irresistible magnetism of her presence that commanded the world around her.
And who was he to be worthy of her?
Emmett desired to be everything for Elle. Would spend his entire life striving to be a man who deserved her. A man she would want—that she might one day love.
Because he truly loved this woman. The love he carried for her drove him to do the stupidest shit. Phone up her entire familial entourage. Rally the whole defense team behind her. Quit his job. Give her his body, even when she was probably wishing he were someone else.
He tried to eradicate that last thought from his mind to focus on the here and now. Her tits flattening against his chest, the wisps of blonde tickling his chin, her pliant, sun-kissed skin—
The temptation to thrust between those impossibly soft, squishy thighs, squeeze her ass to tighten the gap and release into his joggers from the blessed friction alone, was the stuff of pure fantasy.
How was this even real life?
Emmett didn't dare imagine the red-hot inferno of what it would be like to come inside of her, if he could even make it that far.
Which was well enough when Elle snaked a hand down between their bodies to cup his shaft again, and that sensory overload threatened to end everything right there.
"Wait, Elle, I'm too close." Emmett detached from her mouth to gasp, huffing erratically into her shoulder. "I don't want this to end before it's even begun."
"Who says we can only do it once?"
He didn't know how to respond to that.
"Then," he grasped at straws. "Let me touch you first, please."
"Nuh uh," Elle singsonged, dismounting Emmett and guiding him to lie down on the mattress. "You made me wait a long time for this. Didn't you agree to spoil me?"
Kinky.
Emmett wasn't 100% sure if that statement was, in fact, kinky. But it certainly laid outside the realm of any expectation he'd had for the evening.
Which originally had him going home to jack off furiously, possibly multiple times, while imagining scenarios far more tame than this, but he digressed.
Lost for words, Emmett shivered as her fingernails traced a path beneath his shirt, inching the fabric upward. He took the hint, seizing the hem and yanking it over his head with a fumbling jerk.
His tongue passed across his tingly lips as he watched her reaction, expecting a level of revulsion or disappointment for the lack of rippling abs, and yet—
"You are so fucking hot," she uttered on a fierce, trembling breath while staring at his chest, before dipping down to drag her mouth along his collarbone.
Euphoric. Elle made him feel so much. They'd hardly started, and this was already the best sex of his entire life.
He desperately wanted to make her feel good too, but she wouldn't let him yet...
Elle traveled downward, lavishing him with sloppy, worshipful caresses that only served to ignite his passion even further. His hands reached out, frenzied for anything that he could touch, lacing his fingers through gorgeous curls.
"How is this spoiling you?" he'd asked with half-amusement, only to dissolve into a groan as Elle spiraled her tongue across a taught nipple. She didn't bother to answer. Instead, her hands roamed—raking up and down the goose flesh of his abdomen, the prickle of hair on his forearms, the knotted muscles in his thighs. All while her mouth never left his body, exploring the contours of his skin as if charting a map.
Emmett's hips jerked up involuntarily as Elle dipped her tongue into his navel. "Oh, are you sensitive?" she asked with a cheeky grin, placing a kiss directly below the tender spot.
His neck muscles tightened as he arched his head back, quaking beneath her. Thick asphalt coated Emmett's throat, rendering him mute. Even if speech were possible, it would ravage his concentration. He needed to last. Needed to not come so quick from almost nothing.
Elle ran her nose along the waistband of his sweatpants, but didn't move lower. "Is this okay, Em?"
Even after everything they'd done, she was still checking in on him, making sure he was comfortable...
Emmett looked down at her patient, curious expression, and it was almost his undoing. "Yes, but...I'm not sure I can last," he croaked.
"I don't want you to last," she said, biting her lip and hooking a finger into her tank top, plunging it downward to reveal more skin to him.
"Fuck," he cursed, sanity slipping. "Elle, at this rate I'll come in my pants, and I don't want that."
"Then where do you wanna come?" Elle asked innocently, her mouth millimeters above his clothed crotch.
Christ.
"Where will you let me?" His voice quivered, throat bobbing as he gripped harder. "I need permission. I won't—“
"What about here?" she suggested, pushing her soft, full chest up against his agonizing hardness.
Emmett's mouth ran drier than Tatooine.
Just earlier that evening, he yearned to do unspeakable, obscene things to those tits.
And he couldn't think of something more obscene than her very implication.
Emmett wasn't sure if he was properly containing his enthusiasm when a series of desperate pleas tumbled out of him.
His eyes went wide, mouth slack as she moved back up his body to face him. "Do you wanna take off my top, or should I?"
The urge to rip off both their respective articles of clothing and properly ravish her was tempting, and yet...
"I thought you weren't gonna let me touch." Emmett surged upward, cradling her face to place a lingering, reverent kiss on her rosy cheek.
The action seemed to catch her off guard, melting into him when he kissed the mirror side of her face. She clutched at the tight muscles of his shoulders, nails embedding into the skin. Undeterred, he repeated the gesture again. And again. Her high-pitched, suppressed whimper was a sound he would burn into his brain for all time.
This was good. He managed to back himself off the edge by distracting her.
"Do you feel spoiled yet?" Emmett asked into her ear. "Because you aren't. Not even close."
Elle trembled underneath his palms, stabbing her teeth into her puffy lower lip. So precious.
Slowly, he lowered a hand to glide over the smooth curve of her bare stomach. Light quivers danced across her skin, and a sharp, involuntary gasp slipped out. Emmett's mouth spread into a sly grin. "Oh, are you sensitive?"
Elle pouted at him, twirling the short hairs at the nape of his neck. "Emmett Forrest, are you a bully?"
Something dark coiled inside him, and the words said themselves. “Would you like that?” he murmured, his thumb trailing up her rib cage to ghost over the peak of one clothed breast. Emmett gently tweaked the bud, inciting a moan from her throat before she managed to catch it.
His cock jumped at the unbelievably sexy sound erupting from her body. And yet, she restrained herself. Why?
“Fuck. Your voice is incredible. Why are you holding back?” He pinched the other point, teasing her until both his hands cupped her heaving chest, squeezing and toying with her nipples in a way he could only describe as ludicrously libidinous.
“Isn’t it a turn off?” Elle asked with wide-eyed concern.
In what world…?
Her lashes turned away from him. “Most guys usually ask me to be quiet…”
Alarm shot through his gut as he released her breasts, shifting his hands to her shoulder blades. That was important information. Emmett needed to unpack it for the both of them.
"Elle." He tilted his head to catch her gaze. "Have I ever asked you to be anything other than yourself?"
"Of course not," she said, her eyes bright and clear.
Elle had endured a lifetime surrounded by men who minimized her. Took her for granted. Pressured her to become some kind of Stepford Wife. It was entirely fucked up. And Emmett wouldn't stand for it anymore.
He tightened his hold around her. "Promise me something?" She nodded. "Don't hide. Always say what you feel. Feel what you feel. Tell me everything. I want to be your safe place."
Elle looked as if he'd doused her with a bucket of ice-cold water.
Feeling the need to backpedal, he mumbled, "I mean, if you want that? Shit. It's natural for you to keep some stuff to yourself, of course, I didn't mean—"
"How did you end up this way?" she demanded, voice unsteady as she tugged on his hair. Her expression was almost...frustrated?
"Um. I'm sorry." Emmett smoothed a hand down her back. "I think that came out wrong—"
She wrapped her arms around him, letting out a little sob by his ear. "You're so cute. I can't take it. My heart is beating out of my chest, and it's really uncool."
Oh.
"This feels entirely new. I don't know what to do," Elle admitted into the shelter of his neck.
"I'm right here," he whispered into her soft curls. "It's okay if you want to stop, you know?"
"I don't," she insisted, whipping her head back to look at him. "That's not it."
He brushed a strand from her forehead. "Talk to me."
"I'm not used to...an equal...situation, I guess? In the bedroom. I'm accustomed to...doing things. And I love making my partner feel good, I do. But from the get-go, you haven't done anything how I'm used to. You keep subverting my expectations. And it's throwing me off."
"In a bad way?" he prodded gently.
"Not at all, just," she paused, trying to coax the words into existence. "The way you touch me, for example."
He'd been busy drawing circles over her spine in an attempt to calm her.
"It's so...reverent. Sweet. It makes me want to fucking devour you."
"I mean, that is acceptable to me," he said with oscillating eyebrows and a coy smirk.
"You perv." Elle slapped his arm. "I'm trying to say the dynamics here are different. I feel so much, Em. It's so...good and warm and...and..."
"What else?" he asked, gaze heavy with desire. "How do you feel when you're with me?"
Fuck, he was getting greedy. His mouth began talking before his brain could even process the words.
Emmett longed to hear how he affected Elle, needed her words to propel him forward and erase the shadow of Warner haunting his mind. Warner, whom she just started seeing again. Warner, who slept four doors down. Warner, who had obviously said or done something to Elle to decimate her confidence after a triumphant victory.
And yet, despite whatever Warner had done, Emmett knew he also tread closely on scumbag territory. How could he express noble platitudes of honor and law and then ravish someone else's girlfriend? It was wrong.
For the first time in his life, Emmett felt like a fraud.
Because he harbored a deep, intrinsic desire to make Elle come so hard and so many, many times that she'd barely recollect her own name, let alone whatever happened between her and her shitty ex-now-not-ex.
Emmett acknowledged that he possessed a morally gray compass when it came to Elle and what he'd do for her. Only her.
"I want to crawl into your skin," Elle said, skating her nails down his chest. "I want to make you writhe. I want you inside me so badly I can't think about anything other than you fucking me any way you want until I'm a stupid mess."
If he'd tempered himself from the edge of climax, she'd dragged him right back, kicking and screaming. His clothed erection pulsed, thick and heavy against her inner thighs—her words enticing him to indulge in something wicked, diabolical.
"What the fuck," Emmett murmured as he brought her in for a magnetic, searing kiss.
But she withdrew to eke out, "And you? How do you feel when you're with me?"
"Insane," Emmett answered in an instant. "Out of control. Fucking euphoric. I've never felt anything like this before."
The words were probably too honest, too raw, too real—but they were incandescently true. If he weren't careful, he'd proclaim his relentless, all-encompassing love for her. And this...
This was pure lust on her end, wasn't it? A release? Seeking comfort and affection to fill the void left from whatever he had done to her? Was Emmett doing the right thing by being here for her in this way? Allowing her to use his body at the expense of his ravaged, bruised heart?
And yet the flush that dotted Elle's cheeks spread all the way down to her chest, and the sight enraptured him.
"Em, I want you, right now. Please?"
She grabbed his hand and guided it down into her shorts.
Mother of God.
Dripping. The woman was completely sopping wet.
Emmett's eyebrows shot to his hairline as their eyes locked. "How? I didn't—"
Elle quivered under his strong fingers that skimmed ever so slightly around her opening. "The things you say. The sound of your voice—"
He looked at her like she'd gone insane, recalling their earlier exchange. "But, you'd said—"
"I love your voice," she insisted as her words vibrated. "It's intoxicating."
Elle might as well have ripped straight into Emmett's chest, seizing his pulsating heart and reducing everything around it to rubble. She could have it. He didn't want it back. If it made her feel even the slightest bit better, he could live an eternity without it.
Their mouths collided with urgent passion as they fumbled to shed her sleep shorts and panties. Emmett eased her down onto the pillows, pulling back to look at her and—
Pink. Divine. Luscious. Perfect.
Emmett ran a single finger experimentally down her slit, and she shivered. "Too much?"
Elle shook her head. "Touch me, please."
He didn't need to be told twice.
Gathering moisture, his thumb met her clit, and she keened with want. Rubbing in small, tight circles, he breathed, "Guide me. I don't know what you like yet."
"Here. Like this," she said, tracing her fingers against his and moaning with appreciation when he'd hit the right spot, found the ideal rhythm. He studied their collaborative movements, the clumsy slide of his thumb against wet, swollen flesh, committing each touch to memory. Her voice was free now. Free and sensual and glorious.
Elle nearly screamed when he took the initiative and teased his middle finger inside.
"Okay?" he asked, moving up to press another kiss to her cheek.
"Oh," was the only thing Elle could muster, her hands retreating to clutch the pillow behind her head. But she nodded in approval and Emmett took the hint, moving within her slowly. The noises their bodies made were sloppy, profane, a veritable symphony for his ears. He encouraged her then, telling her between chaste kisses how her expression was ruinous, how he was right here, she could let it out, there was nothing to hide, please don't ever hide—
With gentle, deliberate movements, he inserted another digit, and the woman groaned so despairingly he thought he'd come from the sound alone. Emmett edged her, building up to a demanding tempo before easing back. And when he did, he'd swipe round, lazy rings around her clit, just like she taught him. Attuned to her every sharp gasp and exhalation, he sought her approval and repeated the motions she liked best.
Elle was endearingly honest. So open, brave and trusting. It turned him on to no end.
Impaled upon his fingers, she writhed beneath him, and something positively evil spilled out of his mouth.
“You’re helpless, you know that? I bet I could make you come right now." Emmett dipped down to close his lips over a clothed breast, sucking as much of it into his mouth as possible. He wanted her tits to fucking suffocate him.
"Oh, please," Elle cried, hands flying across any available skin she could reach.
"You're so lovely," he said, voice like gravel. That seemed to be her undoing as she stilled under his thrusting fingers, jabbing her nails into the muscles of his back. Spine bowed, face wrecked into a silent scream, Emmett felt the obvious, pulsing heat of her orgasm surrounding him. Elle spasmed around his probing hand, jerking as he slowly ran a thumb over her clit again, and she bit her lip, moaning in response. It was entirely rhapsodic, watching her take the pleasure he so desperately wanted to give, the love he'd longed to shove inside her again and again, making her full of it. Full of him.
Breathless and spent, Elle collapsed onto the downy sheets. A plaintive whimper escaped her lips as Emmett withdrew his fingers. Moving over her body, he braced himself on his elbows, nestling his knee between her legs to maintain pressure at her core.
"You okay?" he breathed against her ear, nearly as winded as she was. "Was it okay?"
Her labored breaths filled the room as she struggled to regain her composure. "Oh my God, Em..."
"Incredible." Emmett twisted a lock of silk in his hand. "You're amazing, Elle."
She seemed so lost to euphoria as she ground herself against the hardness of his knee. "So good. Such a fast study." Elle leaned up to place a soft kiss against his raw, swollen lips, running her hands along his neck, jaw, collarbone—
"It is my trademark, after all," he blew out on a laugh.
"Do it again," she cooed, tracing her thumb along the seam of his lips. "Make me come how you want."
Utterly insatiable. Wasn't Elle the one making grand declarations about how she'd make him come first? And now he had her squirming beneath him, drunk on his touch.
It did wild things to him, knowing he had the power to make her feel this way.
Emmett was going to require so much therapy once this was over, if only to help piece together the splinters of his shattered heart. If there'd be anything left to salvage at all.
But that was a problem for future Emmett.
"I want you in my mouth," he rasped, voice thick with desire. Eyes falling shut, Emmett took Elle's thumb into his mouth and savored the lingering evidence of her arousal. Every moment with her was a precious treasure he swore to cherish for all time.
Releasing her finger with a pop, Emmett opened his eyes, meeting hers. A spark of undeniable intensity flared between them, her gaze smoldering with a passion that mirrored his own.
"Holy. Shit," was the last thing he remembered her saying before he worked his way between her cushiony thighs and took what he wanted in the form of a long, slow lick up her center.
When Emmett glanced up to see her reaction, he unraveled. Only now did he notice how rumpled her hair was, the red splotches adorning her cheeks. Her wide-eyed expression teetered between keen expectation and absolute indulgence.
Elle chained her entire focus to him with teary eyes and parted lips, as if her whole world hinged on his next action.
Emmett was afraid his face revealed too much.
I love you, he wanted to say then.
Instead, he extended his hand towards her, and she wove their fingers together.
The best he could do was try to convey how he felt with his eyes, his hands, his mouth—
His free set of fingers entered her again, coaxing her open. Elle urged him on, squeezing his palm in hers, telling him how good it felt, how she wanted to come again. And when he licked a tight circle around her clit and backed away, she cried with loss.
"You promised me your mouth," Elle said with a petulant pout, and she was the cutest being in the entire universe, bar none.
"You're so good. I'll give you anything you want." And he did. Emmett exploited every fragile spot she'd shown him only heartbeats earlier, except this time with his tongue, his teeth and his lips—all with the intention of bringing her tumbling into a second exquisite release.
His movements still lacked finesse, but he could tell from her response that his enthusiasm took him far, as it had in the past. The sound of Elle's strained breaths, the jut of her hips, the sheen of her skin catching the sliver of light streaming through the curtains—
"I'm never gonna get you out of my mouth," he said, torturing her with another pass over needy flesh. It sounded too much like a promise, but he didn't care anymore. Elle's scent was too entrancing, too addicting, as was the hot pulse of her, the feel of her crumbling beneath his butterfly tongue and around the twin fingers housed within.
Clawing her hands through his matted hair, a surge of ecstasy sliced through Elle like a comet piercing the night sky. Emmett felt it too, his hips bucking against the mattress in a futile attempt for relief. How could the mere sight of her like this nearly make him come too?
He was so absolutely mind-numbingly fucked.
When Emmett extracted his drenched fingers from her, he hadn't even realized he'd taken them into his own mouth, until he heard: "I am going to demolish you."
Emmett found himself pinned beneath Elle, who climbed atop him with renewed fervor. Her kisses were infused with urgent intensity as her delicate fingers explored the contours of his tense muscles. Humming into her softness, Emmett gathered her platinum hair in his eager palms.
He wasn't sure he'd get to feel her like this ever again.
But the fleeting thought evaporated when she pulled his head down between her luscious tits. Emmett couldn't resist smearing his mouth over and around every available inch of skin while slipping his fingers underneath the fabric. Looking up, he asked, "Show me?"
Elle peeled the material up and over her head with a grace he certainly wouldn't have been capable of in his condition. And—
Emmett wasn't sure how long he sat there drooling at the most perfect tits in existence—porn included—but he jarred from his stupor when he heard her laughter, sweet and melodious. Which made her breasts jiggle with the vibrations, and he found himself unable to tear his eyes away.
"Emmett Forrest is a boob guy. Go figure," she said in a taunting lilt, patting his head.
But he simply grasped her waist, tugging her close and plunged head first to suck a pastel nipple into his hungry mouth. He was a man possessed as he pulled and nipped and laved, before prowling his nose along her sternum and repeating the same with the other breast.
I love you, he ached to say against her exquisite tits. Soft as powdered sugar. And just as sweet.
"It's so much," he croaked. "So much, Elle."
"Me too," she muffled into the crown of his tousled curls, wrapping her arms around his head.
Stop it. Stop giving me hope. I’m begging you.
"Let me make you feel good, Em. Please?"
It was the opposite of what she should be doing. And being the master of self-sabotage that he was, Emmett offered, "Are you sure? We could stop here."
"You sure don’t look like you wanna stop." Elle gripped the bulge through his sweatpants and the saturated fabric squished against her palm. "It's so wet here, Em."
Emmett knew he'd been edged too far, too many times, and his boxers bore the evidence. Even so, it was the sweetest, most delightful agony he had ever known.
Fucking temptress.
"Looks like I better clean you up."
The words sliced through him, and his cock bobbed within her slim fingers at the prospect.
He was sure he'd moaned like a wounded animal when Elle kissed her way down to his abdomen.
"Okay?" she'd asked, just as she had earlier, grazing along his drawstring.
Emmett didn't dare tell her he'd beg for it if necessary. He just nodded, wide eyes drinking her up and—God, he nearly forgot how rock hard he was until she dipped inside his pants and coiled her dainty, cool hands around his shaft.
She pumped him once, twice and on the third time Emmett took it upon himself to gently push her off and shed his garments, nearly thrashing to kick them aside. But then he finally laid bare before her. Taking him in with a wolfish grin, she raked her nails up and down his naked, trembling thighs.
Elle didn't look disappointed. In fact, the tease bit her lip with hooded eyes as she inspected his angry, weeping arousal. Even though she hadn't seemed remotely displeased with his body prior to this, the notion still threw him for a loop. Elle was too good to him—too good for him.
Emmett let out a cry as her warm breath puffed over him, igniting a sound of pure joy from Elle. He reached down to cup her face, thumbing her reddened cheek. "You're so beautiful."
At that, her joy simmered into something awestricken. "You've never said that before."
He chuffed a laugh. "Everyone tells you you're beautiful."
"Not like you just did." Elle's voice carried a sense of wonder, as if he'd just revealed something simply amazing.
Oh, sweet mercy. She was just too, too cute.
“Would you…say it again, please?” she asked demurely.
“There is nothing about you I don’t find insanely beautiful, Elle." Too honest. He needed to reel himself back, he knew it.
“Same,” she whispered.
Elle was a mother bird, snatching his fragile heart away to add to her nest. But hadn't she already claimed that earlier?
How many times must his heart be stolen until she was satisfied? How long could he endure this cycle of obliteration, where she'd pulverize his heart into a gooey, decimated lump, only to stuff it back between his ruptured ribs to begin the torment again? And again. Without a hint of mercy.
Emmett decided right then he'd suffer the pain without complaint. He'd gladly piece himself together the best he could in anticipation of the next time he could be of service to her.
He'd be able to manage that. Wouldn't he?
Emmett's eyes darkened with arousal, hands gripping the sheets as he readied himself. "Do what you want with me."
I'm yours, he wanted to add. But he knew that was simply too much.
As her lips brushed over his quaking thighs, each featherlight kiss sent a shiver through his body. Elle's hands moved with deliberate care, and as her mouth hovered over the place he wanted her so very much, he felt as though he were floating. Emmett waited with bated breath for whatever she had planned for him.
Snaking a hand around his shaft, Elle pumped experimentally again, monitoring his reaction. Emmett's entire face contorted as he heaved, trying to maintain composure.
"Tell me if you don't like it," Elle said, observing him with knitted brows.
There was that insecurity creeping in again. Worrying that she wasn't enough, wouldn't do a good job, despite her experience. The remnants of an encounter had with another man who didn't deserve her.
Emmett had no choice but to respond honestly. “There is absolutely nothing you could do to me that I wouldn’t like."
Her initial trepidation melted away, replaced by a full, guileless smile. It filled him to the brim with warmth, knowing he was the one who put it there.
His cock jumped again as her hot breath whispered over him, but this time she moved in to place a tender kiss along the side of his length. The exposed flesh cried out for her as he hissed from the intensity of the feeling.
Blowing over the soaked head, Elle grazed it teasingly with her tongue. Before he knew it plump cherry lips engulfed his heavy, throbbing cock, and it was all Emmett could do but fist the sheets tight as he battled the tremors surging through him.
"Fuck." His weary, beaten eyes were already tearing up from the magnitude of her touch. The feeling was scorching, indulgent, rapturous, nirvanic—
Swallowing him whole, Elle clinched him at the base. Each time she descended, Emmett became engulfed by a wave of sensation—the shape of her mouth, the velvet of her tongue, the suction of her lips as she plunged herself down onto him. He practically shook underneath her, crescendoing towards an inevitable point of no return.
All it took was one simple flick on the underside of his tip and he was done for.
She'd barely begun, but he was already coming fast.
Emmett tried to warn her as the pressure built, shooting up his spine like a bullet, but what even were words? He might have mumbled something incoherent, hands flying to her hair as shuttering spasms encompassed his entire frame, hips jerking upward, seeking to stuff as much of himself inside her mouth as possible. The release he'd been seeking all day, all month, all semester, probably all his fucking life too, finally—
He blacked out. When he came to, he still twitched occasionally in her mouth and—
Elle passed strong pumps over the shaft with her fist, drinking every last drop he had to give, careful not to touch his sensitive head while she cleaned him off. So very slow and so very attentive.
The sight alone was enough to give Emmett the strength for an instant round two. What was real life when everything that mattered was right here in his hands? He imagined he could go again and again if she let him. After all, they’d become accustomed to late hours, sleepless nights, exhausted bodies…
Emmett lurched upward to catch her face in his palms, and Elle detached herself from him, watching with curiosity. Desire flickered in his eyes as he lifted her, but as soon as she understood his intent, she stiffened. "Wait, Em, you shouldn't—"
"I don't care. There's only you, I can only see you," he said, before molding his lips to hers and scooping his tongue into her mouth. She caved at once, clasping her palms around his. Dear God, what man wouldn't want to kiss her after that? How could she think he'd mind?
Pulling back for air, Emmett pressed his forehead against hers, curling a lock of spun gold around his finger. "I'm so happy," he mumbled in a dreamy haze.
The words sounded utterly tone deaf as soon as he'd heard them slip out. The whole reason he was here was because she wasn't happy.
But Elle completely floored him when she offered the most brilliant, stunning smile in return. "Me too."
What?
Her gaze zeroed in on his mouth as she straddled him properly, and Emmett's hands found her ass to steady her. "I don't think I've ever been this happy," she pressed out between indulgent kisses.
He didn't understand. That couldn't be right.
Emmett reassured himself that he could handle anything, stood prepared to punish himself again and again for her sake, but...
Elle rubbed her sodden center against his bare cock, sliding against the hard flesh, slick from use. Her moan was so sweet and free now. And fuck, she was dripping. Warm. The woman was purposely teasing him.
"Okay, Em?" she asked against his lips.
He only whimpered in response. Knew that in the right position, he could easily slide right in. Make her his.
But that wouldn't be accurate, would it? Not when she also had Warner.
Emmett's mind ground to a halt, paralyzing him with icy dread.
He'd banished thoughts of the man countless times that evening, so wrapped up in the delirium of her intoxicating lips and sumptuous softness. The guilt stabbed even harder as she reached between them to take his solid length in her hand, guiding him into position.
And Emmett wanted to not give a shit. Convinced himself he could tolerate the pain. Be broken. Be used. It would be okay if it was all for her, right?
But in the end, he was just too weak to withstand that kind of torment, after all.
"Elle, wait," Emmett pleaded with a regret so staggering it could have sunk the Titanic. He cupped her reddened cheeks to grab her attention, swiping along the gorgeous blush. "We can't. I—I need to tell you something."
Her expression fell as she released his arousal, hands flying to caress his jaw. "I'm here. What do you need?"
Oh, she was so very perfect. How could this woman even think no one wanted her?
“I want to do this so badly with you," he admitted. "In fact, I’m about to say the unmanliest shit on the planet, but you could do whatever you want with me, and I’d be fucking grateful.”
Elle cocked a sly grin. “Is that a challenge?”
He couldn't resist pinching her cute, chipmunk cheeks in retribution. "Hey, you. I'm trying to be serious."
"Well, go on, I'm listening," she said, continuing to stroke his emerging stubble.
Emmett's jaw bunched. "I need to tell you, I...I don’t just do this." He gestured a hand between them. "Sex. I’m not…comfortable unless it’s with someone special."
Her face soured, and he realized his words were coming out all wrong. "And you’re special. So special. Too special.” He reached up to fondle a strand of blonde between his thumbs. “I didn't lie to you earlier. I do want you to be happy. But also—I want to do things the right way, Elle. You need to know how much I want this. You. I want you so badly it fucking hurts."
She shook her head in bemusement. "You have me, silly."
"All of you, I mean.” He needed to make her understand. “I’m...selfish. I don’t…want to share."
Unable to bear the weight of Elle's confused, saltwater stare any longer, Emmett wrapped his arms around her and hid into the safety of her cleavage.
"Why would you have to share?" she asked with perplexity, smoothing her hands through his messy locks. God, that simple, comforting gesture felt so euphoric he nearly lost his train of thought.
Was she really going to make him spell it out for her?
Emmett looked up into her starlit eyes and said the one name he had been avoiding all night. “Warner.”
Elle blinked like the rapid fire shutter of a camera as she took in the words. Upon registering their meaning, the woman outright laughed in his face, smacking him in the chest. She hollered so long and so hard, Emmett hugged her closer and reddened with embarrassment.
“Ohmigod." She wiped a tear away from her eye. "Is that what this cute sulking act is all about? I turned him down days ago.”
At that nugget of information, Emmett’s spine straightened with interest. “He asked you out again?”
“Oh, he proposed, actually," Elle said with nonchalance.
Recoiling, his voice filled with horror. “He did what?"
She knocked her forehead into his with a lilting giggle. “I told him no, you absolute noodle."
"Okay, that has to be my favorite insult you’ve thrown at me," he said, trying to hide his gleeful tone behind a mock pout. She lifted an eyebrow, as if calling him out on his bullshit. "Sorry, go on."
With softening eyes, she explained, "I haven’t wanted him for a long time, Em.”
“You haven’t?” his voice cracked, welling with emotion.
She rested her palms against his chest, gazing at him with curiosity. "How could you even think that I did?"
Elle isn't with Warner.
Emmett acutely felt each tattered fragment of his heart being sewn back together, piece by piece. Yet rather than the crude handiwork of his own efforts, Elle took up the needle herself, embroidering intricate patterns in their stead. Just as she had adorned his notebooks with whimsical doodles, she now mended him with pieces of her.
Elle doesn't want Warner.
He was afraid he might cry. Crying was distinctively not sexy, right?
"I waited for you," Emmett admitted sheepishly, running his palms up and down the expanse of her back. "After the trial. You two took a long time. And I thought—"
Understanding dawned as her eyes widened. "Ohmigod. That's why you didn't come to the party?"
"I mean, are parties my favorite? No. Would I have gone for you? Absolutely. But I…couldn’t bear to see you and him—"
"I don't want him. I want you." Elle threw her arms around his neck and kissed him so deeply he near forgot himself.
Elle wants me.
"Em, please," she implored, rolling her hips against his. "I need you so much. Don't make me wait anymore."
"You'll never wait again," he said automatically, without meaning to.
He was helpless as her wet, inviting heat ground against his maddeningly hard cock. Emmett wanted her, too. Wasn't sure he could withstand another moment without the feel of her surrounding him, being inside her body, joining as one for however long he could last.
In a flash, Emmett took her by the waist and pinned her beneath him, scattering kisses across her sternum, the column of her neck and up her jaw as her laughter rang out like delicate chimes. He nibbled on her earlobe while easing his middle finger inside her, and Elle thrashed enticingly beneath him, clutching at his neck.
Setting a steady rhythm, he added a second finger. A soft gasp erupted out from her, followed by his name on a dying moan.
"Keep saying my name just like that," Emmett murmured. Her cries fed a darkness inside him, igniting a primal, possessive fervor that thrived on her desperate pleadings. It got him off, sick fuck that he was.
The way she arched when he'd pulled on a puckering nipple with his teeth while impaling her on his fingers was pure sin. As was her despairing groan as he withdrew his hand, only to be replaced by his pulsing cock, gliding it back and forth against her folds.
"Emmett, please—" she cried, batting at his shoulders.
"Not yet," he grunted as a bead of sweat trickled down his jugular. Emmett ran the tip along her clit, painting those same round, languid circles he'd done earlier with his tongue, and Elle inhaled harshly. He repeated the motions, dragging his shaft through her slickness, teasing her as she had done to him not too long ago.
She was plenty wet for him. But he needed her begging, teetering on the edge.
And Emmett knew he had her right there when he dipped his head in ever so slightly and the woman spat out a string of indecipherable pleas. Her reaction was addictive, and he couldn't help wanting to see her squirm even more, sliding right back out to coast along her clit again.
"I was supposed to ruin you," Elle said, hissing into his shoulder.
"You have," Emmett rasped, his forehead sinking into the pillow beside her as he entered her body.
But he barely worked himself in before she whimpered a tight, struggling sound. Stopping, he pushed up to meet her eyes.
“Sorry,” Elle assured him, noticing his concern. “It’s been awhile. Just—”
“No rush." Emmett said, nuzzling her jaw. "In fact, going slow would help me too.”
So he rocked in little by little, every time just a hair deeper than the last, catching every nuance in her expression. She gasped as he kissed each cheek, ran the bridge of his nose along hers and whispered tender litanies. "You’re so good. You’re so obscenely good, Elle. I’m gonna get addicted. I might already be…"
He knew he was saying blasphemous, outrageous things, but the pull of her muscles as she welcomed him further with each tempered stroke, the blinding heat of her body, the silk of her hair tickling his jaw—everything made it impossible for him to stop. And the way she arched as he graveled low into her ear, hitched gasps dissolving into throaty moans as she conceded to his touch, his mouth, his cock—
“It’s not enough,” she whined. “Please.”
“Just a little more,” he pressed out, dipping his thumb to brush tight coils along her clit.
Elle keened against him and that was it—he bottomed out.
She was magnificent. Elemental. Encapsulating. It was as if he'd been critically defective up till now, and the only fix was Elle.
They captured one another's sighs upon the completion of their joining, mouths trembling as they brushed their lips together. The feeling of being enveloped by her oppressive heat, utterly encompassed and squeezed tight, was fucking inebriating. He was drunk on this electric energy crackling between them, the magnetic force that relentlessly attracted them to one another like moths to a flame.
Emmett didn’t stop his inquisitive thumb as he continued to explore Elle, monitoring exactly how he affected her by the way her muscles jumped around his shaft. He was determined to stay absolutely still inside her until she'd adjusted.
“Em, if you move like this…” Elle laid her hand over his, steering him toward her pleasure. And he was elated for the guidance. Because he wanted to take her there again and again, master his technique, discover countless ways to bring her to climax that she hadn't even imagined.
He was conceited enough to think he could do it and do it well. He’d gotten this far, after all.
“How is it?” he asked, transfixed by the way her eyes screwed shut.
“So much better.” Elle's hand fell away, allowing him full control.
With newfound confidence, Emmett rotated his fingers just as she’d shown him, swirling her clit until her toes curled. “Em, I’m close.”
His eyebrows soared. “I haven’t even moved yet—"
“If you move, I’m done for,” she whined, locking her arms around his neck.
Emmett's heart exploded. He actively had to prevent his cock from doing the same.
“God, you say the cutest shit. I’m so fucked for you.” Punctuating his words with a sinuous roll of the hips, Elle's breath hitched as she held him tighter. His fingers sped up in gradual intervals and the uptick of her pulse around his dick intensified, merciless and desperate.
Emmett could feel her rigid nails leaving imprints upon his skin, and he orbited her faster in response. “Don’t hide from me. Let me see you,” he breathed into her ear.
Sharp teeth sunk into his shoulder, and his resounding cry was desolate. “Fuck,” he grunted into her hair as his hips surged unwittingly into her, driving her deeper into the plush mattress.
"Don't stop, please." Elle's palms flew to his ass, encouraging him to move.
Forced to withdraw his hand from between her legs, Emmett blanketed Elle with elbows on either side of her to hold his balance. His fingers bunched into her hair as he scrambled for composure. "I can't—I won't be able to—"
"You will," she urged as he helplessly thrust up again. And again. His mind liquified as he heard, “You don’t get it. How do you not know how hot you are? Can’t you see what you’re doing to me?”
But he’d already been led to the edge so many times his sanity had resolutely vacated the premises. The sounds their bodies made were sloppy, untamed, messy, captivating—and Emmett knew he would undoubtedly become addicted to doing it without a condom.
“I want to live inside you,” he rasped, pulse pounding in his ears as she pulled him deep within her. “I want you to take me inside you and never let go.”
The woman nearly screamed and his cock slid in so, so easily. Elle's voice was loud now—incoherent and utterly pure. Emmett took up a rough pace, skin slapping, hips gyrating, legs entwining, and he was but a vessel for her pleasure, allowing her to take and take and take.
He angled himself upward on every thrust to hit the soft, squishy ridge inside that made her go mad every time he'd stroked it earlier. Knew when he’d rotate his hips just so Elle produced a sob that would live rent-free in his head for all time.
An insatiable urge to hoard her away consumed Emmett; a compulsion to trap her in this bed and satiate every one of her desires. Her pleasure became his mission, a voracious hunger to make her come again and again, with his hands, his tongue, his cock—refusing to relent until her voice broke, too overstimulated by ecstasy to withstand his assault.
"Ohmigod," she bit out, thin with tension, as she stiffened and trembled violently in his grasp.
Slowing his movements, Emmett pitched his head to savor her glorious, open-mouthed expression. Her exquisite release convulsed around him and God, he felt it so clearly. As if her very being wished to merge with his. It was exactly what he'd asked from Elle, and she delivered.
Elle was the most perfect woman in the universe. It wasn’t up for debate. There was no doubt in his mind that there was nothing she couldn't achieve, no person she couldn't captivate. And by some inexplicable twist of fate, he found himself here with her—wanted by her.
It took great effort, but he stilled his hips, drawing his mouth along her neck to press gentle, lazy kisses to the glistening sheen of her skin. His gorgeous, perfect girl.
"Holy shit," Elle murmured, her voice rich and blissful. "I've never felt so good."
Elle was his kryptonite.
Emmett needed to move again. Sheathe himself inside, stretch her open, fill her, live within her as long as he could manage. He wanted to use his body as a tool to aid in her pleasure, to try to make her feel a semblance, a fraction of how he felt in her embrace.
And like a mind reader, she followed with, "You're so perfect." Elle kissed his jaw, playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. "I wanna see you come, Em. Oh, please."
She made him feel like a fucking superhero.
Blood thudded in his veins as he built up to an urgent pace. Emmett's calves tingled, pressure building at the base of his spine as he unloaded himself into her again and again, cock swollen to an almost painful degree.
She was everywhere—legs slung around his waist, arms wound tight, etching crescent moons into his rippling, strained back muscles. Her mouth sucked on the pulse point of his neck, meeting him thrust for thrust in a rhythm starved.
Emmett’s release came upon him with such force, he’d barely had time to warn her before he surged in hard jerks where he held deep and expressed himself inside her. The tsunami of pleasure felt never ending as he plunged within her body, embedding as much of his cock within her as possible—straining, trembling, surrendering to the sweet, crushing heat that wrung him dry.
Elle held him with infinite tenderness, whispering encouraging, beautiful words to him. How gorgeous he was, how happy he'd made her, how much she wanted him.
"I want you," Emmett babbled into her neck. "I want you, I always want you." He shuddered, sagging in her arms, the aftermath of his climax so overpowering, unrelenting, that his emotions got the better of him.
"You don't have to want anymore," she soothed. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
He pulled back to meet her tired eyes. "Me too."
Running her fingers through his damp, messy hair, Elle brought him back in to mold their mouths together.
I love you, Emmett ached to tell her with every fiber of his being. I love you. I love you.
And yet the words remained paralyzed in his throat.
So he simply clutched her tighter, hoping that perhaps his body could relay the message his voice could not.
After cleaning up and nestling beneath the bedcovers, Emmett snuggled close with Elle, bare bodies entwined in a cocoon of shared warmth. The sturdy rhythm of his heartbeat thrummed against her ear, while his hand idly fanned through luminous golden curls.
It all felt so unbearably right. Perfect. Safe.
Still, the weight of a thousand unspoken words lingered between them. There was so much left to unpack, and he had no idea how or where to even begin.
Warner wasn't in the picture. Emmett thought that alone would satisfy the anxiety wreaking havoc in his mind and yet...
What if it was too soon to confess his love to her? Too overwhelming? He couldn't mess this up. Because being with her was so fucking profound, so mind-bogglingly intense, and God, he desperately wanted to know if she felt the same.
He wondered if he should say something. Anything. Okay, maybe not anything—
"Hey," Elle prodded meekly, as if reading his mind. Turning up to look at him, her crystalline eyes were wide and bottomless. "Was it okay?"
She rendered him inoperable.
"It was so much more than that," Emmett breathed, the words saying themselves as he swiped his knuckles across her soft cheek.
Elle's face brightened like it was the very sun itself. "Yeah?"
Her exuberance was infectious. "Yeah."
"Y'know, 'cause you're impossible to read sometimes," she said in a mock accusing tone, orbiting her finger along his chest.
He barked a laugh. "I find that remark borderline insulting and I will ask you to justify it."
"Are you serious?" she asked with incredulity, recoiling.
"Uh. Yes," he said with the tone of someone confirming that the sky was indeed blue. "Elle, you were the imperceptible one tonight."
She pushed him back and rocketed up to a sitting position. "As if!"
Emmett observed her like she was from another planet. Furrowing her brows, Elle sucked in a breath. "I thought you rejected me," she spat out with a pout.
"Excuse me?" He bolted up with alarm.
It appeared as if Elle were solving a complex mathematical equation as she clasped her head and tore through her hair. "I mean, I thought you saw how I—and then everything at the trial, and—and I also thought you felt—but then you ghosted me at the party and I never heard from you all week!"
The woman was an open book in a language he couldn't read.
"I never heard from you either!" he rebutted.
"I'm used to the man taking the initiative! And sure, I had all my friends and family there because of you—"
Panic flashed across his face, and she fixed him with an exasperated look. “Oh, please. Like I wouldn’t find out. Margot can’t keep a secret to save her life. The first thing that popped out of her mouth was that my new boyfriend sounded really cute and does he have a brother.”
Emmett’s eyes bulged, skating around the room at literally anything else but Elle. He really should have seen this coming…
"So I’m at the party with almost everyone I love. And that should have made me happy. I mean, it did, and you’re a fucking insane lunatic for making it happen, and thank you, by the way—God, this is like vomiting out of me. I'm putting a pin in it, but we are having a very serious discussion about this later, mister. Anyway, the point is you didn’t show up. And I know you don’t like parties, like, it shouldn’t have bothered me. But I felt like shit the entire time because I missed you. Then, I don't hear from you for days. I've been miserable. Do you know how annoying it is that I can't get you out of my head? How I see you in something everywhere? Like that stupid Mega Man mug you keep here. Or your sweatshirt that I end up wearing to bed daily—sorry, not sorry. It's super soft."
He tried not to melt into a puddle at the mere mention of his sweatshirt being promoted to sleepwear.
"Anyway, I was tired of waiting for you to make a move and I wanted to do something about it, so the girls said I should try to…entice you." Puffing her cheeks out, Elle continued with agitation, "Seemed like a good idea, right? Wrong. Step One: I wore your sweatshirt in front of you. Men love that shit. But you just seemed surprised with no visible interest. Step Two: I strip teased it off to showcase the skimpiest pajamas I own, and it did fucking zilch."
Oh, fuck.
"Step Three: I offer to watch a movie you like, pretend to drop the DVD and conveniently Bend & Snap—"
Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.
"—which seemed to rile you up, but to no avail. Step Four: We cuddle during the film, and you did not once make a move—"
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—
"Honestly, we should have been boning by Step Two, but here I was at Step Five: Inviting you to sleep in my bed. Then you turned me down. And only agreed after I begged you! Do you understand how I threw myself at you? I have never done that before. You can imagine, after all this, I assumed you were uninterested."
Elle buried her face into the chalice of her hands.
He really was an absolute noodle.
But Emmett wasn't going to let her get away, never again. "Elle, look at me," he implored.
She did, eyes spilling over with exasperated tears, and he'd never been so tempted to catch them using his tongue. Instead, he smeared the wetness with his thumbs across her flushed, glowing skin.
“You don’t need to do anything to entice me," he breathed, raspy and low. "You entice me when you challenge my ideas. You entice me when you do something noble, like that time you saved Paulette's dog, but I could easily name at least five other things off the top of my head. You entice me when you draw smiley faces all over my notes. You entice me when that dimple pops from your left cheek in the cutest way. You entice me when you laugh at my dumb jokes. You entice me by fucking existing. You entice me. Just you, Elle."
"I love you," she blurted out in a rush.
And with that, Emmett felt his world tip into slow motion. He could practically hear an unseen choir singing—
"Oh my God," Emmett sputtered dumbly, blinking at her in disbelief.
"Ohmigod," Elle sputtered back, covering her mouth as her own words hit her.
One palm lifted to muffle his glee while the other continued to stroke her face. Emmett chuckled, shaking his head in awe. "The same. Our feelings are the same, aren’t they?”
She trapped a hand atop his, turning her head to kiss his fingers. "I won't know if you don't tell me."
The gesture slammed into him like a tidal wave—sending torrents through his veins, roaring at him to spill every secret. His words gushed forth, like a breached dam unleashing its floodwaters.
"I love you, too. God, I wanted to tell you as soon as I'd realized. But then everything went to shit with Callahan, and the trial, and then—"
But she wouldn't let him say it again. "It's you," she insisted. "It's been you."
He wouldn't let go of her face—couldn't. "How long?"
"Too long." Elle crumpled into the protective circle of his arms.
At that moment, the truth finally struck him. "It was me. I made you cry," Emmett realized with horror. "Fuck. I'm so sorry."
"Make it up to me?" Her voice sounded so small, so delicate.
“The rest of my life," he vowed. “Or,” Emmett needed to tone himself back, not sound so desperate, “however long you want.”
Elle pulled back, oceanic eyes gazing into his. Eyes he didn't want looking at anyone else but him ever again. "The former is fine."
"That I can do," Emmett said to her lips before she crushed his mouth to hers.
Everything would be different from now on. Richer. Clearer. More.
The only comparison that came to mind was like when Dorothy landed in Oz. A bland, monochrome existence transformed into a technicolor fantasy.
Elle once asked Emmett why Skittles were his favorite candy. He'd changed the subject. But the answer was so simple.
It was because they were her.
Fin.