He’s mine.
Emerson surrounds me, enfolds me, and I give him everything, showing him the depth of my emotions until we surface, gasping.
“You came back for me…” Emerson whispers, full of wonder. He cups my face with infinite tenderness, a look of sheer amazement in his eyes. “I can’t believe you came back for me.”
“Always!” I promise fiercely.
I reach for him again, but suddenly, there’s a deafening crack, and a shot of lightening splinters from the sky, hitting one of the trees in the yard.
“Get back!” Emerson yells, hurling himself in front of me and pushing us back. The tree sounds a creak, and then falls, slamming to the ground just inches from where we were standing.
I clutch him in panic.
“Into the house!” Emerson orders.
“The storm cellar!” I yell. “This way, come on!”
“But your photos…” Emerson looks around. The prints are whipping in the wind around us, confetti in the storm.
“There’s no time, come on!” I grab his hand and pull him after me, racing back across the yard and over to the cellar door. It’s rusted and old, but Emerson heaves it open, and pushes me inside before following and slamming the door shut above us, plunging us into dark.
He bolts it shut, breathing heavily. “Your grandpa built it pretty solid. We should be safe here until the storm passes.”
I feel for the light switch on the wall, but when I flip it, nothing happens. “Nobody’s been down here in years,” I say. “Wait, there should be a flashlight and supplies down here somewhere.”
Emerson uses his cellphone to light the room with an electric glow. I look around. There’s a narrow futon in the corner, and some old canned goods stacked beside a truck. I open it, and find candles and matches inside, with an old woolen blanket. I throw the blanket over the futon, and light the candles, bathing the room in a dim, flickering glow.
“Cosy,” Emerson grins, and in the candlelight, I see his eyes on mine, dark with meaning. I feel a rush of emotion—and anger.
“What were you even doing out there?” I demand, realizing for the first time how dangerous it was for Emerson to be outside. I feel a chill of fear, just thinking about it. The lightening, the tree… To have come so close to being reunited, only to have him torn away! “You could have been hurt, or worse…!”
“Your photographs,” he answers. “I know how much they mean to you. I didn’t want you to lose them.”
“I don’t care about the photos, I can print new ones!” I cry, “I can’t find another you!”
My voice is frenzied in the small cellar. Right away, Emerson is by my side again, holding me close, stroking my hair as he whispers, “Shh, it’s OK. I’m here. Everything’s going to be alright.”
I melt against him, holding tight. How could I have come so close to losing this? To just packing up my car and driving away, as if I’d ever find another man like him.
As if I’d ever find a love so true.
I lift my head. “Promise me you’ll never push me away again,” I demand. “I mean it, Emerson, whatever happens, we face it together. I can’t take losing you, not again.”
“I promise,” he swears, and I can tell from the intensity in his eyes, he means every word.
“Because I’m not leaving you,” I vow. “Nothing you say will ever make me turn around and walk away. I’m yours. Forever.”
“Forever,” his whisper echoes my promise, and then his lips find mine in a tender kiss.
I fall into him, Emerson’s tongue making a slow, languid discovery of my mouth while his hands gently trace outline of my jaw, down across my shoulders and each arm. Then he pulls back, his eyes finding mine before he lifts my hands to his lips, pressing a kiss on each knuckle in turn, and all the while never once breaking his gaze: dark and passionate, and full of intent.
Desire flares through me.
I reach for him again, this time kissing him hot and fierce, burying my fingers in his hair and arching up against his body. I want all of him, everything, for our bodies to seal the sacred pact we’ve made with words. I feel him hard against me, and I gasp, heat pooling low between my thighs. Emerson groans, suddenly gripping my ass and lifting me so I can wrap my legs around his waist. He backs across the cellar, collapsing down on the futon so I’m straddling him on his lap.
I grind against him, kissing down his neck as I greedily run my hands across his chest, clawing the wet shirt away from his skin and tearing it over his head. This is it, right here: everything I ever wanted.
How could I have ever thought I could be without him?
Emerson’s hands are heaven as they blaze across my wet skin. He rips away my hoodie and tank, pulling my damp bra aside to close his mouth, hot around my breast. His tongue rasps across my nipple, and I cry out, closing my eyes in ecstasy as I arch again, thrusting madly against his lap, desperate for the friction to ease the ache that writhes at the very heart of me.
Only Emerson can do this to me. Only Emerson can ever satisfy this wild desire.
He finally lifts his head from my br**sts, gasping, and lifts me off his lap, setting me down on my feet again. My legs are so weak with desire I have to clutch his shoulders to stay standing as he undoes my jeans with sure fingers, and then inches them down over my legs, wet and sticking to my skin. He rests his forehead on my bare stomach a moment, breath hot against my panties, and every new exhale sparks shivers of longing through my system. The electricity spirals and swoops, setting all my nerve-endings on edge and shooting back to center on one small, aching point between my thighs.