Page 42 of Broken Vows (Marital Privileges #4)

Mikhail

F iery red hair tickles my chin when I rest my cheek on top of Emerson’s head and flare my nostrils to drink in her scent.

She’s half asleep, half comatose. Our night was long and filled with moments I will replay on repeat for many years to come.

But this, having her in my arms again, smelling like me, is a comfort I’ve missed more than anything.

We lost so much time that I shouldn’t be wasting it, lying on the couch in my office, but only a fool wouldn’t relish the quiet after a storm. The air is fresher after a deluge, almost pure. It is the best time to gather your bases and work out which direction you should head next.

Today, my needles all point the same way.

In any direction Emerson goes.

Tonight was so magical that the hurt is gone, the anger dispersed. It is time to leave the past in the past and make every second she’s willing to share with me count.

A knock on my office door disrupts my silent deliberations on how to achieve that.

I grit my teeth, unwilling to let this moment end just yet.

“Go away,” I growl under my breath when the intruder knocks again, louder this time.

Whoever it is can wait. I have ten missed years to make up for.

I’m not yet close to having my fill. If Emerson wasn’t on the cusp of exhaustion when her kiss forced me to release, I would bury my head back between her legs.

I don’t care that I spilled my load inside her only an hour ago.

Kissing Emerson’s pussy is as enticing as kissing her mouth. I will never get enough.

Another knock sounds.

“For fuck’s sake.” I bite back a growl while sweeping my fingers through my hair. It’s still damp, and the reminder as to why frustrates me as much as when I carefully peel Emerson off my chest and onto a pillow before I cover her with a blanket all my establishments have for this exact reason.

An oversized leather couch isn’t as comfortable as a mattress on the floor, but it saves queries from people undeserving to learn the cause of my offices’ designs.

From the rusted filing cabinet in the far-right corner to the bulky desk, everything about this office is a replica of the one in Emerson’s family’s pub.

I’m a fucking simp.

As a hazy memory of the last time I spoke those words ring through my head, I tug on my trousers, pull a shirt over my head, and head for the door.

I only crack open the gleaming black material half an inch.

Emerson is covered, but I’d never let anyone see her in a vulnerable state.

Snoring with your mouth slightly ajar could be perceived as vulnerable.

My defenses lower a smidge when the face on the other side of the door registers as familiar.

“Hey.” Lynx smirks while shifting from foot to foot. “Is Emmy in there?”

I block the doorway with my frame, too exhausted to waste a single morsel of energy on him. “She is, but she’s busy.”

“Too busy for me?” He rethinks his pfft when I work my jaw side to side, my jealousy streak long enough to be obvious even from a distance. “Courier arrived with a package for her. She needs to sign for it.”

Curiosity echoes in my tone. “Sign it for her.”

“Already have. Just figured I’d give her an out if she wanted one.” He twists to his left and then shouts. “You good, girl?”

I realize I’m doing a shit job of guarding Emerson when her giggle sounds through my ears. “I’m fine, Lynx. But thanks for asking.”

My back molars crunch when Lynx says, “You sure? If I recall correctly, wasting alcohol was instant toilet-cleaning duties. He’s better at showering now than he was in his teens, but you should still consider a wet wipe.”

After snatching the small box Lynx pulls out from behind his back out of his hand, I slam my office door in his face.

I hear his laughter all the way down to the gallows of my bar, his howls only ending when he says, “It’s about time you rubbed some lubricant into that couch. The leather was getting stiff.”

I spin to face Emerson when she says with a yawn, “Was stiff? It still is.” She drags her hands over leather on the verge of cracking. “Did they not give you care instructions when you forked out for real cowhide?”

I shrug. The saleswoman spurted off a range of features, but I paid attention to the length and girth the most. It is an inch longer than Emerson and almost my width, making it the perfect size to force a close snuggling session.

When Emerson’s curious eyes bounce between the rusted filing cabinet, my desk, and the couch, I wiggle her package in the air. “A package arrived for you.”

“For me?”

Nodding, I toss it to her, and she catches it—even with her curiosity still paramount. She isn’t curious about the contents of her package. Her eyes haven’t left my desk.

Even if I deny it until I am blue in the face, she’d still know who I got the inspiration from for my office space.

Determined not to waste time, I confess. “The leather is hard because I refuse to let anyone sit on the couches in my offices. I didn’t buy them to sit on them. They were purchased?—”

It is a fight not to kiss her when she interrupts. “Because a couch is less suspicious than a mattress on the floor.” She’s always been able to see right through me and past the mess years of abuse hide me behind.

She is the only one who has ever been able to do that.

My pulse quickens when she stands before padding over to me. The sway of her hips effortlessly seduces me, so I won’t mention the reaction of my body when my sluggish brain remembers how she fell asleep.

She is naked from head to toe, and I stare like a dog in heat.

As she returns my watch, her stare equally greedy, I drink her in as if it is the first time I’ve taken in her gorgeous features.

The curve of her reddish brows, the plumpness of her lips, and the silky smoothness of skin that makes her appear far younger than thirty-two.

Her nose is slim, her eyes are bright, and although she will never admit it, a handful of freckles dot her nose—they, too, adding to her youthfulness.

Her body is taut and slim like a runner, but her tits defy the logic of hours thumping the pavement.

They’re far more than a handful and taste as celestial as her decadent and almost bare pussy.

Only the slightest trail of thin hair guides me to the splendor I plan to devour daily until the end of time.

She’s fucking beautiful, and she’s mine.

Too impatient, and still vying to make up for lost time, I finalize the last handful of steps between us. Air rushes from Emerson’s mouth when I snake my hand up her back and lose it in voluptuous red waves before I seal my mouth over hers.

I kiss her with everything I have, her feet lifting from the floor and curling around my waist. I’m hard in an instant, my blood too hot for a flimsy T-shirt and designer trousers.

Pleasure brightens everything around me when, a second after unbuttoning my pants and sliding down my fly, Emerson’s focus shifts to my shirt. She pushes it up past my six-pack before ripping her lips away from mine, as desperate to drink in my naked form as I was hers only minutes ago.

“Whoever invented shirts should be shot.”

My husky laugh slides around the room and doubles the warmth of the heat between Emerson’s legs. As she guides my shirt over my head, she returns her mouth to mine, her kiss teasing and deliberate.

We make out like teens at the prom as I shuffle toward my desk. Just like our impatience earlier tonight, my trousers don’t even reach my thighs before I place Emerson on the edge of my desk and fall to my knees.

“Mm,” she moans when I blow a hot breath over the cleft of her pussy.

Her excitement is infectious, and before I can query what’s in the box left dumped on the couch, I press my mouth to her pussy and lick her from the base to her clit. Emerson arches with a moan, her bare feet digging into my shoulder blades.

“Oh god,” she murmurs, breathing heavily. “Your mouth… there… heaven .”

I wrap my lips around her clit and suck gently, ramping up her moans and driving her toward release. Her thighs quiver when I hit her clit with back-to-back rapid-fire licks. She tugs at my hair, stinging its roots, before she climaxes with a mangled groan.

As she shakes through a ferocious orgasm, I continue feasting on her. I poke my tongue inside her, feeling her quivers, before I replace my tongue with my fingers.

Emerson grows slicker when I slide two fingers inside her while my lips and tongue nuzzle her clit. My cock is aching to sink into her, but I keep my focus on her pleasure, satisfied even if I don’t come again.

Her pleasure is my pleasure, and she is my drug of choice.

Desire sparks through me when she moans my name as she returns from the clouds.

Her grip on my hair is softer now, almost nurturing, but the tension is still insane.

It crackles in the air and has me eating her more hungrily.

I can’t get enough. I rub at her clit with my thumb while furling my fingertips, milking the sweet spot inside her.

I need her to come again. Badly. Not because our exchange will move toward sex once she is pliable under my touch. But because I need to hear her shout my name, to watch her unravel above me.

“Please,” Emerson begs, her hips grinding in rhythm to my fingers’ thrusts.

I switch from two fingers to three, assuming she needs something to grip while riding the waves of ecstasy about to pummel through her, but I am proven wrong when locks of red slap her cheeks when she shakes her head.

“I need… I need…” Her hips churn relentlessly as she grows slicker and wetter.

A rough sound leaves me when our eyes lock and hold. She’s there, on the cusp of climax, but she needs more.

“Tell me what you need. Tell me and I will give it to you.”

I fuck her faster, harder. I tease her until her body coils tight, and the struggle to resist the overwhelming sensation swamping her is visible on her beautiful face.