Page 53 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

"What were you guys bickering about?" Justine inquired.

"Emma," Jackson and Matthew said in unison.

Justine turned her gaze directly to me, clearly displeased with the revelation. What was it with her and Emma?

"What about her?" Nino asked, genuinely curious.

"Matthew doesn't trust her because he seems to think she doesn't have any emotions," Jackson reiterated.

"Oh, well, yeah, he would think that," Nino replied with a knowing smile.

"What, you think I ooze emotions too?" Matthew asked again, clearly offended.

She pondered that for a nanosecond, then smiled widely. "That's actually very well put."

"Oh, fuck off," he snarled, to which Nino laughed warmly and gave him a slight punch on the shoulder. I noticed something flicker in Matthew's eyes.

Hmm...was there something going on between those two? I had been so entirely focused on Emma lately; it was quite possible I had missed a few things here…

"Ahem," someone coughed.

Speak of the devil, there she was. Emma stood smiling sheepishly next to our cube.

"Hi, sorry, I didn't want to intrude, but I was wondering if I could maybe join you guys for a drink? My friend is leaving, and I'm still too wired to turn in," she asked apologetically.

"Of course, here, have a seat," "Jack" invited her a bit too eagerly. I clenched my jaw.

My high-school level jealousy was getting out of hand. I wanted to shoot him a nasty look, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from Emma. She wasn't in her usual training outfit but had dressed up for the occasion, and she looked good. Hot. Crap.

"So, what were you all talking about?" she asked nicely, sitting down way too close to ‘Jack’.

"Well…you mostly," Matthew answered dryly.

Emma looked at him in shock, unsure whether he was kidding, which is exactly what he had hoped for, the bastard. But she quickly recovered and said, "Good thing I joined you guys then; might provide you with some more insight."

"So, Emma," Matthew continued, a little inebriated, "how come you have so few emotions?" I kicked him against his leg and shot him a warning glance. He was pushing it.

Jackson felt the need to play the instant hero, which also bothered me to no end. What was going on with my dickhead friends?

“Don’t mind the blondish halfwit, Em, his IQ dropped a few points two beers ago and now he only remembers how to annoy people,” he said, while rolling his eyes.

Emma grinned. “That’s great, maybe he’ll annoy me all the way to a real emotion.” She winked, indicating Matthew she hadn’t mind his abrasive question.

She looked at me, and I smiled at her, rather proud of the fact he hadn't gotten the best of her. She slowly smiled back, almost hesitantly, as if she wasn't sure whether or not she wanted to hold onto her anger. Then she winked at me, and I was relieved to see our fight from earlier was over.

Matthew, hugely disappointed his shock and awe hadn't worked, started up a conversation with Justine and ignored Emma for the better part of the evening. Jackson did the exact opposite, and I didn't know who I was more irritated with.

Nino sat next to me, and we went over some covert op. To ensure we wouldn't be overheard, we took our chairs a little farther from the group, which they were used to, as Nino was the only other Offensive, and we conversed privately rather often.

Emma, however, shot me an inquisitive look, almost offended she was being left out. I shrugged, not really knowing how to react.

I noticed Emma and Justine watching me quite often through the night.

After closing the bar, I bid a quick goodnight to everyone and made my way to my loft. Alone in the dim light of my room, I kicked off my shoes and lay back on the bed, eyes closed. But my mind was anything but quiet. Emma—Emma was all I could think about.

Her laughter, her sharp gaze that cut through my usual defenses, the way she leaned in, just close enough to brush her shoulder against mine, as if daring me to do something.

The memory of her scent—something light and maddeningly out of reach—had my pulse quickening.

My hand slid under the covers, fingers brushing under my waistband, and I gave in to the pull, to the need that had been simmering for too long, relishing the feeling as I began to stroke, imagining it was her touch.

I pictured her close, her warm breath brushing against my neck as she leaned in, fingers tracing over my skin, each touch leaving a trail of heat.

My grip tightened as I imagined her lips pressing against my throat, her fingers exploring, teasing me with slow, intentional movements, her eyes dark with that same hunger I felt now.

My breath quickened, and I let the fantasy deepen—her hand wrapping around me, firm and warm, her movements in sync with my own, building that ache, that relentless pulse that wanted nothing more than to feel her, to pull her close.

I could almost feel the weight of her against me, her body pressed tight, her nails scraping along my skin, her breath catching in time with mine.

Each motion grew more intense, more consuming, until I was lost in her, in the thought of her name on my lips, her gaze meeting mine as I shuddered, every thought, every sensation fixed on her—only her.