Page 106 of Emmett
“No, you just looked like you needed a laugh,” I shrug. “You alright?”
“My father believed that because he can’t reach me any other way, it would be a good idea to bring the press here to try and smear the event,” he tells me.
My smile falls, replaced instead with anger. Nash has worked so hard to rebuild from what that man took from him. He’s put in too much effort to undo the damage that he’d done because of it. Everything that he’d done, the monster that he’d created of himself, was a direct result of what those people did to him. It was easier for him to be a monster than to risk being hurt again. If he didn’t attach himself to anyone, hecouldn’t be betrayed. If he didn’t let anyone else in, they couldn’t use his vulnerability against him.
“I’ll kill him,” I grumble.
“He’s in his sixties and has a history of heart disease,” he chuckles into his drink. “I don’t think you’ll get there in time.”
Dropping my hands onto his shoulders with a squeeze, I say, “Come on. You’ve made all your speeches and done all your mingling. Let’s get out of here.”
•
Nash and I barely make it three feet past the front door before I peel off my suit jacket and toss it onto the couch. Clover yelps and whines, running toward us with her tail wagging wildly, and we each bend down to give her scratches and kiss her on her furry little head.
I waste no time heading back to my room to change out of my clothes and into a pair of joggers, like I’ve been dying to do since the minute I got dressed this evening. Once I’m changed, I grab a pre-roll from my dresser and the case of gummy worms that Ro dropped off with breakfast, tucking it beneath my arm as I head back out toward the living room.
As I reach the end of the hall, I see Nash resting his elbows against the kitchen island with his hands clasped together, and I tilt my head to the side, leaning against the wall to watch him. His eyes are closed, and after what feels like a long time, he touches his fingers from his forehead to his chest, and finally across his shoulders.
“Were you just praying?” I ask him.
I could almost swear that he looks embarrassed as he reaches behind him to scratch at the back of his head. “Yes, I was,” he tells me. “I have been since your…”
I approach him, dropping the case of candy onto the island. “How does it feel?”
“Like coming back to myself,” he smiles.
I stand behind him, massaging my thumbs into his shoulders, and I press my lips to the crook of his neck. My hands trail down his sculpted back, wrapping around the front of him when I reach his hips.
“It’s still your birthday,” Nash tells me, reaching back to massage the back of my head. “What do you want to do?”
“I wanna get high and eat candy, and I wanna fuck my boyfriend,” I whisper against his ear, “because he raised twelve million dollars for charity tonight and he looks fucking incredible in that suit.”
Turning his head to meet me in a kiss, Nash smiles against my lips. “Get your things,” he orders.
It takes less than five minutes for us to shed our clothes and climb onto my bed together. I pull the joint between my lips and light it, pulling in a lungful of earthy smoke which I blow away from Nash. He plucks the joint from my fingers and brings it to his own lips, and I furrow my brow at him.
“You don’t like pot,” I say.
“I don’t like the smell,” he tells me, “but I’ve never tried it.”
“It tastes about the same as it smells,” I laugh.
With a shrug, he wraps his lips around it and breathes deeply, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke seconds later. I thought he looked good when he puffed his cigars, but watching him laid out on my bed smoking a joint might be even better.
Muscle rolls against his jaw and he lets out a satisfied sigh. “It’s not terrible,” he smirks. “It’s no cigar, but…”
“Smartass.”
I take another hit from the joint before dropping it into a glass on a nightstand. Rolling onto Nash’s body, I settle between his legs, bringing my hands to his hips as my mouth meets his collarbone, sucking and kissing at his skin.
“I know you were busy tonight,” I tell him, “but for the last hour we were at that party, all I could think about was getting you home and getting you naked.”
I press into him with a grind of my hips against his, forcing a groan from him as his cock swells. His hand balls itself into my hair and he brings my forehead to rest against his, boring into me with his hazel eyes.
“You are my recompense, Emmett Fowler,” he breathes, “and you are my home.”
I dive into him, meeting his lips with my own in a heated kiss as I slide his boxers down his legs. My cock twitches as my tongue meets his. Every inch of my body aches for him, and I make that clear to him in the way that my lips move from his to trail across his skin. Deep kisses follow the line of his jaw, leading a path across his chest and down his stomach, trailing back up until my mouth finds itself next to his ear.