Page 53 of Emmett

“Shhhhhh,” I warn, “I will leave you right at the edge if you make one more fucking sound.”

He’s suffering as he fights against himself, trying to be obedient, trying to take the orders he’s been given; and he’s enjoying it.

His fists squeeze together while I fuck him, his knuckles turning white, and as his cheeks redden, I know that he’s getting close.

To my own surprise, as euphoria washes over me and my balls tighten, I find myself releasing his wrists, using my hand instead to wrap around Emmett’s. His hand squeezes mine with a vise grip and as our bodies still while we come together, and the quiet is filled only by the sound of Emmett’s heaving pants and my mouth sucking at the skin at the back of his neck.

“Holy shit,” Emmett breathes as I pull the tie from his mouth. He stands as I withdraw my cock from him, and he moves to look at his cum spilled onto the carpet. “I can—”

“I’ll have the room recarpeted,” I tell him with a wave of my hand.

“Nash.”

My brow arches. “Would you rather I have someone on their hands and knees scrubbing it clean?”

“No,” he sighs.

Cupping his face in my hands, I press my lips to his and move to brush back his hair which has fallen out of place.

“Then go fix your hair and get to your office,” I tell him.

As we each pull our clothes back into place and Emmett leaves the conference room, my eyes move up to the corner of the room and the camera which sits snugly tucked into it, and I flash it a satisfied smile.

TWENTY-TWO

Emmett

Nestling the last of my shoes snugly between the rest, I take one more look around the room to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything important. My eyes land on the pouting eight-year-old sitting cross legged on my bed with a tub of pink and blue spun sugar resting in her lap.

“You can’t be sad while you’re eating cotton candy,” I tell her as I drop down next to her, squishing her cheeks between my fingers. “It’s against the law. I checked.”

“I don’t want you to go,” she whines.

“It’s time for me to go home.” I pull a chunk of the flavored sugar out of the tub and stuff it into my mouth, letting it melt onto my tongue. “I’m just a quick car ride or phone call away, okay?”

Her little face twists together even more and she dips her head down into her lap. When it comes to the guilt trip game, this kid isgood.“I can’t drive a car yet,” she mumbles.

“You really think I won’t come get you if you want to come over?” I ask, mussing her hair. “It’s gonna be just the same as it was before. I’m just going back to my house. Want me to get us a couple of soccer nets to put up in the yard?”

That does it. Her head lifts up, her eyes go wide, and an excited smile crosses her face. “And a basketball one too?”

“Sure thing, dude. But you gotta promise you’ll actually come use them, because I can’t play without you.” I hold mypinkie finger up and she wraps hers around it, giving it a single firm shake. I never really did the whole pinkie swear thing until she and Rowan became part of the family, and now it’s so ingrained as the way that we all make each other promises that it just comes as a reflex. “Now, I need your help closing this suitcase, supergirl.”

Throwing the top of the suitcase over itself, she hoists her tiny frame on top of it and uses her weight to hold the case shut while I pull the zipper around with a laugh. I never really wanted siblings at all when I was a kid; I always figured the more that I had my dad to myself, the better. I had friends, I didn’t need some other kid living in my house with me and stealing attention that was supposed to be mine.

Now that I have Macie and Sarah, there’s a part of me that feels like Little Emmett missed out on something important. I love those girls more than anything in this world. God help anyone who ever tries to hurt them.

With the last suitcase packed, I lift it by the handle, stopping to grab another on the way out of the door, and I cart the pair of them downstairs. My feet pad over the marble tile while my family sits quietly, watching me take my bags out. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that I was walking to my own funeral or something, between the silence and the somber faces.

“Ready to go?” Rowan asks, throwing her purse over her shoulder and reaching for her cane.

I nod and step toward my dad, and his arms wrap around me in a crushing hug that lasts a lot longer than I expect it to. “Thank you,” I tell him, clapping him on the back.

He pulls away and plants his hands on my shoulders, still squeezing. “You call me,” he orders. “Anytime.”

“And you text before you show up,” I joke, patting his arm. When the humor doesn’t reach his face, I give him a nod and promise him, “I’ll call.”

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