Page 28 of Kellan & Emmett (Gomillion High Reunion #1)

Emmett

Dinner lingered in the air — roasted chicken, fresh bread, peach cobbler. By the time the last thank-yous were spoken and doors clicked shut upstairs, my body buzzed with something that had nothing to do with the inn. Every sound felt sharper, every shadow stretched longer, because I knew what waited behind my bedroom door.

When I finally pushed it open, he was there. Sprawled across my bed like he’d always belonged in it. Barefoot, hair still damp from his shower, one arm flung over his head. His T-shirt clung to his chest in soft folds, and my gut went tight at the sight.

I almost went straight to him. Almost bent to press a kiss to his jaw, thank him for being a good sport about giving up his room, for helping me strip and re-dress the guest bed until it gleamed. But something tugged me sideways, and I stepped into the bathroom instead.

That’s when I saw it. Two toothbrushes resting side by side in the cup. His navy handle next to my green one, close enough their bristles touched. The sight hit harder than it should have — domestic and intimate, the kind of thing I used to dream about and never thought I’d get. My throat went tight.[24]

“Emmy,”

he called from the bed, voice lazy but warm.

“You gonna stand in there all night, or you coming back to me?”

I swallowed, heat prickling low in my stomach. When I returned, he’d propped himself on one elbow, watching me with a look that was half amusement, half want.

“You sure you’re good with this?”

I asked before I could stop myself.

He lifted a brow, a grin tugging slow at his mouth.

“Sharing a bed with you? I’d call that a win.”

His gaze swept me, lingering at my chest, my hands.

“Unless you’re the one not okay with it.”

God, I was more than okay. I crossed the room, sat on the edge of the mattress, close enough our thighs brushed. His heat soaked through me instantly. The teasing faded from his smile, replaced by something heavier.

“I want you, Emmett,”

he said, low and rough, like the words had been clawing to get out.

“All of you. Your mouth. Your hands. Your dick. Everything.”

My breath caught. My chest ached. I leaned in, cupped the back of his neck, felt the quick hammer of his pulse under my thumb.

“Kelly…you can have anything you want. Anything. I’ll give it to you.”[25]

Our mouths crashed together, a groan vibrating between us. His tongue pushed into mine, hungry, desperate, and I answered with everything I’d been holding back. His hands roamed my sides, clutching at my shirt, and I shoved it off, skin shivering in the cool air.

I broke just enough to murmur against his lips.

“We should talk—status.”

My words were ragged, broken by want, but I needed the clarity.

“Negative,”

he panted, forehead pressed to mine.

Relief and heat tangled in me.

“Same. But I’ve got us covered.”

I reached without looking, pulled open the nightstand drawer, fingers curling around foil packets and the slick bottle I always kept close. Nothing clinical, nothing stiff — just preparation born of knowing what it meant to take care of someone.

His eyes darkened, but there was a flicker of nerves there too, hiding under the hunger. I kissed it away, soft at first, then deeper, harder.

“I’ll make it good for you, Kelly. I promise.”

And the way he looked at me — open, trusting, so damn sure I could — nearly undid me before we’d even begun.[26]

His mouth tasted like heat and want, like something I’d been starving for. We kissed until I was dizzy, until my shirt hit the floor and his followed, until we were skin on skin, slick with sweat and hunger.

I traced my tongue down his throat, over the pulse that hammered there, across his chest. Salt and soap and Kelly. He groaned when I sucked a nipple into my mouth, his fingers tangling in my hair, tugging me closer.

“God, Emmy—”

His voice cracked, rough and pleading.

“I want you. Inside me.”

The words jolted through me, sharp and hot. I pulled back just enough to look at him, his lips swollen, eyes blown wide.

“You’re sure?”

My voice was gravel, my cock aching, but I needed the answer.

He nodded fast, then steadier, the blush high on his cheekbones.

“Yeah. I want it to be you. My first. Always you.”

Something inside me broke and reformed all at once. I kissed him again, slower this time, reverent, before whispering.

“Then I’ll take care of you. I’ll make it good.”

We stripped the rest of the way, tossing jeans and briefs aside until nothing was left but bare, wanting skin. My cock brushed his, both of us hard and leaking, and the groan that ripped out of him nearly undid me.

I reached for the drawer, tore open foil with shaking fingers, rolled the condom down over myself. Slicked my hand with lube, the smell sharp, mingling with the musk of sweat and sex already thick in the room.

“On your back, Kelly,”

I murmured.

“I want to see you.”

He shifted down against the pillows, muscles taut, chest heaving. His thighs trembled as he spread them, but he didn’t look away from me. Not once.

I kissed my way down his stomach, licked the sharp line of his hipbone, sucked his cock into my mouth just long enough to make him cry out, then pulled back. He was shaking, fisting the sheets, pupils blown.

“Breathe,”

I told him gently as I slicked my fingers.

“Just breathe for me.”

The first press made him tense, his jaw locking, but I rubbed circles over his thigh, whispered.

“That’s it. Let me in.”

His body fought, then eased, his breath coming sharp but steady as I worked him open.

“Feels—strange,”

he gasped, then groaned when I curled my fingers just right. His back arched, sweat beading at his temples.

“Jesus, Emmy—”

“Good strange?”

I asked, kissing the inside of his knee.

“Yeah,”

he panted.

“Good. God, good.”

When I pulled my fingers free, slicking myself, he reached out, grabbed my wrist, eyes wild.

“I need you. Now.”

I lined up, pressed slowly, carefully. His body tensed hard, his breath hitching like it hurt. I kissed his mouth, his jaw, every line of tension.

“Easy, Kelly. I’ve got you. Just breathe. I’ll stop if you need me to.”

He shook his head fiercely, nails digging into my shoulders.

“Don’t stop. Please.”

So I eased deeper, inch by inch, until the heat of him surrounded me, tight and overwhelming. My vision blurred.

“Fuck, Kelly—”

He clung to me, forehead pressed to mine, every muscle trembling. Then slowly, so slowly, he loosened. His hips tilted up, searching. “Okay,”

he whispered, voice ragged. “Move.”

I did. Careful thrusts at first, checking his face with every stroke. His breath caught, lips parting, then a moan broke free, raw and needy.

“Feels—so full,”

he gasped, clinging tighter.

“So good, Emmy—don’t stop.”

And I couldn’t have stopped if I tried. The rhythm built, faster, deeper, the sound of our bodies slapping together mingling with his cries, my groans, the squeak of the mattress. Sweat dripped down my spine, his skin hot under my hands.

I kissed him through it, swallowed every broken sound he made, tasted salt and want and the twenty years we’d both been waiting for.

When he came, it was with a shout muffled against my shoulder, his body clenching around me so hard it ripped the orgasm out of me. I buried myself deep, spilling with a groan that shook through my whole chest.

For a long time, there was only breath — his against my throat, mine rough in his ear — and the smell of sex, sharp and sweet.

I stayed inside him, holding him tight, until the trembling faded. When I finally eased out and stripped the condom away, I pressed a kiss to his temple.

“You okay?”

His eyes were wet, his mouth curved into the smallest, fiercest smile.

“More than okay. You made it good, Emmy. Just like you promised.”

And God help me, I realized I’d never stopped loving him. Not for a single damn day.[27]

We collapsed sideways into the pillows, still slick, my chest heaving against his. His skin stuck to mine, damp and warm, our legs tangled like they’d forgotten how to be separate. For a while, neither of us spoke, the room filled only with the sound of our breathing and the faint whir of the fan above us.

Kellan shifted, pressing his face into the crook of my neck, voice rough and small.

“I’ve never felt like that before.”

I tightened my arm around him, kissed the crown of his damp hair. My throat ached, but the words came steady.

“That’s because it wasn’t just fucking, Kelly. It was us. It was always supposed to be us.”

He exhaled, shaky, and I felt it against my collarbone. His hand slid over my chest and stayed there, palm spread wide, as if he needed to feel every beat of my heart.

We pulled the sheet over us, the fabric cool against overheated skin. He curled into me without hesitation, heavy and sure, like he’d finally found where he belonged. My hand traced idle circles on his back, memorizing every ridge of muscle, every tremor as it ebbed into calm.

His breath evened out slowly, lashes brushing my skin as his eyes fluttered shut. I lay there, watching him drift, the weight of his hand still firm against my chest, like he was staking his claim.

It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just release. It was a line crossed, a door opened, and neither of us had tried to close it.

As his breathing slipped into sleep, I whispered into his hair, soft enough that only the night could hear.

“You’re here. With me. Where you’ve always belonged.”

And for the first time in twenty years, I let myself believe it could last.

June 30

I thought I knew what sex was. Turns out I didn’t know a damn thing. Not until last night. Not until Emmy.

It wasn’t just my first time with a man — it was the first time I felt wanted in every part of me, even the parts I’ve spent half my life trying to bury. He saw me. He touched me. He took every wall I’d built and kissed them down like they were never there.

I kept waiting to feel wrong, dirty, broken. But all I felt was home.

I love him. Hell, I never stopped. Twenty years didn’t kill it, didn’t dull it, didn’t do anything but make me starve for him. Being in his arms last night wasn’t too fast. It wasn’t nearly fast enough.

Two weeks from now, camp ends, and I’m supposed to get on a plane back to LA. Back to the same empty apartment, the same hollow routine. But for the first time in years, I’m hoping for something different. I don’t want to go back to the man I was before this summer. I want a life that has him in it.

Maybe I can finally stop running from myself. Maybe I can start running toward him.

—K