Page 80 of Emerson

Zane has an eyebrow quirked, smirking, and that's never a good thing. “Like you've been getting dic—”

“Language,” Ma sighs, pouring herself more wine.

“Yeah, I see what you mean. There is definitely a look.” Ian tilts his head slightly, still looking at me.

“Do you have a boyfriend, Emerson?” Dillon asks, a damn twinkle in his bright blue eyes. “Or maybe just a secret fling you're hiding from your whole family? So dramatic baby B.”

I sputter, and…

Fuck. I looked at him. And now my roll is out of my hand and sailing across the dinner table right at his face.

He snatches it out of the air before it can land, laughing that goddamn laugh.

I hate him.

What's worse is the way his amused smile turns right before my eyes, horrifying me further. It's soft, and reminds me of the smile he gave me the other night after we had sex. I was sweaty and spiraling from the whole night, and all he could do was smile. He pressed it into my neck, and I felt it there until we both fell asleep.

Emerson

To: EBStyles

From: DMont95

Subject: Thank God for Mondays

Have I mentioned how much I hate weekends? It was torture not being able to kiss you goodbye last night after dinner.

Dillon has my hips in a death grip as I ride him reverse, hands above his knees. He feels so, so deep this way, I can hardly breathe. My hair tickles the center of my back when I tilt my head back, moaning his name when he pulls me down to take him harder. Then he presses me forward more, and I arch my back, looking over my shoulder.

His eyes are looking down, and I know exactly where he’s looking when he rubs his fingers around where we’re connected. I slow my movements, dragging him out slowly until just the tip is inside, then a slow decent that has us both groaning.

“You’re going to kill me, Emery. Just like that—let me watch you.”

Dillon’s toes curl into the bedding when he finally grabs me around the waist and uses me, my cum already coating his thighs.

It’s not until I’m panting, my heart racing and mind fuzzy, that I see across the room. The open suitcases, half-packed. The stacks of clothes waiting to be put inside.

It feels like swallowing glass, my mouth is so dry.

Dillon kisses my shoulder, rubs his hands up and down my arms.

“I missed you today,” he murmurs, pushing my hair out of the way so he can kiss me below my ear.

My eyes burn from not blinking. I don’t know why it’s so surprising to see the bag there. To see him preparing to leave. My insides tense, and he chuckles, mistaking my mood for being a cheeky, sexy movement and not whatever this is.

I wince when I pull off and blink furiously when Dillon’s hands slowly fall from my skin as I scramble away.

“I have an early morning tomorrow.” I don’t bother going to the bathroom to clean up, just find the clothes he pulled off me in a rush when I got here and get dressed. Nearly tripping in my haste to pull my pants up.

“You okay?” he asks, still in the same spot, propped up on his headboard. He’s not looking at me but down at his palms. I think we both know the answer to that question.

“Great.” I slip my feet into my clogs and find my phone.

It was easier to fuck him than it is to walk back to the bed, lean over it, and wait for him to look at me. Cobalt pools of misery look at me, and we don’t break eye contact when I press my lips to his. “Bye, Dill.”

His hand shoots out and grabs mine before I can step away. “We should talk.”

“About what?”