The Emi Lost & Found Series

  “Dessert...” he says as he carries me into the bedroom and sets me down before pulling his t-shirt back on and walking to the door.

  I glance quickly at myself in the mirror, unable to wipe the smile off my face. I arrange the pillows on the bed and pull the comforter and sheets back, sitting down on the edge of it as I wait for the room service attendant to leave. I love him. I love how he takes care of me. How he listens to me. How he kisses me. How attentive he is, and thoughtful. I love his sensitive blue eyes, his toned body, how he picks me up to kiss me... I love how he always worries I’ll be too cold– how he knows I always will be. I love that he wants children. I love that he’s best friends with my brother. I love that he waited... is continuing to wait for me. His patience... how certain he is about his feelings for me, as well as mine for him. I think he’s known longer than I have. I love him. I do. Then why is it so scary to say it?

  “I think we have something to celebrate,” he says, handing me a glass of champagne. “To us.”

  “To us.” We clink glasses and take a sip. “So what’s for dessert?”

  “Well...” He takes both of our glasses and sets them on the night stand before crawling on the bed toward me, kissing my left thigh, then my right one. “Mmmm...” he says, his lips creating a vibrating sensation on my leg. “Dessert...” he raises up, kissing my collarbone.

  “Dessert,” I sputter, the air in my lungs gone. He laughs quietly under his breath as he pulls away.

  “Dessert. Yes. We have an assortment of fruits, because I know you like fruit...” he begins, “and mango ice cream.”

  “Sounds...” I murmur, food no longer on my mind.

  “Stay there. I’ll bring it in.”

  “Uh-huh,” I agree, intoxicated by him, scooting closer to the pillows and sitting cross-legged on the bed, grabbing my ankles nervously. He sets a silver tray in the middle of the bed and sits down across from me. We each take a spoon and share the ice cream and fruit.

  “Tell me about your Christmas,” he requests, the sexual tension finally settling in the room. And yet, I want it back. I nibble quickly, anxious to get back to our previous activity, as I tell him about my Christmas with my family and he tells me about his day spent volunteering at a local shelter. When we’re finished, I move the tray to the night stand.

  “Thank you,” I tell him.

  “You’re welcome.” His eyes are suggestive as I crawl toward his end of the bed. I kiss him before kneeling in front of him and take his shirt in my hands again. I lift it over his head and toss it on the floor. His warm hands clutch my waist before he gathers the ends of my camisole. “Is this okay?” he asks. I nod, raising my arms. He slowly removes my shirt, dragging his fingers along my ribs, breasts, arms, hands.

  “You’re cold,” he whispers.

  “A little,” I answer, crawling closer into his body and putting my arms around his neck; his lips, tongue finding mine. He moans slightly, feeling my naked breasts press up against his chest. He gets on his knees and puts his hands on my back, picking me up and moving me to the pillows.

  “Do you want to get under the covers?” he asks.

  “No. I want you to warm me up,” I tell him.

  When I take my arms from his neck, his fingers intertwine with mine as he pulls one of my hands over my head and grasps it tightly. His other arm is holding his body over mine, his knees on either side of my thighs.

  “How?” he asks between kisses as my fingernails trace down his side, to his stomach, his navel, to the waistline of his pants. I waver... over or under? He pulls away slightly to look into my eyes. His passion for me is obvious in his gaze. Is this fair? Selfish? Over...

  My palm gently pressed against him, he exhales slowly, his head tucked into a pillow over my shoulder. My breathing quickens, excited at his arousal, nervous that I won’t be strong enough, worried that he won’t keep his word.

  Why not tonight? I can’t think clearly; can’t remember why I asked him to wait again. I can no longer trust myself. I want him. Fuck, Emi, it’s okay to want him! The inner cheerleader back, I begin to let go. His hips move against my hand, which I move lower, closer to my body. His body comes with it.

  His lips move to my neck, kissing ravenously. I feel like he’s losing control, too. His tongue travels from my neck, across my collarbone to my breasts. As he pulls back, he picks up one of his legs and nudges it in between mine. I moan quietly, unsure if the sound is coming from my own desire to truly be with him, or as a protest to him moving toward the one thing I asked him not to do.

  I comply, and allow not one, but both of his legs between mine. His eyes ask for permission before he puts the weight of his body on me. I pull his head to mine, my mouth parted and thirsting for his, granting his every wish. I will let it go as far as he wants. I only hope he wants it all.

  As soon as his body makes contact with mine, I curse the flannel and cotton that still keep us apart. He slides his body up, slowly, against mine, then down again.

  “Oh, god,” we say in unison, causing us both to laugh. He moves my hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. I smile and nod.

  “Are you?”

  “Yes,” he says, pushing again. “Are you warming up?” he asks.

  “Oh, yes,” I tell him as he pulls back again.

  “Would you like me to keep going?” Again, a smile and a nod. Fuck it. Let go, Emi... just let go. He’s safe. Let go.

  His lips touch the tip of my nose lightly as he pushes once more. My cheeks are next, as he pulls back. Push. Earlobe. Pull. Neck. Each motion is unhurried, thoughtful, focused. I can feel my entire body pulsating in anticipation. I am sure he can feel it against him.

  His movements slow, eventually stop. His kisses continue, though not as deep as I want them to be. I feel like I can’t get close enough to him. I wrap my legs around him, trying to spur him back into action, my hips rocking slightly.

  He laughs and kneels up, his hands behind his back to remove my legs. “Jack, it’s okay,” I tell him, suddenly afraid that he’s stopping, afraid he’s going to keep his word. He smiles, his hands moving slowly up my thighs, over my panties, up my abdomen and pausing only briefly on my breasts. He moves his hands back to my waist, clutching tightly, and leans over and kisses my stomach. He picks me up gently, my back naturally arching. I exhale, nervously, as his kiss moves to my navel, then to the hem of my panties.

  “What’s your definition of making out?” he whispers, his eyes focused on the ruffle, his fingers barely skimming the elastic.

  “It’s okay, Jack,” I exhale.

  He sighs before continuing, pulling lightly at my panties. “Would you consider this making out?” He kisses just below the hem. “Or would this be crossing a line?” he asks.

  “Making out,” I answer anxiously. “But Jack, really, it’s okay,” I encourage him again. “I’m ready.” He smiles and nods before gripping the sides of my sleep shorts in his hand and tugging gently. I lift my hips off the bed to help him, tuck my knees in. He pulls the shorts off and sets them next to him on the bed. I study his face as his eyes scan every inch of my naked body.

  “You are ravishing, Emi,” he says quietly, his hands clutching just above my pelvis.

  “Thank you,” I blush. He, once again, hovers his body over mine to kiss me. I put my hands in his hair, wanting him, needing him. He pulls back and watches my expression as I feel his hand, his warm fingers, touching me.

  Oh. My. God. It has been too long. I bite my bottom lip before the smile appears.

  “Is that good?” he asks, his smile matching my own as he moves his hand slowly.

  “Mmm-hmmm,” I answer him. He lies down on his side next to me, tucking his other arm beneath my neck, angling my head toward his so our lips can meet. His tongue teases in unison with his fingers. The pressure is deep for a few seconds, then he pulls his lips, fingers, away ever so slightly. Every time he does, I pull his head closer to mine, angle my hips towa
rd him more, wanting him, needing him.

  I pull his body back on top of mine, and he finds his place once again in between my legs. He moves his lips away from mine, back down my body. Neck. Collarbone. Breasts, where they linger, his soft tongue memorizing the landscape. Ribcage. Stomach. Navel. He skips down to the scar on my knee once more. God, the anticipation is killing me! Finally, his lips move back up to my abdomen, just before I decide to direct him where I want him. Fortunately, we both have the same thing in mind.

  Fuck, he is amazing. His lips, his tongue, his palm, his long fingers, fuck. I am completely and utterly, wanting him, needing him, undone.

  As I’m coming down, I can’t wait any longer to kiss him again, so I lean up and greedily pull him back to me. He eagerly obliges, feeding my hunger, rubbing my temples with his thumbs, wiping away beads of sweat. His hips move slowly, lightly, between my legs, my body grateful for his presence. I push at the hem of his pants, wanting to share this euphoric bliss with him. He finds my hands and pulls them over my head, pinning them down while he continues to gratify the yearning of my lips.

  “Are you warmer now?” he asks as I gasp for air, his free hand outlining my body on the sheets.

  “Jack,” I breathe, “I want to make love to you.”

  He huffs with a smile and moves to my side. He lets go of my arms and props himself up on one elbow. His eyes are still dark and full of desire, still pining for me. He runs his fingers up and down the center of my body, obviously considering my offer. I entwine my fingers with his and push him onto his back, climbing on top of him.

  “Let me make love to you,” I repeat, scooting back and taking the waistband of his pants into my hands, tugging. Again, he restrains my wrists, this time shaking his head at me.

  “Not tonight, Emi,” he says, a small smile on his lips, his eyes playful. “You made me promise.”

  “But you said tonight was about me. Whatever I want it to be. I want to be with you, Jack. I want you to make love to me.” He releases my hands and I lie down, pressing my breasts against his chest, my lips drawn to his. “Please?”

  “Emi...” he hedges, laughing quietly, his hands resting on my lower back. “You were... settled... in your... decision... determined,” he reasons, his words coming between my desperate kisses, my fingers working overtime to make his hair a perfect mess. He takes my face in his hands and holds it a few inches from his, his eyes searching the depths of mine. “Not tonight, you said,” he reminds me mischievously.

  “Yes, tonight,” I plead.

  “No, Em,” he repeats complacently, angling his body to push me off of him. He kisses me again, touches my cheek softly. I sneak my hand beneath his pants and feel him. Although his eyes look sated and in control, I learn very quickly that he is not. With more force, he grabs my hand and pulls it to his lips, kissing it.

  “No, Emi,” he says firmly, biting back a smirk. “I’ll be right back.” Before I can protest, he leaves me, naked and alone on the bed as he exits the bedroom. “Water?” he calls back to me.

  “I don’t want water...” I whine softly, frustrated, climbing under the blankets for warmth... and to hide from him the obvious expression of rejection that I can’t keep from my face. I pull the sheets over my head, my body still yearning for his touch.

  I hear the seal of a bottle of water being broken after something lightweight thuds against my stomach. I peek out at Jack from beneath the covers. He smiles slyly at me, his eyes averting quickly to the thing on my abdomen and back to my face. “You sure you don’t want some water?”

  I shake my head stubbornly as I sit up a little to see what he has thrown onto the bed... and I have never been so happy to see a box of condoms in all of my life. My smile grows quickly as Jack sets the water on the night stand. I open the box feverishly and take a small package out, tossing the box next to his water.

  “Now, Emi,” he says, turning off the lamp, undressing to his boxers, slowly, and climbing under the covers into bed with me, his expression one of smug satisfaction. “I don’t ever want you to think that I’m not a man of my word.”

  “Jack, I’m not thinking about your words right now.” I lie back down, turning on my side to face him, setting the condom down in between us.

  “Of course you’re not,” he laughs, his body settling into the bed, mirroring mine.

  “But for the record... you still will be. You said we would do whatever I want... that this was my night... remember?”

  “So those are the words you want me to honor?” He runs his hand through my hair, tugging it lightly to reposition my head. His lips move closer to mine but he stops less than an inch from them.

  “Yes,” I whisper, my eyes closing in anticipation. “Please,” I beg.

  “And whatever do you want to do, my sweet Emi?” His breath is sweet and warm against my skin.

  “Stop teasing me,” I laugh, my eyes now pleading with him. “Take me. Now. Make love to me. Please.”

  “You’re sure?” he asks tentatively, the thumb of his other hand brushing my cheek softly.

  “Yes.”

  He kisses my forehead.

  “You’re ready?” he adds.

  “God, yes, please...”

  He kisses the tip of my nose.

  “You promise?”

  His lips touch mine, able to feel the word “yes” form against them. He moistens my lips as he licks his own. “God, I want you,” I tell him, the taste of him pushing me over the edge. His lips brush against mine lightly, teasing me as they always do, but mine press back against his harder, needing more... as mine always do.

  A low moan forms in the back of his throat as the kiss becomes deeper, hungrier. Slowly, his body presses against mine, pushing me back onto the bed. His hands planted into the mattress on either side of my shoulders, he pushes away from me and nudges my legs apart with his knees.

  “Far be it from me to not give the lady what she wants...” I realize he’s still wearing his boxers, and as my hands grasp the strong muscles of his upper arms, I bring my feet up and hook my toes under the waistband of his underwear, my cold toes meeting the warm skin of his hips, thighs, knees, then calves. He kicks off the garment and smiles, his eyes reflecting the same desire that fills my entire body.

  “But it seems like she knows what she wants. God, that was sexy.” He lowers his head to kiss me.

  “Wait, Jack...” I stop him, my hands now caressing his face and pushing him away so I can see into his blue eyes. “Stop,” I whisper. All of his actions cease and he raises his brows in consternation.

  “But–” I cut him off, putting my finger over his lips.

  “I just wanted to tell you that I love you, Jack. I didn’t want there to be any doubt.”

  He slowly lowers his body onto mine, keeping most of his weight off of me by resting on his elbows. He cradles my face, his thumbs covering the deep dimples brought out by my broad smile. The corners of his lips curl up slowly as he shakes his head.

  “I already know, Emi. I never had any doubt. But thank you for telling me.” His lips finally reach mine, warm and soft and gentle. “May I continue now?” he mumbles through our kiss, through a smile.

  “Please, yes,” I giggle.

  “I love you, too,” he whispers next to my ear, his breath tickling me. “Let me show you.”

  “Wait, Jack?” I interrupt once more.

  “What, Emi?” he says, smiling, but sounding slightly annoyed, his lips continuing their journey across my neck, his hand reaching for the foil packet next to him.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas, my sweet Emi.” He lifts his head and looks into my eyes, his stare leaving no doubt in my mind about his feelings toward me. He kisses me sweetly, distracting me until I feel the pain– the good pain– that I hadn’t felt in so long. I gasp at the contact, and he stills and waits for me to open my eyes. Even through his desire, I see his concern.

  “Are you okay?” he asks softly.

  I nod slowly
, biting my lip.

  “You’re not breathing,” he tells me.

  Breathe, Emi. ...take soft breaths...

  “Oh,” I exhale after remembering more of the poem. I concentrate hard on Jack, getting used to the feel of him, closing my eyes again, wanting to think of him– and only him– in this moment.

  “We’ll go slow.” His voice envelops me, comforts me.

  I nod again, a smile breaking across my face.

  “Just relax,” he says as I finally feel him rest his body on mine. His lips brush against my cheek, and when I look at him again, he’s watching me react to his slow and cautious motions. I put my hands on both sides of his face and pull his mouth to mine. I gasp and wince again at the ache within.

  “Does it hurt?” he asks.

  “It’s fine,” I tell him breathily. Yes, of course it hurts, it’s been a year, but god, I don’t want you to stop. “It’s good. I’m okay.”

  “Hold on,” he says, pulling away, his sudden absence causing me to inhale sharply. He smiles at me as he strokes my cheek, then lifts my head to his for another kiss as he pulls the pillow out from under it.

  “What are you–”

  “Lift up,” he says, helping me to raise my lower back so he can put the pillow beneath me. He weaves his fingers in between mine, my hands on the bed resting on either side of my head. He watches my reaction to his touch, the connection more comfortable, but deeper, and the new angle bringing a surprising sensation that I had never felt before.

  “Oh, Emi,” he breathes, closing his eyes for the first time.

  “Oh,” I sigh with a smile, hungrily pulling him toward me for another kiss as he moves over me. My heart pounds in my chest.

  “Better?” he laughs lightly, skimming his lips over mine, touching his nose to mine, teasing me in more ways than one.

  “The best,” I breathe as he pushes against me again. “I don’t... How did... Oh god...”

  “I know,” he answers quickly. “God, I know...” He continues without hurrying, kissing me with such reverence and care, and at the same time I decide I want this feeling to last all night, I want him more, want him now, want him urgently, want him... forever.