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Back The Companion Project Save as PDF
Chapters (89)
  1. Dedication
  2. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  3. ONE
  4. HENRY
  5. TWO
  6. EMMA
  7. THREE
  8. HENRY
  9. FOUR
  10. EMMA
  11. FIVE
  12. EMMA
  13. SIX
  14. SEVEN
  15. HENRY
  16. EIGHT
  17. NINE
  18. TEN
  19. HENRY
  20. ELEVEN
  21. TWELVE
  22. EMMA
  23. THIRTEEN
  24. HENRY
  25. FOURTEEN
  26. HENRY
  27. FIFTEEN
  28. SIXTEEN
  29. EMMA
  30. SEVENTEEN
  31. HENRY
  32. EIGHTEEN
  33. HENRY
  34. NINETEEN
  35. HENRY
  36. TWENTY
  37. TWENTY-ONE
  38. EMMA
  39. TWENTY-TWO
  40. EMMA
  41. TWENTY-THREE
  42. HENRY
  43. TWENTY-FOUR
  44. EMMA
  45. TWENTY-FIVE
  46. EMMA
  47. TWENTY-SIX
  48. EMMA
  49. TWENTY-SEVEN
  50. HENRY
  51. TWENTY-EIGHT
  52. EMMA
  53. TWENTY-NINE
  54. HENRY
  55. THIRTY
  56. HENRY
  57. THIRTY-ONE
  58. HENRY
  59. THIRTY-TWO
  60. EMMA
  61. THIRTY-THREE
  62. HENRY
  63. THIRTY-FOUR
  64. EMMA
  65. THIRTY-FIVE
  66. EMMA
  67. THIRTY-SIX
  68. HENRY
  69. THIRTY-SEVEN
  70. EMMA
  71. THIRTY-EIGHT
  72. HENRY
  73. THIRTY-NINE
  74. HENRY
  75. FORTY
  76. EMMA
  77. FORTY-ONE
  78. HENRY
  79. FORTY-TWO
  80. FORTY-THREE
  81. EMMA
  82. FORTY-FOUR
  83. EMMA
  84. FORTY-FIVE
  85. HENRY
  86. EPILOGUE
  87. ALSO BY CHELSEA CURTO
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

“Why don’t we take separate showers, get out of these outfits and into something more comfortable, then meet back here in thirty minutes?”

“I agree. Only if you bring me a Zebra Cake,” she teases, and I press a kiss to her cheek.

“Check the bedside table, Sunflower. There’s already one waiting for you.”

THIRTY-ONE

HENRY

I did nothing profound in our time apart.

I didn’t find the solution to eradicate world hunger, and I certainly didn’t win a Nobel Peace Prize. I didn’t write the next great American novel. Even remembering my name is a hazy, distant memory.

I spent the majority of the agonizingly long minutes under an ice-cold shower, freezing water dripping down my shoulders and stomach as I aggressively gripped the temperature knobs to keep from fisting my dick and going to town.

Images of Emma’s legs around my waist danced in my vision, and the sound of her sweet, breathy moans echoed in my ears. I vigorously washed the arousal away with a restrained grunt, doing my best to not think about her.

It was an impossible task.

Slow, Dawson.

You goddamn moron, with your goddamn big mouth.

After thirty minutes away, I’m curious what I’m going to find when I return to my room. Dozens of scenarios play out in my brain. I consider Emma might have turned the light off, feigning sleep so we didn’t continue the building momentum from a short while ago. She might be lounging on the comforter in a sexy pose, arms draped seductively above her head while wearing a sultry expression.

Opening the door, neither of the ideas turn out to be accurate.

She’s on the bed, yeah, but she’s holding a book in her right hand and a Zebra Cake in her left. Every few seconds, she pauses, taking a bite of the sweet treat before resuming her reading.

The scene is so flawlessly her.

My heart skips a beat at the intimate moment. Fucking like animals is one thing, but allowing another person to share a bed with you when you’re the most vulnerable and raw, half-asleep in the early morning hours? It’s a big fucking step. It’s promising. Bordering on the edge of forever.

It’s why I’ve never had a sleepover before. No woman has infiltrated my space long enough to get comfortable in my sheets, making herself at home while we slumber peacefully, limbs intertwined and breathing in unison.

Until her.