Chapters (89)
- Dedication
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ONE
- HENRY
- TWO
- EMMA
- THREE
- HENRY
- FOUR
- EMMA
- FIVE
- EMMA
- SIX
- SEVEN
- HENRY
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- HENRY
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- EMMA
- THIRTEEN
- HENRY
- FOURTEEN
- HENRY
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- EMMA
- SEVENTEEN
- HENRY
- EIGHTEEN
- HENRY
- NINETEEN
- HENRY
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- EMMA
- TWENTY-TWO
- EMMA
- TWENTY-THREE
- HENRY
- TWENTY-FOUR
- EMMA
- TWENTY-FIVE
- EMMA
- TWENTY-SIX
- EMMA
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- HENRY
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- EMMA
- TWENTY-NINE
- HENRY
- THIRTY
- HENRY
- THIRTY-ONE
- HENRY
- THIRTY-TWO
- EMMA
- THIRTY-THREE
- HENRY
- THIRTY-FOUR
- EMMA
- THIRTY-FIVE
- EMMA
- THIRTY-SIX
- HENRY
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- EMMA
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- HENRY
- THIRTY-NINE
- HENRY
- FORTY
- EMMA
- FORTY-ONE
- HENRY
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- EMMA
- FORTY-FOUR
- EMMA
- FORTY-FIVE
- HENRY
- EPILOGUE
- ALSO BY CHELSEA CURTO
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“Is tomorrow too soon?” I ask, not wanting to come across as too strong. Too avid and enthusiastic. Her answering smile tells me all I need to know.
“Tomorrow is perfect.”
* * *
The next day at work is excruciating. Between it being Monday, returning to the office after a few days away, and Emma constantly on my mind, I constantly forget about the contracts I have piled on my desk. Instead of focusing on my clients, who usually have my full attention, I’m wondering if she’s having a good day. If she slept well. If she’s eaten lunch yet and what’s on the menu.
While I wish we could have spent last night together, it was nice to have a little bit of space. I know Emma probably appreciated it after spending multiple days without an escape, needing some alone time. She took full advantage of our time apart, given she sent me a picture of her in a bubble bath, face and body visible this time, the suds not hiding any of her feminine features. I jerked off to the photo in bed, picturing her mouth over my dick as I came into my hand, much preferring the sticky aftermath landing down her throat instead of on my stomach.
I can’t help it. She’s somehow infiltrated every facet of my brain. Today we’ve exchanged a collection of secret smiles in the hallway, and I catalog each one in my memory bank, wanting to ask her what she was thinking at the exact moment when she looked so fucking happy.
I’m itching to hold her and kiss her. It didn’t help that she snuck into my office earlier, closed the door and sat on my lap for two minutes, hands in my hair, mouth on my neck, whispering about how she always wondered what it would be like to hook up with me in my office, our colleagues a few feet away.
Cuddling and affection before or after sex has never been my jam; yeah, I enjoy foreplay and the buildup, but at the end of the act, I don’t want any mindless caressing or lovey-dovey gestures.
Until she came along.
It’s different with Emma. I want to hug her. Push her hair out of her face, kiss her forehead, and nod along while she tells me all the secrets of the universe. I want to sleep with my face tucked in her neck, her body wound around mine.
When I park my truck in her driveway that evening, I take a moment to collect myself. My heart is beating so fast, it rivals a steel drum. I’m surprised no one can hear it. I’m hopeful. Optimistic. Reckless and bold, because she is waiting for me.
And I’m a lucky fucking man.