Emma's dad spits gin all over the mayor and her mother screams. Chaos erupts, with staff members rushing over to dab up the mayor and wait staff offering everyone ice water. I just stand there, holding Emma against my body, enjoying the feel of her shaking gently, trying not to laugh. I found out who this event was for, and knew she would be here. Hell, I wanted to just skip the whole thing rather than deal with any drama. Maria, of course, practically dragged me here. I had intended to avoid Emma all night, but when I saw her walk in wearing that dress I just about came in my pants.
Then I saw her talking to that douchebag and I realized something huge. I don't want anyone else to be with Emma, because I want to be with Emma. I don't just want to sleep with her. I want to make her smile, and watch her get excited about researching weird, morbid articles. I don't want her going to fundraisers with uptight men who use too much gel. I want her with me, even if that means figuring out how to talk about my feelings and being in a fucking relationship. And realizing that makes my dick even harder than it was before.
I thrust my hips against Emma's back, letting her know just what's going on with me, and she inhales sharply. "Yes, Chezz," I whisper into her ear. "I want you right fucking now."
She looks over her shoulder, and then back to her family. Her mother and sister are dabbing the mayor with napkins and apologizing while her father puts on a fake smile and tries talking to the guests who have pulled in closer to see what's going on. Nobody is going to notice our absence for a long time, and I grab Emma's hand, pulling her down the hall to the bathroom.
Outside the door, she grabs the wall. "Wait," she says, shaking her head. "No."
"Chezz," I say, nuzzling her neck, "I need you."
She flicks my chest and backs away from me. "You were such a dick the last time we talked, Thatcher, and now I haven't heard a word from you all week."
I sigh. "I know, Emma. I know. Please understand that this whole week? This whole month, really, has been so hard for me." I try to close the distance between us, needing to be close to her. "I don't know how to do all this," I say, waving my hand between us as she scowls at me. "But I'd love it if you could give me a chance to try."
Her face softens. "What do you mean? Try what, Thatcher?"
I pull her pale wrist to my lips and kiss her softly, stalling while I try to think of what I need to say. It all sounds so lame when I think about telling her everything on my mind. I look into her green eyes and see trust there, behind her frustration. I shrug. "Just try to be better at talking to you. I don't want to push you away anymore. I want to be right by your side, even if you're puking in my brother's yard. I want to fight with you and bring you sandwiches. Be with you."
She crosses her arms and frowns. "You want to be with me? Like for 3 more days?"
I shake my head. "No. I mean yes, but I don't want to stop on Saturday. Emma." I touch her cheek. "I want all of you." I gesture over to her family. "All of that."
Emma licks her lips and runs her fingers along my collar. I breathe a sigh of relief, because I think I have won her back over. "All of this?" she asks, stretching up on tiptoes and biting my lower lip. I grin at her and kick open the bathroom door, tugging her in alongside me.
Once we're inside, I twist the lock and pull her in, sinking my lips against hers. I moan because it feels so god-damned good to taste her again. I delve into the corners of her mouth with my tongue, needing to claim her, to show her all the things I can't find words to say. She emits a tiny moan and I'm done for. I spin her around, looking over her shoulder at our reflection in the mirror as I pull her in to my chest. My hands splay over her tits, feeling her nipples spring to life under that tight-ass dress, and I slide one hand up to fist her hair. She has it all curly and draped over one shoulder and it looks hot as fuck.
I tug on her hair, tilting her face up toward mine. "Emma," I whisper, my lips against her mouth. "Look how good we look together." She moans as I move my hand to her skirt, inching up the hem until I can slide a hand around to her wet heat. "You're so wet, Chezz," I say, nipping at her ear, watching her reflection in the mirror.
Emma leans forward, supporting her weight on the counter as I yank down her panties. She bites her lower lip and turns to look at me directly. "I can't believe we're doing this, Thatcher! In the bathroom at the Warhol…"
"Believe it, Emma." I drop a kiss on her mouth and pull one of her hands to my crotch. I help her ease down my fly and when she hoists my dick out of my pants I grunt like a wild animal. That's how she makes me feel--feral. I suck on Emma's neck and nudge her thighs apart with my knee as I palm my shaft. She's panting for me, and when I slide a finger along her pussy, I feel that she's swollen and wet. "You ready, Em?"
I line my tip up to her opening, teasing her folds and sliding along her wet seam. "Mmm, Thatcher, please. Now," she says, jutting her hips back against me, drawing me inside. I grin into the mirror and thrust inside, sliding home. Something snaps inside me, and I think about how this is the only place I want to be. The only woman I want by my side, around my cock…everything. "Thatcher," she says, her voice snapping me back to the present.
Emma is slamming her hips back against me, bracing her arms against the sink and moaning. I match her rhythm and the sound of our skin slapping together echoes off the bathroom walls. I'm not going to last. It's been too long since I was with her, and I got too worked up seeing her talk to that asshole. "Chezz," I pant.
She nods. "I'm close, Thatcher. Oh! God, yes. Just like that." Her head drops back against my chest and I pull her tight, wrapping both arms around her body and rocking into her.
"Emma!" Her name is a plea, a prayer, a release, and I feel her contracting around me, coming right with me as I pour into her until I'm spent and replenished, empty and somehow bursting all at once.