Fuck me, Em. Was totally not expecting that. Will store in my spank bank for future reference. You look good in black.
His response warmed her. She didn’t really have it in her to play the role of seductress. You look good naked.
Like this, or more? The message was accompanied by another photograph, this one taken a little farther out. He’d lowered the sheet so she could see both of those V-lines near his hips and a covered but clearly hard erection.
Her stomach clenched in anticipation, and she squeezed her knees together.
Emerson rolled onto her side, grateful that she’d shaved her legs that morning, and slid the hem of the slip up her leg until it just skimmed the top of her thigh. She bit her lip and took the picture, but before she sent it, she zoomed in as far as her phone would let her to make sure nothing truly private was showing. The lamp light cast a bronze glow over her skin and somehow made her look…sexier. At least sexier than she felt on a daily basis. Or sexier than she’d felt since before meeting Connor.
I’m stroking myself, imagining coming on that thigh of yours. And it’s hard to type with one thumb. He’d added a crying laughing emoji.
Emerson opened her drawer and pulled out her vibrator. She snapped a photograph of it. I’ve got a stand-in for you.
Rolling onto her back, she turned it on, and placed it on the spot she knew would get her off quickest.
Connor responded. Fuck, I wish I could see that in real life sometime. The idea of you using it right now is such a fucking turn-on.
Too far past the point of responding, she rocked against it, tightening her abs as she thought of Connor in his bed masturbating to a photograph of her and the mental image of exactly what she was doing right now.
It was enough to send her over the edge, sensations coursing through her, that immediate moment of almost blacking out from the pleasure of it all. It took her breath away.
A moment later, her phone buzzed. That was the next best thing to being buried deep inside you, Em.
Funny, she’d just thought the exact same thing. Yeah, battery-operated boyfriends don’t cuddle.
Just debated getting in the car to come see you for that very reason.
She liked that he held her after they’d made love. It affirmed that she was really something more than convenient sex.
Is it weird that you mean so much after such a short time? she asked.
There was a pause of a few minutes, and just as her doubts began to crash in, he replied.
More than dry chocolate brownie with melty ice cream?
Emerson grinned. He’d remembered their conversation in San Francisco. Perhaps a bit more than that.
More than the Chinese food in that Cleveland mall?
She thought for a moment and then typed. That might be stretching it.
He sent her a grinning emoji.
Then a heart.
No, Emerson. It’s not weird. This is like chicken stuffed with lemons and butter and herbs. We had to experience everything else to realize just how special this is. Good night, sweetheart.
Her heart soared as she hugged her phone to her chest. She wasn’t weird.
She was falling in love.
Thank you for the flowers. They smell glorious.
Connor wasn’t certain what had inspired him to arrange the delivery of white roses to Emerson, but somewhere between getting home to his condo the previous evening and messaging with Emerson, he realized she had become the difference in his day. And it hadn’t been the fact she’d been willing to shock the hell out of him with some fucking sexy pics and an orgasm. It was knowing it was her. Emerson. She was likely in the distillery, building something with her family, fighting valiantly to find out what the hell kind of mess her father had left her in. Yet she still had the capacity to be balanced, sweet, and caring.
“Connor,” his father called as Connor passed by his office on his way to the supply chain department, interrupting his thoughts.
“What can I help you with?” he asked, curtly.
His father sighed. “It’s been nearly two weeks, Connor. Is this…atmosphere…really necessary?”
Connor took a deep breath before answering. “I’m being professional. I’m surpassing my targets. And my team is assisting every other department in the business with the exception of finance. Do you have any genuine concerns?”
Sweat dotted his father’s forehead. “That wasn’t what I meant, Connor. You’re being…”
Connor stood silently and let his father flounder.
“You know what I mean,” Donovan blustered.
“No, Dad. I don’t. As I explained to you ten days ago, when I came to see you, I find it unacceptable that you made the decision you did. I find it abhorrent that you did it without the decency to speak with me first. That decision stalls my career aspirations for the next five years. And I’m not prepared to let that happen.”
A meeting broke out across the hallway, and Connor watched as the participants headed toward the elevator. Men in suits. Another distribution deal. Finch Liquor Distribution was the riverbed through which all liquor flowed, but there was nothing to hold on to. And while he worked hard and did a great job, Connor suddenly realized he wasn’t in love with what he did. It wasn’t passion that got him out of bed in the morning; it was routine. He didn’t show up every day because he loved liquor distribution, he showed up because it was expected, because it had been drilled into him every day since he could remember that Finch would be his one day. Suddenly, not only did he question if that was what he wanted, but worse, the idea that this was all he had going for the rest of his
