“Hey, Em!” I open my arms, inviting her into a hug. “Don’t worry; it looks much worse than it feels. I went out with a friend of mine on a four-wheeling excursion, and I misjudged a jump. It’ll all heal soon. I already got everything checked out.”
Hesitantly, she steps into my embrace, but as soon as I wrap my arms around her, pressing our chests together, she relaxes and sags into me. “Oh, Madden,” she whispers. “I’ve missed the way you smell.”
I nearly vomit in her hair. I hope she likes the smell of a prison cell.
“I’ve missed you too. So much,” I lie, kissing her forehead as we break apart. “Can I pour you a glass of wine? I picked up a couple of different Pinot Noirs today. I know that’s your favorite.”
She beams up at me like I just asked her if she wanted to get married. Stupid whore. “Yes, definitely! I’ll have whatever you’re drinking.”
Padding my bare feet across the tiled floor, I reach up to grab another wine goblet from the cabinet, making sure to get one from the top shelf so my shirt rises up. Her eyes follow my every move, and when I feel the cool air kiss the exposed skin of my stomach, directly above where my worn jeans hang loosely on my hips, she hisses like the conniving snake she is.
I pour the wine slowly, still with my back to her, as I count backward to keep my cool. Then, with a cocky smirk on my face, I turn around and close the gap between us. “I think you’re really gonna like this.”
Licking her lips, she ogles me shamelessly, too self-absorbed to realize how bizarre it is that my attitude toward her has suddenly done a complete one-eighty. Of course, she doesn’t question it. She probably wonders why it took me a week to come crawling back to her.
“I already know I’ll like it,” she replies, making it clear she’s not talking about the wine as she takes the glass from my hand.
She’s making this way too easy. I’ll have her eating out of my hand by dessert. “Are you hungry now? I had Sarah prepare us beef tenderloin with garlic risotto. It’s warm in the oven.”
Her eyes light up as she sips the wine, nodding excitedly. “Sounds delicious.”
Over the next hour, after I apologize for the mistake of her being fired, we reminisce about our childhood over dinner and two bottles of wine, most of it being poured in her glass. I’m careful not to bring up Blake or the events of the last week in any way, purposely reminding Emerson of her and my long history together and why she should trust me. I do it, because I know I have to do it, but throughout the meal, the rage inside me begins to grow until I literally have to bite my tongue to not ask her what I really want to. Patience is not a virtue I’ve been blessed with.
By the time we stand up to clear our dishes off the table, she’s giggly and giddy, definitely feeling the effects of the wine. She nearly trips over her own feet on the short trip to the sink, grabbing onto my arm to keep her balance. I flinch at her touch, but luckily she’s too busy hiccupping and laughing about her misstep to notice.
I rinse the plates and silverware while she continues to hang on my left side, rubbing her boobs back and forth against my bicep. “How much longer are you gonna make me wait?”
“Wait for what?” I ask as I turn the faucet off and twist to face her, a sly smile curling up only one corner of my mouth.
Lifting up on her toes, she brings her lips up to my ear, nipping at the lobe. “That apology fuck you promised me,” she rasps.
“I only remember the apology part of that promise,” I tease, playing the game.
She leans back slightly and peers up at me through her eyelashes. “Are you telling me you didn’t invite me over to fuck?” she asks, emphasizing the last word by cupping my flaccid dick through my jeans.
“Maybe we should skip the banana pudding and go straight upstairs? I think you might be the sweetest thing in this house anyway.” I hate myself before I even finish the sentence, despite knowing it’s necessary to get her where I need her.
Her face lights up and she takes off running for the stairs, stumbling and sputtering the entire way to my room. I remind myself over and over again as I follow her that I’m doing this because I love Blake. She will understand why when I’m finally able to explain it to her. And if I don’t do it, I may never get that chance.
By the time I cross the threshold into my bedroom, Emerson has already shed her dress and shoes, and she’s lying spread eagle in my bed, wearing only a black thong. She’s got one hand stuck down the front of her panties, petting herself, and the other rolling her left nipple between her fingers.
“Wow, you move fast.” I chuckle, glancing over at the closet door to make sure she didn’t accidentally close it as she ran by. Relieved, I see it’s exactly how I left it.
“It’s been too long since I’ve been in this bed,” she says breathlessly, her eyes locked on me. “It’s where I belong.”
Walking toward the nightstand, I’m unable to watch her touch herself on my bed without dry heaving. I’ll have to buy new furniture tomorrow. And burn the sheets.
“Where you belong, eh?” I ask flirtatiously as I pull the handcuffs out of the bottom drawer then dangle them over her face. “Then you won’t mind if I keep you where you belong with these, will you?”
Excitement flashes across her face. She thinks I want to play. Stupid bitch.
“I don’t mind at all, Mr. Decker,” she purrs, batting her fake lashes while lifting her arms above her head. “Are you gonna punish me for being a bad little assistant?”
After I thread the chain through the slats of the headboard and secure her wrists together, I grin wolfishly down at her. “That depends on if you’ve been bad or not. Is there anything you need to tell me?”
She wrinkles up her nose, pretending to think, then shakes her head. “Not that I can think of.”
The next thing I pull out of the drawer is a blindfold, and I waste no time in slipping it over her eyes. She doesn’t resist.
I move to the end of the bed, positioning myself to the side so she can clearly be seen on the camera. Then, after several deep breaths and a silent prayer, I pick her leg up and begin to massage it. My fingers blister against her skin, the ugliness in her bubbling just under the deceitfully attractive exterior.
“Oh, that feels so damn good,” she moans as I rub from the arch of her foot, up the back of her ankle, to her calf.
“You missed me, Em?” I lead her into the conversation I’ve been dying to have all night, my hands gradually traveling north. “Missed being here in my bed? This is what you want?”
She whimpers and nods. “You know I have, Madden. It’s always been you for me. I’d do anything for you.”
I reach the back of her knee and ease up on my touch to a light stroke back and forth. “I made a mistake by getting involved with Blake. I was too blind to see what’s always been right here in front of me. Never thought you took what we had seriously, but I realize now I was wrong.”
When I stop talking, I resume the kneading motion as I inch up the inside of her thigh. I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at my hands on her body.
“That doesn’t matter anymore,” she pants while writhing under my touch. “I’m here, and she’s gone.”
“That’s right.” My hand gets dangerously close to her apex, but stalls out before giving her the contact she so desperately craves. “I never properly thanked you for taking care of that . . .” I lightly drag one fingertip over the thin piece of lace covering her sex then retreat back to her inner thigh. “I should’ve trusted you to know what’s best for me. You always have.”
Her back arches up off the mattress as she presses her hips down toward my hand, and a cocky smile curls up the corners of her mouth. “Always,” she breathes. “You’ve always been mine, and always will be. You just needed a reminder.”