We spend the day wandering around the sleepy beach town, grabbing ice cream and coffee later on, sitting on the sand together, daring to dunk our toes in the still-icy water. I field a few texts from Riley, who claims “I told you so” right when I let her in on the real nature of my and Emerson’s beach escape.
“Remember protection,” she texts me, “And call IMMEDIATELY AFTER THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”
“I promise to call you the second I get off,” I reply, “Maybe even during, if you’re lucky.”
“Do not play with my emotions, lady,” Riley warns me.
Though I’m more than excited for the night to finally arrive, I do feel a slight nervousness starting to trip me up. I haven’t really been with a guy since what happened with Tucker all those years ago. Even though my memories of that night with him are hazy, I start to worry about flashbacks, or even just bad vibes. Obviously, Emerson is nothing like Tucker, and tonight will be nothing like the night of my assault. But still, I can’t help but be a tiny bit anxious.
Tonight’s dinner is even more delectable than the last. Emerson takes me to a little Italian place in town with the best pesto I’ve tasted...maybe ever. After we’ve polished off the last bites of birthday tiramisu, it’s time at last to head back to our room. As if sensing the hush of anticipation, Emerson cranks up the tunes on the way to the motel. The Postal Service serenades us all the way back, and I hurry to throw on some Iron and Wine from my laptop the second we’re back in the room. Awkward silences aren’t so terrible when Sam Beam croons over them, it turns out. Emerson and I both shuck off our outer layers, and he moves to open up a second bottle of champagne.
“Thanks,” I tell him, accepting a cup of champagne and taking a generous swig. “Just let me freshen up a little, I’ll be right out.”
“Take your time,” he tells me, his eyes lingering on his face. He can tell something is a little off, but is nice enough not to say anything outright.
I duck into the bathroom, drinking down the rest of my champagne and studying myself in the mirror.
“You can do this,” I whisper, coaching myself through my nerves, “You’ve wanted this for years. Since before anything even happened with Tucker. Emerson is amazing, and he cares about you, and...and...”
“Everything OK in there?” Emerson asks at the door.
“Yep!” I reply, my voice an octave higher than it usually is, “Totally fine!”
“Abby,” he says, in a voice that tells me he knows the truth, “Do you want to talk?”
Sighing, I turn and gently pull open the bathroom door. “Come on in,” I say, trying to play off my embarrassment as I turn and sit on the edge of the tub.
“So. What’s going on up there?” he asks, glancing up at my head. “Tell me.”
“I’m just...It’s...” I stammer, blushing as I try to string the words together. “We’ve been talking about this all week. You know. The thing we decided to do today...”
“Oh, I know all about the thing,” Emerson smiles.
“And I still really want...the thing to happen,” I stumble ahead, “But I’m sort of out of practice. I’ve only ever done this once before, and that wasn’t such a great experience. And I know it won’t always be like that, but you actually know what you’re doing, and—”
“Hey, hey,” Emerson says, wrapping an arm around me. “It’s OK, Abby. I understand completely. You don’t have to keep anything from me, you know that.”
“I guess I do,” I say quietly.
“Look,” Emerson says, taking my face in his hand, “I’m crazy about you, Abby. And I always will be. Now, because this world is a shitty, unfair place, we don’t have always. Because tomorrow, our parents are swooping in to fuck everything up. We only have tonight. But I would rather miss out entirely on having you than force you into anything you don’t want to do. OK? I want you to want this as much as I do. And if any part of you isn’t interested, or is uncomfortable, then we don’t have to do anything. Just tell me what you want.”
I bring my hazel eyes to Emerson’s, amazed by his level-headedness. He’d pass up on having sex on the only night we actually can out of respect for me. I know, in this moment, that I can trust him. And to be honest, I think I knew that all along. I’m ready for this.
“What I want,” I tell him, my voice dipping low once more, “Is for you to kiss me now.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice.
Emerson’s lips brush against mine, softly at first. We warm to each other in an instant, leaving our cups of champagne by the wayside as our kiss becomes more earnest, more searching. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, digging my hands into his chestnut hair. He slips an arm around my waist, pulling me to him. Emerson lifts me into his lap, cradling me against his hard chest as our tongues glide and glance against each other. The taste of him is more intoxicating than any champagne I’ve ever tasted.
“Take me to the bed,” I whisper, kissing down along his throat.
I feel Emerson slip an arm under my knees and effortlessly pick me up. He’s a solid foot taller than me, and probably about 75 pounds heavier, so I might as well be a feather in his arms—or so he makes me feel. In a few quick strides, he’s carried me out of the bathroom and over to the queen sized bed. Just as I’ve imagined it a thousand times, he lays me out across the bedspread, drinking in the sight of me with his blue eyes. Only this time, it’s better than what I’ve imagined.
Because this time, it’s real.
“Undress me,” I tell him, “I want you to.”
Emerson kneels before me on the bed, his gaze burning with lust. “That’s right,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse, “I love it when you tell me what you want.”
He lifts the black cotton tee shirt up over my head, and shucks off his own flannel. Catching my wrists in his hands, he pins them up over my head and lowers his body on top of mine, kissing me from the neck to the space between my breasts. He flicks open the clasp of my bra and closes his teeth around the edge of one cup, glancing up at me with a devilish wink. I feel a deep throb of need between my legs as he tugs my bra away with his teeth, then pulls the white tank top up over his head and immediately lowers his full lips to my chest.
I suck in a huge breath as he wraps his lips around my taut nipple, his hands roving down my torso all the while. The tip of his tongue flicks against the hard peak, sending a rush of sensation to the tips of my fingers and toes. My head falls back against the bed as he sucks on my breasts, and I’m so distracted that I almost don’t notice as he eases the skinny jeans down off my legs.