A Very Badd Christmas (The Badd Brothers #19)

7. Emerson

CHAPTER 7

emerson

I had cock on the brain.

Shut up—I have a high libido, alright? I like sex. I enjoy it. I pursue it. I always want more of it. Unlike a lot of other women I know, I'm pretty good at keeping emotions out of it—I'm sure there's a psychological reason for that—probably something to do with my father abandoning me.

My usual M.O. for hooking up was pretty simple. I'm a confident, attractive girl—the boys come to me. I'd study at the library or a coffee shop, and inevitably some cute or hot guy would sidle along and chat me up, and I'd let them think they were charming me into bed. It's not manipulative or deceitful or anything…it's just lazy. Let them do the work. Play up their ego and in the process they play up yours. They'll suggest going somewhere else, and you coyly agree. Before any shenanigans ensue, you set the expectation—you're not looking for anything, we don't need to exchange numbers or socials. I won't be there in the morning. Yada yada yada. Get what you need and get out.

It's worked throughout college. I've never felt guilty about it, I've never apologized for it, and I will not. A dude acts the same way and his bros slap his back and dap him up or whatever they call it, yeah, champ , ugha-ugha-ugha . Women do it, and we're sluts. Fuck that. I reject that double standard and fuck anyone who thinks otherwise.

I've never wanted an emotional connection. And before you go crying double standards about my conversation with Hayden, let me explain something. I don’t expect anyone to pay for me. I don’t accept gifts. I make it crystal clear we're just hooking up, so don't get cozy and don't get any ideas. I recognize the worth of the men I spend my time with—they're human beings with faults and qualities, dreams and fears, all of that, just like me. I'm just not interested in getting to know them on that level. I'm interested in some quick, consensual physical fun.

All that said, I've been on a hiatus for the last several months. It started involuntarily—midterms kicked my ass, and then the soccer season started ramping up to finals and I had to focus on my grades and my game, no time for boys. And then, after a few weeks of involuntary celibacy, I started noticing some acute changes occurring.

The thought of meeting some rando and getting naked with him for a few hours of sex interspersed with desultory, surface conversation didn't sound fun anymore. I was still swamped with school and soccer, so there also wasn't time. And the free time I did have, chasing a hookup was not very high on my priority list for the first time since I began exploring my sexuality at sixteen with Nicholas Moriarty in the back of his shit-brown Volvo.

And now, back home for the first time since summer break, it's been almost six months since I last had sex. I jilled off plenty, of course, because my sex drive didn't suddenly dry up.

And then I met Hayden McCaffrey.

He wasn't a hookup. He didn't have to spell it out for me to understand it. It's written between the lines in the things he's told me. As far as I can tell, he's had two girlfriends, both of whom fucked him over royally, epically, and spectacularly, doing a hell of a number on his self-esteem in the process. Yet despite that, he put himself out there with me and took some risks that I know damn well had to be scary as fuck. He showed me himself. In this context, I mean that in the personal, emotional sense.

And then…he showed me himself physically.

And now I have cock on the brain.

Specifically, his.

Lying in bed with the sunrise spraying orange and scarlet rays across the Passage and into my room, I had my phone in one hand, his selfie on the screen, and my hand on my belly, my fingers tucked under the elastic of my panties.

I was trying to talk myself out of masturbating to him. It wasn't working.

He was sinfully hot. I mean, I’d had an inkling he was ripped—I got a pretty good glimpse yesterday. But shirtless, in nothing but a pair of tight gray boxer briefs, hard as fucking rock? I didn't stand a chance. He wasn’t a beefcake like Bax, Bast, and Zane. Honestly, he reminded me of Uncle Xavier. He had that same unawareness of his attractiveness that wasn’t humble, merely simply unaware. Couple that with how easy it was to talk to him, how intelligent he was, and how forthcoming he was with someone he just met about deep vulnerabilities? Sinfully hot.

The hard, flat, sculpted pecs, rippling six-pack carved out of marble, the thin dusting of dark hair leading down beneath his boxers, the powerful legs, and those deep, expressive green eyes? I was a goner.

But then…there was his penis. Bulging against the boxers, straining against the elastic waistband, it was on display in a way that left very little to the imagination, and I have a hell of a visual imagination. Long, thick, and straight, in the photo it was angled to the left a bit, hugged by the fabric. The tip of it was this close to protruding from his underwear.

And suddenly, I was feeling each individual second of the last six months of celibacy.

I'd nearly sent him a fully topless photo. Last second, I chickened out. I still have the pic on my phone because, honestly, I looked really damn good, if I do say so myself.

And do you have any idea how much of an ego boost it is, seeing that kind of a monster erection on a guy and knowing you put it there?

I flipped my phone face down on my belly and clapped my hands over my face, muffling my squeal of frustration.

He wanted to "save" taking things further. If he'd even hinted, I'd have sent him the topless shot. Shit, I'd have gotten on FaceTime and gone way beyond that.

But he wanted to save it.

He didn't want the first time he saw me naked to be digital. Impersonal. He wanted to savor the full experience of getting to know me.

That told me everything I needed to know about how he viewed sex. It was personal to him. It meant something. It wasn’t something he shared easily or with just anyone.

And for the first time in my life, I felt…weird, shall we say, about my sexual history. Not tawdry, exactly, or guilty, or ashamed. I just…I guess because he's so different from anyone I've ever met and my attraction to him goes way beyond the mere physical, I want it to be different with him. I know he'd never hook up with me and then be cool with me being gone when he woke up.

For the first time in my life, I was faced with a terrifying fact: I had real feelings for a man, and I wanted our physical relationship to match that, to mean something.

And I was scared that, despite what he said, he did think less of me because, so far, I've never treated sex as anything super important, just a natural, normal part of life.

It was a hell of a quandary to be in.

I closed my eyes, hands covering my face. I was desperately horny, wildly aroused. I needed to get off in the worst way, and with that picture of Hayden, I could take care of myself in two seconds flat.

But it didn't feel right. He would never know. But I would.

And somehow, I just knew he was probably experiencing something similar. Maybe he was lying in his bed on the cruise ship, looking at the pics I sent him and trying not to jerk off to them because he didn't want to use me that way. He wanted to save it.

"Fuck," I grumbled, scrubbing my face. “Be different, Emerson. Try something new. Take a risk."

Talking to myself out loud was an embarrassing habit of mine—I had to talk myself into things quite a lot. When I jogged out onto the pitch and took my place between the posts, I'd give myself a pep talk out loud. Tell myself I was the best keeper there was and that I could stop anything that came my way, this was my net and nothing got past me. I'd do it before big exams or whenever I had a big decision to make or faced something scary.

I picked up my phone, fully intending to swipe away the photo, get up, and do something productive to get my mind off of Hayden McCaffrey, incubus extraordinaire.

Instead, my traitorous fingers swiped to the second pic he sent. The one that had his big, lovely cock center frame. Barely hidden by his underwear. If anything, the thin layer of fabric only made me hornier.

I saw myself in bed with him, both of us half-dressed. I'd touch him over his underwear first. Just trace the length of him, watching him react—maybe he'd hiss, or groan, eyes half-lidded, stomach flexed. And then I'd hook my fingers into the waistband and tug the material away, and it would straighten, unfurling, and I'd see it in all its bare, rigid glory.

Wrap my hand around it. It would be warm and soft, yet hard and thick. I'd slide my hand down, and he'd buck upward. Precum would bead at the tip. Maybe I'd lick it away. Keep him wondering…would I give him my mouth? Or keep toying with him with my hands?

My fingers slipped inside my underwear. I was soaked, positively dripping with need. My fingers touched my clit, and I jolted, gasping, as arousal seized me. I stared at the picture and imagined him arching his back off the bed as I caressed his length.

Fingers pressing and circling, my hips began to buck as I neared the edge, imagining Hayden reaching that cusp with me…

Literal seconds before I came, my phone suddenly warbled, and Hayden's name popped up on the screen.

He was Facetiming me.

Fuck it—risk it for the biscuit, right?

Crazy, maybe, but I answered it. All I had on were my panties, the sheets and blankets kicked away in my sleep and then in my arousal. I was panting, flushed, and so close to orgasm it wasn't even funny.

Yet, I swiped to answer. Like a fucking lunatic.

"Em, hi." He was in bed, the sunrise making his skin glow and his muscles stand out in sharp relief.

"Uh, h-hey?" I gasped, trying not to sound out of breath. "What's…what's up? It's early."

He swallowed hard. “Yeah, sorry. I'm an early riser. Did I wake you up?"

I shook my head, carefully keeping the camera trained on my face. "No, I'm an early riser, too."

He scrubbed at his hair, frowning. "I woke up thinking about you. About talking to you last night." He passed a hand down his face. "About the pictures you sent me."

"Yeah?" I reached down and tugged the flat sheet up over my chest and let the angle widen a bit. "Honestly, same."

He seemed surprised. "You too?"

I smiled at him. "Yeah, Hayden, me too."

He swallowed hard. "I…" he sighed, hunting for either words or courage or both. "I dreamed about you. Woke up, um, all…uhh, hot and bothered." He paused, shifting in the bed. "This is difficult. I, um. I'm calling you because I just…I'm going a little crazy. I don't know what I’m doing or why I’m telling you this. Fuck. I almost…you know, um, took care of things. Thinking about you. Looking at the photos you sent. But I didn't. Because it just…it didn't feel right. And I thought you should know. Maybe I'm an idiot. God, I'm really an idiot, aren't I?" He closed his eyes and covered them with a hand, groaning. "This was stupid."

"Hayden." I cut in, my voice pitched low.

He moved his hand and opened his eyes. "Yeah?"

"You're not an idiot. Not at all. Far from it."

"Who calls a girl he's interested in and tells her that?"

"Hayden." I swallowed hard. "You wanna know what I was doing when you called?"

He rubbed his face again and then let out a long sigh and met my eyes through the screen. "Yes. I would like to know."

"What you almost did, I w as doing." Cheeks flaming, it was my turn to hide behind my hand, embarrassed and terrified. "I was masturbating and thinking of you, Hayden. In fact, I was literally about to come."

His silence was stunned. "Em…" He frowned, blinked, shook his head. "For real?"

"Yeah, for real. Can't you tell? Flushed cheeks, out of breath, and in bed?"

"I'm sorry I interrupted."

I laughed. "Hayden, god. I answered, didn't I?"

"You were thinking about me?"

"Looking at your photo and thinking about you and touching myself."

"I thought maybe if I called you, talking to you would…I don't know. I just wanted to talk to you. See you. See more of you. Be alone with you."

"I'm glad you called." It came out in a whisper.

Nerves jangling, I pulled the phone up and away, showing him myself covered in the sheet. The sun was high enough now to bathe my room in bright light, turning the thin white flat sheet almost see-through. My erect nipples pressed against the sheet, and it pooled between my thighs, draping over my body. I may as well have been naked, but wasn't. Turned on all the more, I held his eyes. Deliberately, I let him see my hand steal under the sheet, moving beneath the fabric. Awkwardly, one-handed, trying not to let the sheet slip, I wriggled out of my underwear, pulled them out from beneath the sheet, and showed them to him. Red lace, visibly soaked at the crotch. I tossed them aside and slipped my hand beneath the sheet again.

"Em, god. Holy shit."

"Don't leave me hanging, Hayden."

He mirrored my action, removing his boxers while carefully not revealing anything. Like me, the sun bathed his room in light and turned the sheet almost see-through, and when the sheet settled back down, it draped over his cock. The sheet being thinner than underwear material, it left even less to the imagination, showing me all but the veins.

I swallowed hard. "God, Hayden. I want you."

"Em, I’ve…I've never felt like this. I want you so fucking bad." He covered himself with his hand, not quite grasping, more just cupping.

"It's okay, Hayden. Do it. I want you to."

"I've never done this before. On the phone or whatever, I mean."

"Neither have I." I slid my hand down my belly and settled it between my thighs. Crooked my finger inside myself—there was an audible squelch, and I gasped. "Hayden…"

He slipped his hand under the sheet and grasped himself; I wanted to see. No sheet in the way.

He groaned. My pussy spasmed, and I touched my clit with my middle finger, whimpering, my eyes fixed firmly on Hayden on the screen.

He was doing the same—watching me, rapt and agonized. His fist moved faster, sliding up and down and up and down beneath the sheet. My finger pressed and circled faster as well, matching his pace.

He let out a long, low groan, shoulders pushing into the mattress as his hips lifted. I arched off the bed, heedless of the fact that the sheet was sliding inexorably downward. Cool air bathed my breasts and my nipples, already hard, turned to diamonds. I felt his gaze on my chest, and I loved it. I wished it was his hands, his mouth.

"Hayden. I'm gonna come," I murmured.

"Ahhh, god, me too. Fuck, you're beautiful." His voice was low and rough and ragged.

"Let me see you. Please, Hayden. I need to see all of you.”

He kicked away the sheet, and now he was naked, bared to me, and holy fuck and Jesus crickets. His cock was perfect. If only it was my hands on it instead of his, or my mouth. My pussy wrapped around it. I settled for watching him stroke himself with rough, quick jerks. His shredded abs were tensed into hard blocks, pulsing and shifting as he arched into his fist.

My sheet slipped away as I spasmed, legs kicking as my orgasm ramped up, reaching the crest. "Hayden!"

"Fuck—oh god. Em…Emerson. I'm—I can't—"

"Let me see. I want to watch you come."

"Now—I’m—I’m coming, Em." His eyes squeezed shut and he threw his head back and his hand blurred on his cock, and then slowed to short hard jerks.

Oh, fuck. The fat, round head of his cock was almost purple from the force of his grip, and then he came, spurting up onto his belly in a thick white stripe of come. He came again and again, his groans ragged and hoarse.

"Hayden, fuck, that's hot. Watch me, now.”

I cried out, then, jackknifing forward and then spasming backward as my orgasm claimed me, ripping through me. I almost dropped the phone but caught it and held it back up, wanting him to see, to not miss a moment of how he was making me feel.

"Wish I was there," Hayden said, panting. "Wish that was me making you come."

"You are. It is you. It's all for you."

"Hottest, sexiest thing I've ever seen. Ever done. You, like this. Us, sharing this." He paused to catch his breath. "You're so fucking gorgeous, Emerson. You take my breath away."

For some reason, my eyes burned. Stupid. I don't cry. "Hayden, god."

"Hey, Emerson…what? I…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry. Jesus." His voice was so concerned that my eyes flew open, and tears slid down.

"No, no. It's—it's…you didn't. Well, you did, but good tears. You just…you make me feel…" I swiped at my face and then winced. "My fingers smell like pussy, now,” I said, laughing.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." He huffed a laugh. "I'm a mess, too. I've got come all over myself and nothing to clean up with."

I brought the phone closer to my face. Held his eyes. "I'm really, really glad you called, Hayden. This was so hot."

"I am too." A pause. "Em, you didn't finish. How do I make you feel? Why were you crying?'

"Seen," I whispered. "Beautiful. You make me feel seen and beautiful and desired in a way I…I've never felt before.” I laughed, wiped at my face again. "Not all tears are bad. And I promise, I don't usually cry after sex. This has never happened before."

“It's okay, as long as I didn't say anything to upset you."

"God no. Just the opposite."

Hayden barked a laugh. "I just had phone sex. Or video sex. Whatever you wanna call it."

I laughed, and the laugh made me snort, which is my most embarrassing secret. I clapped my hand over my mouth and nose, blushing. "That's so fucking embarrassing."

He laughed, a true belly laugh. “It's not—it's fucking adorable. And I’m going to make it my mission to make you laugh-snort as much as possible."

"It's not adorable, it’s horrible and embarrassing."

“Random question, but are you ticklish?" His deep green eyes sparkled with humor, mischief.

Have I ever felt this comfortable with anyone? This fast, or ever?

"Not telling," I said.

"I'll find out." The humor faded. "When can we be alone together?"

I shook my head. "It's gonna be tricky with all the parties going on. I'm not, like, expected at all of them, but I haven't been back since summer so I want to see everyone as much as I can."

"We have a few excursions lined up, still, too. We have one this morning, after breakfast." He passed his hand through his hair and then stopped, rolling his eyes with a wince. "Oh god, gross. Wrong hand."

I spluttered a laugh, which turned to a snort, and then I clapped my hand over my face again, still laughing and now snort-laughing and unable to stop. It was contagious because now he was laughing too.

When we recovered, both of us panting and gasping, I sat up in bed a little. "I really like you a lot, Hayden McCaffrey. And I promise we'll get time alone. Where and when I don't know. But we will."

"I'm not leaving Ketchikan till we do," he said, serious now. "I should go, though. I really have to shower now, and I'm meeting Mom downstairs for breakfast in an hour."

"I should go, too. Wish I could shower with you."

"Same." He frowned. "Is this crazy, Em? You and me? Like, it just sort of went zero to a hundred."

I shrugged. "If it is crazy, then I'm crazy, and I’m okay with that."

On a whim, I posed, bringing my arms together tight against my sides, pushing my boobs together, lifting my chest high, making what I hoped was a sultry expression, and took a still from the FaceTime. Swiped and tapped into messages and sent it to him, along with the one from last night I never sent.

"You want me to have to go again, Em?" he asked, his voice husky and low. "Because holy shit, woman. I watched you take that, and it was still magical."

"I almost sent that other one last night, but I chickened out."

"I can't believe this is happening to me," he murmured as if to himself. "Someone as beautiful and talented and amazing as you…fuck, how'd I get so lucky?"

"Funny thing is," I said, "I feel the same way about you."

He laughed. "That's crazy, but okay."

I frowned at him. "Hey, no. It's not crazy. You're sexy, smart as fuck, successful, and dedicated to your mother, which, in case you've missed it, is a huge thing for me. You're amazing, Hayden. I got lucky, too. So don't let me hear that self-deprecating shit, okay?"

He blinked at the camera. "Wow. I…" a sigh. "Okay, I hear you. I do."

"I should hunt those bitches down and beat them up," I muttered. "They messed with your head."

"Yeah, they did." He went to mess with his hair again and stopped. "I'm working through it, but it's not a fast process, you know?"

"I'll just have to undo what they did," I said. "And in that vein…Hayden McCaffrey, I want you to know that you have an absolutely exquisite cock. Truly. Why do you think I was masturbating when you called?"

He covered his face with the crook of his arm, hiding his vivid blush. "I have no idea how to respond to that, Em."

"You don't have to. I just wanted you to know. It's beautiful and perfectly proportioned. And I cannot wait to get my hands on it. And my mouth. And my pussy."

He moved his arm to look at the camera. “Fuck, Emerson. Holy shit." He bit his lip. "Your tits make me so hard." A pause, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I want to taste you. I want to eat your pussy till you can't breathe." He laughed, not out of humor but more in disbelief. "I can't believe I just said that."

"Hayden, fucking hell. We have to stop, or we'll just keep doing this. We both have things to do."

"I know. But I don’t want to. I have the most gorgeous, sexiest woman in the fucking world naked on FaceTime with me. Where else would I want to be?"

"In my bed with me, fucking me six ways to Sunday?" I suggested.

He laughed. "Well, yeah, that, obviously, would be…I don't know. I don't have the words. That would be heaven."

"For me too."

He groaned. "But you are right. We have to go."

"Bye, Hayden McCaffrey. See you on the docks at five."

"See you, Emerson Day."

I hung up first. Tossed the phone aside, palmed my face, rolled to put my face in the pillow, and screamed, kicking my feet.

That boy is fucking dangerous.

And I'm in trouble.