Landon’s POV
The door barely clicks shut before Emery's palms hit my chest.
She shoves me backward, and I land on the edge of the bed with enough force that the breath leaves my lungs. Before I can reach for her, she's there—hands sliding under my shirt, nails dragging across my ribs, pushing the fabric up and over my head.
"Emery—"
"Tonight is about you." Her voice is low, commanding. She presses me back when I try to sit up, her fingers splayed against my sternum. "Just you."
Something in my chest cracks open at the words. I've spent so long being the one who protects, provides, shields her from the chaos surrounding us. And here she is, looking at me like I'm the one who needs saving.
"Let me touch you," I manage, my voice rough.
"No." She pushes me down again, her smile sharp with intent. "Watch."
I watch.
She sinks to her knees between my thighs, and the sight of her there—hair tumbling over her shoulders, eyes dark with hunger—makes my pulse hammer against my ribs. My hands grip the edge of the mattress because if I touch her now, I'll lose the fragile thread of control I'm clinging to.
Her fingers find my belt. She works the buckle with deliberate slowness, each click of metal loud in the silence. Her eyes never leave mine.
"You're shaking," she observes, her voice soft with something like wonder.
"You do that to me."
She smiles—genuinely smiles—and slides the leather free. The button of my slacks follows. Then the zipper, tooth by excruciating tooth.
"Emery." Her name leaves me like a prayer. "Please."
"Please what?" Her fingers trace the hard length of me through the fabric, and my hips buck involuntarily. "Tell me what you want, Landon."
"You. Your mouth. Anything you'll give me."
She frees me from the confines of my clothing, and the cool air against my heated skin makes me hiss. My cock is already hard, aching, straining toward her. She wraps her hand around my length and strokes—once, twice—and my head falls back, a groan tearing from my throat.
"Look at me."
I force my eyes open. She holds my gaze as her lips part, as her tongue traces the tip of me, as she takes me into the warm, wet heat of her mouth.
"God—" The word fragments into nothing.
She takes me deeper, her tongue tracing patterns along the underside that make my vision blur at the edges. I feel myself hit the back of her throat, feel her swallow around me, and my fingers tangle in her hair. Not guiding. Just holding on.
"Emery." My voice sounds destroyed. "That's—you're—"
She hums around me, and the vibration shoots straight down my spine. My hips jerk forward before I can stop them.
"Sorry," I gasp. "Sorry, I—"
She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips brushing against me. "Don't apologize. I want to feel you lose control."
Then she takes me again, deeper this time, her pace increasing. One hand grips my thigh hard enough to bruise. The other works the base of my shaft in rhythm with her mouth.
The pressure builds at the base of my spine. Heat coils tight in my belly. Every nerve in my body focuses on the impossible sensation of her—the suction, the slide, the devastating rhythm she's created.
"I'm close." The words come out broken. "Emery, I'm going to—"
She doesn't stop. If anything, she increases her pace, her cheeks hollowing with each stroke. Her eyes find mine, and the hunger in them undoes me completely.
I shatter.
The orgasm tears through me with a ragged cry I couldn't suppress if I tried. I spill into her mouth, wave after wave, and she takes all of it. Swallows everything I give her while I come apart beneath her hands.
When the tremors finally subside, she rises slowly. Deliberately. She wipes her lips with the back of her hand, watching me with satisfaction that borders on predatory.
"Come here." My voice is wrecked, but I don't care. I reach for her, pull her onto the bed, and kiss her deeply. The taste of myself on her tongue should be obscene. Instead, it's intimate in a way that makes my chest ache.
"You're incredible," I murmur against her mouth. "You know that?"
She laughs—light and genuine, the sound I've missed for weeks. "I know."
I roll her beneath me, taking my time now. My hands find the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head. My mouth traces the curve of her throat, the hollow of her collarbone, the space between her breasts.
"My turn," I tell her.
"Landon—"
"Let me worship you." I unhook her bra and press a kiss to the swell of her breast. "Please. I need this."
She softens beneath me, her fingers threading through my hair as I make my way down her body. I remove the rest of her clothes with reverence, pressing kisses to each inch of skin I reveal.
When I finally settle between her thighs, she's already trembling.
"I love you," I whisper against her hip.
"I love you too." Her voice catches. "So much it terrifies me."
I make love to her slowly that night. Reverently. Like I'm memorizing every inch of her—the sounds she makes when I hit that spot inside her, the way her back arches off the mattress, the taste of her skin as I move above her.
We find our rhythm together, building toward something that feels bigger than pleasure. Her nails rake down my back. My name falls from her lips like a promise. When she finally breaks apart beneath me, I follow moments later, my face buried in her neck, her heartbeat thundering against my chest.
Afterward, we lie tangled together in the darkness. Her head rests on my chest. My hand traces lazy circles on her back.
"Tomorrow it starts again," she murmurs.
"I know." I press a kiss to her hair. "But tonight, you're mine. Just mine."
"Yours," she agrees, her voice already heavy with sleep.
The world outside these walls waits with all its demands and dangers. My mother's scheming. Marian's positioning. The endless battle for our daughter's future.
But tonight, we belong only to each other. And for these few stolen hours, that's enough.