Stealing Emma

Chapter 19 - Hell Hath No Fury...

This was a bad idea.

In fact, Emma was pretty sure the phrase 'bad idea' had been written all over her from the moment she had walked out her door. She saw it in every step she had taken during the 20 minute walk, every turned corner of the barely lit darkened streets, and definitely in the familiar apartment building she had just entered.

She had officially gone insane. No, more like pathetic. Could she not go through a day without needing to see him? She had become completely desperate.

It didn't stop her from lifting her hand to knock on his door and officially turning this into a bad decision.

The door suddenly opened and she was left hanging with her hand up in the air.

"Emma," Max breathed.

"How did you..."

Before she could finish that sentence, he pulled her into his apartment and had her leaning back against the door as he locked it.

"I was going crazy. I thought about going over there a million times. Are you okay? Is he back?"

"No, he's not. I just...I couldn't sleep and I already cleaned the entire apartment three times and didn't know what else to do. I'm so tired, Max," she said feeling ashamed.

He suddenly smiled and picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. Before she knew what he was doing, he carried her to his room and sat her down on the edge of his bed, crouching down in between her legs.

He ran his thumb under her eyes, staring at her intently. "You should sleep then. You've come to the right place."

She nodded, wanting nothing more than to do exactly that. "Just for tonight," she said. "Until I talk to him."

He nodded too, understanding the meaning behind what she was telling him. He silently reached for her grey hoodie, slowly unzipping it and tugging it off her shoulders, before tossing it aside.

She felt her heartbeat spike, and tried to keep her breathing normal. It was a simple gesture so far, but she immediately knew where this was headed. She remembered the same engrossed look from the last time he had done this at the hotel.

He studied her reaction for a moment and then his eyes dropped down her body, as if deciding what should go next. He eventually reached for her sneakers, untying them and pulling them off her feet, followed by her socks.

"Do you need a shirt?" he asked quietly.

She slowly shook her head. She was wearing a racerback top and could easily sleep in it, even if it didn't cover her entirely. Conventions were obviously long gone between them.

He then reached for her yoga pants, taking his time to run his hands through the material. "I love these," he said before sliding them down her hips. "But I love your incredible legs even more." He ran his hands down her calves, caressing them for a moment, and she delighted in the feel.

She should hate how familiar this all felt, hate that he knew her wardrobe so well, hate how he knew how she liked to sleep, hate his words, his touch. But the truth was that she loved it. She loved how careful he was with her, how attentive. How he took his time to underdress her, as if he was worshiping every moment. He made her feel cherished like never before.

Max pulled the covers back and motioned for her to get in. He quickly undressed, pulling off his t-shirt and lounge pants, before settling in next to her. He turned off the lights and lied down on his back.

When he didn't turn over to hold her, she felt oddly dejected. Wasn't that part of the routine? She didn't dare say anything and tried to get comfortable but couldn't. After 15 minutes of turning and him being stiff in one place, she just had to know. It would drive her crazy all night.