A/N: Awww, I missed these kids. Did you? This is just a fun little outtake from the story; it's mostly smut, but I didn't think you guys would complain about that. :) If you recall, in the chapter where they're driving home to Forks from college, Emmett tells Bella about his record collection and they talk about listening to them together. I always intended for a scene like this to happen during the run of the story, but it sort of got away from me. Standard disclaimers apply; I don't own Twilight, or the song lyrics that appear here.
***NOTE: This is not a futuretake... this is set during the summer of the original story, a few weeks after everything with Edward gets resolved.
My phone chirping on my bedside table wakes me up, and I groan as I reach for it. Who the hell is calling me this early?
Emmett's smiling face on the screen mollifies my anger, and I answer immediately.
"Hello?" I whisper, my voice raspy from sleep.
"Hey, baby," he says. "Were you still sleeping?" he asks, incredulous. It feels early, it feels like it's still dark outside, but Emmett's voice makes me think I should be awake. I lift my head enough to see my alarm clock and realize it's half past ten.
"Oh... weird. Yeah, I was asleep," I answer, and Emmett chuckles at me through the phone.
"I think I'm wearing you out with all the wild monkey sex," he says, and I laugh a little with him, even though the thought of "wild monkey sex" makes me blush. I've gotten so much more comfortable with Emmett, but I don't think anything about our sex life is particularly wild. I start wondering if it bothers him, and it makes me a little self-conscious.
"Babe? You fall asleep on me?" he asks softly, interrupting my worrying.
"No, I'm here," I tell him, curling up on my side. "Aren't you working today?" I ask.
"Nah, I knew you had the day off so I didn't plan anything. Mom said it was cool. Can you come over?" he asks. I still get just a little nervous when I have to go to Emmett's, and I feel a tiny spark of anxiety flare up when he mentions it. "Whenever, I mean. Not right now, if you wanted to go back to sleep or something. No one's here, Dad's work and Edward went to Seattle with Mom. I just... want to show you something."
Emmett's voice sounds more serious and vulnerable than it usually does, and my desire to find out what he wants to show me quickly outweighs any anxiety I feel about being in that house. As I sit up in bed, I realize why it feels like it's so early; why I thought it was dark outside. It's raining, but not the kind of ever-present, misty rain that we have in the summer; it's more of a cloudy, drizzly rain.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes," I tell him.
Despite my mad dash to and from the truck, I am soaking wet by the time I reach Emmett's front door. He's waiting for me with a big fluffy towel, though, and I let him dry me off.
"These are too wet," he says, patting at my jeans with the towel ineffectively. "They're gonna have to go," he adds, feigning sadness. I laugh and slap his hand away when he reaches for the button. He pulls his hand back and cradles it, looking down at me with fake indignation.
"You hit me!" he says, pouting.
"I'm sorry," I tell him, leaning forward to kiss his hand. "Better?"
"Still hurts," he grumbles, his lower lip sticking out. "Needs another kiss," he says, offering me his hand. I kiss it again, slower this time, parting my lips a little and letting my tongue dart out to swipe at his skin. He groans as I pull away.
"Better?" I ask again, softly this time, feeling shy about teasing him. He seems to like it, though, because he's grinning at me now.
"Yeah, it does. You know, I've got something else that hurts, too..." he says, waggling his eyebrows. I think about teasing him back, continuing this game, but I can't bring myself to do it. I don't know what to say or how far it should go, so I just duck my head and toe off my shoes. I lay them neatly on the mat next to the door before feeling Emmett's fingers lace through mine.
"C'mon, let's find you something dry," he says, pulling me towards the stairs. I follow him up to his bedroom, and he tosses me a too-big pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. "I'm gonna go grab a soda, you want?" he asks. I shake my head, and he kisses my forehead before disappearing. I change quickly and use the fluffy towel to squeeze the rest of the moisture from my hair.
He comes back with a soda and a half-empty bag of chocolate chips; he sits on his bed and I lie down next to him. He asks about work yesterday, and I tell him about the rich idiot that bought a thousand dollars worth of hunting supplies that he'll never use. He eats chocolate chips by the handful, and feeds them to me one at a time-pressing one to my lips until I open my mouth, and then laying it gently on my tongue. Emmett chews them noisily, and I let the chocolate melt in my mouth.
It's nice to be with him like this; just us, quiet, together. In his bed, close together but not snuggling; touching freely, with no expectations of anything more. I feel comfortable, happy, safe.
"Em?" I ask, interrupting his rant about the guy at the paint store that mixed the wrong paint color for him yesterday.
"I'm just... You make me so happy," I tell him, and his breath hitches. "Thank you," I whisper.
"Sweet girl," he says, sliding down the headboard, lying on his back. He pulls me close, tucks me against his chest, and kisses the top of my head.
After a while, I remember that he asked me to come here for a reason.
"What did you want to show me?" I ask him, tracing figure eights on his forearm.
"Oh, damn, I kinda forgot," he says. "It's upstairs, come on." He sits up, stands, and pulls me up and off the bed.
"Upstairs?" I ask. We're already upstairs; I'm pretty sure there's no third floor. He's holding my hand, walking towards the door, tugging me with him.
"Yeah, the attic," he says. I dig my heels in, stop moving, and manage to stop Emmett's forward progress. He turns to look at me, raising an eyebrow in question.
"Attic?" I squeak, picturing spiders, bats, cobwebs... I don't do attics.
"What's wrong? You scared or something?" he teases, poking me in the ribs.
"I'm not scared," I insist. "I just... isn't it, um, dirty?" I ask, still hedging, still pulling him back towards the bed.
"It's not dirty, and it's not scary, I promise. There are stairs, you can stand up and walk around, and it's really clean. Mom is up there all the time, she uses it to store her, uh, vases and crap," he assures me. I shake my head, silently, still unwilling. "Come on, B. There are windows up there and everything. Just go up with me, and if you hate it, we'll come back down, okay?" He tugs at my hand again, and I let him pull me forward this time. He leads me down the hall, past all the other bedrooms, to an unassuming white door.
He opens it and ushers me up the stairs, which aren't as dark as I had feared. He was right; the attic is clean, open, and definitely not scary. It's actually kind of... beautiful. The beams of the roof are exposed, and a few dormer windows let in what little sunlight has filtered through the clouds today. Boxes line the walls, all labeled in Esme's neat handwriting: Christmas, Halloween, Emmett (grade school), Edward (baby stuff). There are a few bookshelves, lined with home decor stuff-the "vases and crap" that Emmett referred to.
"Over here," he says, resting his hands on my hips and guiding me forward. I reach out to touch an afghan, folded and resting on top of a small chest of drawers. I remember that afghan; it used to have a place in their living room, folded over the top of an armchair. "My Grandma made that," Emmett offers. "We have a bunch, so Mom keeps rotating the ones we use."
He directs me to the far corner of the attic, next to an old armoire. There are blankets pooled on the floor already, and he pushes me down onto them before reaching around behind the armoire to plug something in. Does he have a TV up here? I wonder.
"My Grandpa left all of this to me, because he knew how much I loved it," he says, pulling open the doors to the cabinet, revealing an old record player and dozens of records. I remember him telling me about this, when we were driving home to Forks for the summer. I stand and move closer, ducking under his arm to get a better look.
"Cool," I whisper, running my fingers over the album sleeves, pulling a few out at random to examine the covers.
"I used to have all of this in my bedroom, but Mom moved it up here when she was re-doing all the floors. I kinda like it, though, sitting in this little corner. It's chill, you know?" he asks, fiddling with the record player.
"Yeah," I answer, stepping back, out of his way, as he searches for what he wants. He finds it, pulls the record out carefully and sets it on the turntable. The corners of his lips twitch into a smile when the first scratchy notes reach his ears.
"Otis?" I ask. He nods, kisses my cheek, and turns the volume up a little.
"Come here," he says, flopping down on the blanket, resting his hands under his head. I sit next to him, crossing my legs, but he frowns up at me. "Lay down with me," he says, tugging at the shirt I'm wearing.
I curl into his side, and he brings one arm down to wrap around my back. I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes, trying to get comfortable. I feel warm, sleepy, safe. Emmett's chest rises and falls evenly, his fingers run through my hair, his lips brush my forehead every so often. Occasionally I tilt my head up for a real kiss, and they're sexy and slow and lingering, but never urgent.
When the record stops, Emmett gently rolls me away from him so he can get up to change it. I thought the album was over, but he just flips it to the other side and sets it back on the turntable. The record player whirs to life again and Emmett smiles down at me, crooking his finger and beckoning me to come to him.
"Dance with me," he says. A command, not a question. I clamber to my feet awkwardly and take his outstretched hand. He grins and pulls me in close, moving away from the blankets to a clear space on the floor. A familiar song starts playing, one that we listened to together in the car.
"I'm not a good dancer," I mumble, letting Emmett take the lead. He doesn't try anything fancy, just wraps his arms around me and sways to the beat.
"Sure you are," he says, kissing my temple. "Yearning from wanting you..." he sings softly, under his breath, so quiet that I can barely hear him over the song. I clasp my hands behind his head, holding onto him tightly, moving with him slowly.
"This is like Dirty Dancing," I tell him, giggling a little at the memory of Baby and Johnny dancing alone in his cabin.
"Did they dance to this?" he asks, his hands roaming my back.
"Yeah," I answer, but then I correct myself. "Actually, no," I tell him, closing my eyes, trying to remember the scene. "This was playing, but then they danced to another song. Kind of like this one."
"What song?" he asks, dropping his head to my shoulder. He presses his lips to my neck, a sweet kiss, and then brushes them back and forth over the sensitive skin. I shiver in his arms, trying to remember the song.
"I don't know what it's called... something about crying I think," I admit. I remember part of it, and I sing it softly, hoping my awful pitch doesn't ruin the moment. "Don't you feel like crying..."
Emmett pulls me closer, his palm flat against the small of my back, and I can feel that he's getting hard against me. His lips on my neck are more insistent, but his body still moves slowly, swaying to the beat. I shiver when his hand slips under my t-shirt, warming the naked skin of my back. His fingers glide up, tracing the dip between my shoulder blades, and back down, dipping into the waistband of my sweatpants.
The song changes to Louie, Louie and Emmett's lips kiss up my neck to my ear. He bites gently on my earlobe before whispering "Don't move." I nod, slowly, even though I couldn't move if I wanted to; my knees are weak and my heart is pounding already.
He turns back to the record player and gently pulls the needle back; Louie Louie screeches to a halt. I can tell he's hurrying, but he's still so careful with the record, dropping it back into the sleeve and putting it back on the shelf in its proper place. He thumbs through the records, pulls one out, and drops it onto the turntable. I'm starting to feel a little awkward, standing here waiting, and I shift from one foot to another. Emmett looks over his shoulder and smiles at me, reassuring me before I get too nervous.
He drops the needle, and I know the song as soon as I hear the first note. How did he know, just from the one line I sang? Emmett stalks over to me and wraps his arms around my waist, crushing me to him.
"Is this it?" he asks, not giving me time to answer. He crashes his lips to mine, his tongue swiping at my lips, and I let myself fall into the kiss. When he pulls away, his eyes are shining with excitement, questioning me silently.
"Yes," I gasp, answering both questions, spoken and unspoken. His hand slides up my back, into my hair, and he tangles his fingers there before kissing me again. The long, slow burn of our lazy morning explodes into passion, and I'm trying to pull him close, closer, impossibly close. I want him inside me, over me, connected to me.
It feels wrong to pull away from him, but I need his skin, his warmth. I wrest my lips from his just long enough to grip his t-shirt and yank it up, over his head. He moans and does the same to me, tossing the shirt to the floor. I'm surprised to find that I'm not embarrassed; this just feels too good, too perfect.
I kiss him again, up on my toes, pushing my chest into his. I try to move him backwards, towards the blankets, but he puts his big hands on my hips and pushes against me.
"I thought you wanted dirty dancing?" he says, his voice low and gravelly in my ear. Both of his hands slide around to my ass, cupping it and pulling me closer. He's so hard now, grinding against me, and I wish I was a little bit taller so he'd be hitting me in the right spot.
His hands slide up and around, over my hips, up my sides. He rests them on my ribcage, just below my breasts, squeezing me. I need him to move his hands, to touch me, but he just brushes his thumbs against the undersides of my breasts, teasing.
"Fuck, Emmett," I moan, needing more from him. I think the song has changed, but I don't care anymore.
"What, baby?" he asks, thrusting hard against me, moaning when I push back just as hard. I don't know how to answer him, so I just pull his head down to mine and kiss him hard, pouring all of my need into that kiss. Emmett seems to understand-or else he's feeling needy too-because his hands finally move to where I want them. At first, his touch is feather-light, just ghosting over the shape of my breasts. Quickly, though, he becomes more assertive, more intense. His right hand drops to my back to press me against him while his left hand squeezes, pinches, caresses my nipple.
He switches hands, always moving, touching me everywhere and leaving trails of fire on my skin. It's not enough, we're not close enough, and I let him hitch my leg up over his hip. Finally, gloriously, I can feel him between my legs, and I wiggle shamelessly in his arms, trying to get the friction I need.
I know we're not as graceful as Baby and Johnny, but this feels so much better than I ever imagined it would. My toes are grazing the hem of Emmett's shorts against the back of his thigh, and I manage to grasp the shiny material between my toes so I can start to pull them off. He groans when he realizes what I'm doing, and releases my leg so I can stand on my own again. His shorts are hanging off his ass, held up in the front by his erection. I can't help but giggle at the sight, and Emmett laughs at my reaction.
"Oh, you think that's funny?" he says, stretching out the waistband so he can drag it down over his cock. He's naked now, standing in front of me, and he wraps his left hand around his dick. I watch him stroke it, moaning when he squeezes just a little harder around the head.
I manage to choke out a "No," but I'm too mesmerized by the sight in front of me to say much else. I can't stare at him too much longer, he's too beautiful. I close the distance between us, reaching out to trace the lines on his stomach, the hard planes of muscle that tense and twitch under my fingers.
"That tickles," he says, his hand still working slowly between us. I reach down and wrap my fingers around the base of his cock, just below his own fist.
"Does this tickle?" I tease, moving with him, matching his rhythm.
"Fuck," he growls. "No, it feels awesome," he says, dropping his hand to give me full access. He loves it when I tease, and he's always encouraging me to talk to him more in bed, but I usually find it hard to think of what to say. I'm afraid of sounding foolish, or turning him off. I'm beginning to believe him, though, when he says that nothing I do in bed could turn him off.
"Emmett?" I ask, kissing his chest. I wrap my lips around his small, tight nipple and suck-he moans in encouragement, so I scrape my teeth against it lightly. I'm gathering the courage to take my teasing a little bit further, and I need to hear his voice, feel his heat, make sure we're both totally in the moment before I can do it.
"Yessssss," he hisses. "Yeah, baby?"
"Emmett, do you want..." I start, but I stop myself from saying the words. He hums in pleasure, and I take the opportunity to lick and nibble at his other nipple. His cock jerks in my hand, and I know he's loving this, and it gives me the boost of confidence that I need. "Emmett, baby, do you want me to suck your cock?"
"Oh fuck, goddammit, fuck, yes," he sputters, his reaction instantaneous. "That is so fucking hot, B. Yes, fuck," he affirms, adding, "Please" as an afterthought. I feel powerful and sexy, and I love the way he's staring at me, like I'm the hottest thing he's ever seen.
I start to kiss down his chest, intent on making good on my offer, but he pulls me back over to his little corner so we're on the pile of blankets. I don't let my resolve waver, and I resume my trail of kisses down his chest, over his stomach. I'm bending at the waist, my lips pressed to his stomach, when I look up at him. He's still watching me, his lids heavy, his chest heaving.
"You want me on my knees, Em?" I ask, hoping it's the right thing. This is kind of fun, watching him get so worked up from just my words.
"Yeah, baby," he says, stroking my hair as I drop down in front of him. He's just a little too tall, or I'm a little too short, so he spreads his legs enough for me to reach. "Fuck, you are so fucking hot," he says, groaning when I make eye contact with him again.
I can't think of anything else dirty to say-and his cock is right there, waiting for me-so I wrap my left hand around it and lick up the underside, from the base to the head. I feel like playing with it a little, seeing what I can do beyond the usual head-bobbing motion, and I'm pretty sure Emmett's not going to complain.
He doesn't complain-he moans, he swear, he thrusts his hips forward in excitement an then mumbles that he's sorry. I lick him everywhere, tracing the veins with my tongue, swirling my tongue around the head like an ice cream cone, pressing sloppy wet kisses up and down the shaft. I use my hand, too, gliding up and down the shaft, squeezing his balls gently, scraping my fingernails up and down his thigh.
"God, Bella, please!" he begs, after at least two songs of pure teasing.
"Please, what?" I ask, grinning up at him, loving his desperation. Loving that I can do this to him.
"Please, baby," he whines, thrusting his hips into my hand, bringing the head of his cock closer to my mouth.
"What do you want me to do, Em?" I ask, stroking him lazily, puling my head back just a little. His eyes grow wide with surprise, but he smiles sweetly at me and strokes my cheek with his thumb. He loves me, he loves this, he loves everything we do together. I know it now, and I feel silly for not seeing it before.
"Suck my dick, baby, please?" he says, cupping my head in his hand, bringing me closer to him. I stop teasing, stop playing with him, and take him into my mouth, just like he wants. I'm gripping his legs, trying to keep my balance as I bob and suck and lick. "So good, so fucking good, Bella. Fuck, fuck. Use your hand too, baby," he reminds me, and I wrap my fingers around his shaft. It doesn't take long after that before I feel his thigh start to tremble under my hand.
"Baby, I'm gonna come," he warns. I move just a little faster, squeeze him a little harder, and I feel his fingers twist in my hair as he starts to come. "Oh Bella, fuck, yes, I'm coming!" he shouts, holding me against him, spilling into my mouth. This is my least favorite part, feeling the liquid all salty and slippery in my mouth, but I've learned to swallow it quickly so I don't taste it for long. I swallow around him until I'm sure he's finished, until he starts trembling under my hands, and then I pull away and sit back on my heels.
He's silent as he drops down to his knees in front of me, rests his hands on his thighs, and tries to regain his breath. I smile at him tentatively, feeling some of my confidence drain away, hoping he'll still look at me the same way. After he's calmed down a little, he leans forward until his forehead touches mine and our eyes meet.
"Hi," he whispers, his warm, sweet breath washing over my face.
"Hi," I whisper back.
"I love you so fucking much," he says, his satisfied smile turning into a full-on grin. "God, Bella, that was so fucking hot. Wow," he adds, laughing, smiling, reaching out for me. It's like he's coming back to reality from his orgasm-induced high, and I'm so thankful that he's here to reassure me.
"I thought you liked it," I tell him, giggling as he sits back onto the blanket and pulls me into his lap. His hands are roaming all of my body again, stroking my naked back, my stomach, my hips. He massages my knees and thighs through the sweatpants, a sweet and silent acknowledgement of the slight ache that comes with kneeling for so long.
"I fucking loved it. I love it when you tease me baby, you know that," he reminds me, kissing my throat. "Although you're getting a little too good at it. That was almost fucking painful," he teases.
"Are you complaining?" I ask, teasing him back.
"Never!" he swears, lifting me into his arms so he can lay me back on our little bed of blankets. "I love you so much," he says, alternating his words with little kisses and nips at my neck. "I love it when you're sweet and shy and nervous but you open up for me anyway. I love it when you're desperate and you beg me to fuck you. I love it when you're a dirty girl and you say filthy things to me."
Emmett is so good at this, so much better than I'll ever be. He has me panting in seconds, wiggling underneath him, desperate to feel more of him.
"Take off my pants, Em?" I ask, unable to get enough leverage to get them off in the position I'm in now. He groans and rears up, sits on his knees between my outstretched legs, and slips his fingers under the waistband of my sweatpants, hooking them underneath my panties at the same time. I lift my hips up off the floor, and Emmett tugs the fabric down over my ass, leaving it bunched around my thighs.
"Holy shit," he says, staring down between my legs. Two days ago, I had finally-after weeks of cajoling from Alice-gone to a salon in Port Angeles to get a bikini wax. It was terrifying, and I had to have Alice on speakerphone the entire time, keeping me calm. The end result was worth it, though; the look on Emmett's face right now is priceless.
He presses his palms flat against my hipbones and brushes the newly bare skin with his thumbs; it's so tender there, so sensitive, that I jump at the sensation.
"This is so hot, B, when did you do this?" he asks, just brushing the skin in gentle little circles, getting so close to where I'm wet and aching for him.
"Umm, Monday," I tell him. "Alice said... oh, fuck!" I moan, clutching the blanket beneath me as Emmett ghosts his thumb over my clit. "Alice said it feels, um, better like this," I admit.
"What feels better?" he asks, his eyes still locked on my pussy, his finger circling over my clit gently, not pushing down.
"Everything," I breathe, shaking with desire now, trying to lift my hips up against his hand for more friction.
"Does it? Feel better?" he asks, lifting his eyes to mine, biting his bottom lip as he looks between me and my bare, wet flesh.
"I don't know yet... touch me? Please?" I beg him, dying for him to give me some relief. He falls forward, one hand planted on the blanket next to my shoulder, the other trapped between us.
"Like this?" he asks, dragging his fingers through my wetness before sliding them against my clit. I throw my head back and groan, the sensation almost too intense. Emmett buries his face in my neck, kissing and licking, whispering to me, telling me how good I feel, how soft I am, how much he wants me. I can feel his cock getting hard again, pressed up against my thigh.
"So wet for me, sweet girl," he whispers. "I want to fuck you so bad, but I want you to come for me first, okay? Can you come for me?" he asks, pushing a finger inside me.
"Yeah, I wanna come," I cry, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck. "Oh god, Emmett, please!"
"Good, I'm gonna make you come so hard, Bella," he whispers, licking up the side of my neck so he can nip at my ear. "Gonna make you scream." I can feel it coming, can feel my body take over and start pushing back against his hand.
I'm so close now, and my breath is coming in great heaving gasps. I'm lifting my hips up off the floor and my thigh muscles are straining-all my muscles are straining. When it finally comes, the climax I've been chasing, it's not a screaming, thrashing orgasm. It's so powerful that I can't move, can't scream, can't even speak-I just cling to Emmett with all my strength, rocking against his hand until it's over, it's ebbing, and my senses start to come back to me.
I let go of him and fall flat on my back, sucking in a deep breath. He's still kneeling over me, smiling down at me sweetly, and he leans down for a kiss.
"That," he says, pausing dramatically, "was hot. You are so, so beautiful," he tells me, rubbing his nose against mine. He lowers his hips slowly, lining himself up between my legs, and I feel his cock sliding against me.
"So good," I mumble, my tongue darting out to wet my lips. "Love you."
"I love you too, B. You okay for more?" He asks, rubbing my hip gently even as he grinds against me.
"Yeah," I answer, flexing my fingers to make sure they still work before I reach up to cup his cheek.
"You want some more music?" he asks, nodding towards the record player behind him. It stopped a while ago, but I hadn't really noticed; my senses were occupied so completely with Emmett. I cock my head, listening to the sound of the rain tapping against the windows, splattering on the roof.
"No, just this. It's perfect," I tell him. He smiles, kissing me again before he climbs over my leg, falling to his side next to me. He reaches down and tugs my pants off the rest of the way, pulling them over my feet. I roll onto my side, facing him, and let him pull me close.
"Here, give me your leg," he says, tapping my thigh. I lift it over his legs, hitching it up on his hip, just like I did when we were dancing. I feel his cock slide between my folds and smile; we've never done it like this before, and it feels sweet, intimate.
"Good?" he asks, guiding himself into me. He groans when he slides in, gripping my hip tightly for just a second as he gets used to the sensation.
"Yeah, it's perfect," I tell him, letting my fingers trail up and down his back. He moves slowly inside me, a gentle, calm rhythm.
"I didn't bring you up here for this, you know," he says, kissing my forehead. I giggle, imagining Emmett planning this elaborate seduction. My laugh makes him groan, the movement going straight to his cock.
"I know," I assure him, drawing circles on his hip with my middle finger. "I like this position, Em, it's so nice," I tell him, dropping kisses on his shoulder. He cups my ass with his free hand, pulling me closer, and starts to move faster inside me.
"I like it when you tell me what you like," he says, gripping my thigh, pulling my leg up higher. He's so thick inside me, stretching me, and his body is pressing up against mine in exactly the right spot. I'm still so turned on, and I know I'm going to come again.
"I like it when you... oh fuck, Emmett," I gasp, circling my hips against his as he thrusts harder, grinding against me. "Oh, Emmett. I love it when you do that... when you... oh, Jesus, Em," I groan, clinging to his shoulder.
"I'm not gonna last very long, B," he says, his voice muffled by my shoulder. He starts mumbling incoherently, his lips pressed up against my skin.
"Just a little more... just... yeah, just... Oh!" I cry, clinging to Emmett as he rolls me over onto my back. He lifts my other leg, holding it behind my knee, and starts to slam his hips against mine. He grinds against me every time, dragging out the contact, and it doesn't take long before I'm writhing, screaming underneath him.
He follows me quickly, calling out my name as he comes, the muscles in his back shuddering under my fingertips. He collapses against me, covering my face in kisses before rolling away.
When his breathing slows down, he jumps to his feet and moves over to the record player, reaching out to change the album. It's Otis Redding again, Try a Little Tenderness this time, and Emmett flops back down onto our pile of blankets. I snuggle up to him, rest my palm on his chest, and watch it rise and fall with his slow, even breaths. I'm so glad I have Emmett-so glad that his tender heart is all mine. My eyes flutter closed, and I fall asleep in his arms, with my hand over his heart.
A/N: Awwwww. What did you think? Please leave a review and let me know, reviews make me smile. Let me know if there are any other missing moments from that summer that you want to read about... I'm feeling nostalgic. :)
Bella and Emmett are listening to Otis Redding's album Pain In My Heart, which you should own. They dance to "These Arms of Mine," from that record, and then they switch to Solomon Burke's "Cry To Me."
Oh, and to save you some time, here's the scene from Dirty Dancing (you know you were going to go look it up anyway): www youtube com / watch?v=-pouIFiaIig