Chapter 4: The Soaked Threshold
The second the door clicked shut, Emily turned and slammed Isaac against it, her mouth crashing into his.
There was no hesitation, no gentle prelude. The tension from the street, from the storm, from every snarky comment and charged glance across a crowded room, detonated. His back hit the wood with a soft thud, and a low, surprised sound vibrated from his throat into hers. She kissed him with a desperate hunger, all teeth and wet skin and grasping hands. He recovered in an instant, his own hands coming up to fist in her soaked sweater, kissing her back just as fiercely.
They tore at each other’s clothes. Buttons from her cardigan pinged against the baseboard. His leather jacket, already half-off, hit the floor with a heavy slap. Her fingers fumbled with the buckle of his belt, the denim of his jeans stiff and waterlogged. He shoved the sweater and the thin t-shirt beneath it up and over her head in one rough motion, breaking the kiss only for the second it took to discard them. The air in the hallway was cool on her bare skin, raising goosebumps, but his hands were blazing hot as they slid down her back, over the curve of her ass, gripping hard through the wet fabric of her skirt.
“Bedroom,” she gasped against his mouth, her own hands working his jeans open, pushing them down over his hips.
He didn’t need telling twice. He walked her backwards, a stumbling, frantic retreat from the entryway, shedding his own clothes as they went. A trail of wet fabric marked their path: his t-shirt, her skirt, his jeans, her lace underwear, discarded like afterthoughts. The dim light from the living room lamp glazed his pale skin, highlighting the lean muscle of his torso, the scar tissue she’d never asked about, the intense, focused hunger in his eyes.
They crossed the threshold into her bedroom, a tumble of limbs and heated breath. He lifted her, his hands under her thighs, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, kissing him again, deep and claiming. He carried her the few steps to the bed and lowered her onto the pink comforter.
They came together with a raw, desperate hunger. There was no patience, no slow exploration. They’d done enough circling. He was on her, between her thighs, his body a heavy, welcome weight. She could feel the hard length of him pressing against her belly. His mouth was at her throat, his teeth scraping her pulse point as his hand slid down between their bodies.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he growled, his fingers finding her wet and ready, sliding through her folds with no preamble.
She arched off the bed with a sharp cry, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “Isaac…”
“Yeah,” he breathed, the word a promise and a curse. He positioned himself, his eyes locked on hers, blue fire in the semi-darkness. Then he pushed into her, a single, deep, devastating stroke that buried him to the hilt.
The air left her lungs in a punched-out moan. He was bigger than she’d imagined, stretching her exquisitely, filling a hollow ache she hadn’t fully admitted was there. He stilled for a moment, his forehead pressed to hers, his whole body trembling with the effort of control. She could see the wildness in his eyes, the beast beneath the skin, and it thrilled her.
“Move,” she commanded, her voice ragged.
He obeyed. He set a punishing rhythm from the start, each deep thrust jolting the bed frame against the wall. The sounds were obscene and perfect: the slick slap of skin on skin, their ragged breaths, the creak of the old springs. He was possessive, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, angling her to take him even deeper.
“You feel… fucking incredible,” he gritted out, his voice strained. “So tight. Christ, Emily.”
She could only gasp, her head thrashing side to side on the comforter, her nails scoring down his back. Every nerve was alight, every thrust coiling the tension in her core tighter, hotter. He shifted, hooking an arm under her knee, driving into her at a new, devastating angle. A broken scream tore from her throat.
“Yeah, just like that,” he urged, his breath hot in her ear. “Come on. Let me feel you.”
She was close, teetering on a razor’s edge. But he seemed to sense it. He slowed, withdrawing almost completely before sinking back in with a torturous, slow roll of his hips. She whimpered, a sound of pure frustration.
“Isaac, please…”
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, his mouth on her jaw, her cheek.
“I want you to fuck me. Hard. Don’t stop.”
A guttural sound ripped from him. He pulled out suddenly, flipping her over onto her stomach before she could process it. He dragged her hips up, her face pressing into the soft pink comforter. One hand anchored on her shoulder, the other guiding himself back into her from behind.
This was different. Deeper. More animal. Each thrust drove her forward, muffling her cries into the bedding. He leaned over her, his chest a hot weight against her back, his mouth at her ear.
“This what you wanted?” he snarled, punctuating each word with a sharp, deep pump of his hips. “You want me to fuck you like this? Like I can’t get enough?”
“Yes! God, yes!” The words were a sob. The pressure was building again, unstoppable this time, a tsunami gathering force in her belly.
His pace became brutal, unrelenting. The room filled with the sound of their collision, his ragged grunts, her choked-off pleas. She could feel the sweat-slick heat of his skin against hers, the bunch and release of his muscles with every movement. The coil snapped.
Her orgasm exploded through her, a white-hot detonation that ripped a strangled scream from her throat. Her muscles clenched around him, wave after convulsing wave of pure, mindless pleasure.
“Fuck, Emily…” he groaned, his rhythm faltering as her walls milked him. “Good girl. That’s it. Take it.”
Her climax triggered his. With a final, deep thrust that pinned her to the mattress, he came with a raw, shuddering groan, his body locking tight against hers as he emptied himself inside her. He collapsed partially on top of her, his weight a solid, comforting anchor as they both gasped for air, shuddering through the aftershocks.
Slowly, the world seeped back in. The patter of rain against the window. The smell of sex and sweat and damp cotton. The frantic, slowing drumbeat of her own heart. And his, a steady, powerful rhythm against her back.
He softened within her and slowly pulled out, rolling onto his side beside her. They lay in a breathless, sticky heap on the ruined comforter. Moonlight, faint through the rain-streaked glass, painted silver lines across his torso.
After a long while, Emily found her voice, hoarse and used. “So. That’s your idea of drying off.”
Isaac let out a breath that was almost a laugh. He turned his head on the pillow to look at her. His hair was a wild, damp halo, his eyes still dark, but the frantic edge had softened into something quieter, more vulnerable. “Seemed efficient.”
She shifted, wincing at the pleasant ache between her legs, and propped herself up on an elbow. She traced the fresh red lines her nails had left on his shoulder. “You’re gonna have to explain those to your lacrosse buddies.”
“Battle scars,” he murmured, catching her hand and bringing her fingertips to his lips. He kissed them, a surprisingly tender gesture that made her breath catch. His eyes held hers, the silence now thick with something else, something too vast and new to name.
Outside, the rain finally began to ease.