Page 120 of Lessons In Grey

I caught my bottom lip between my own teeth, unable to help myself, her eyes flicking to that very motion just like mine did when she did the same. “How was your day?” I asked, pushing back a strand of her hair.

Her hand fell from my neck to my chest. “Good,” she said,studying my lips. “I’ve got extra work tonight,” she revealed, eyes finally finding mine. “I spoke to my publishing Professor. I think I’m going to really try and open my own publishing company.”

She eyed me, watching me carefully as if waiting for my approval. Which made sense with the dynamic we had slipped seamlessly in.

I smiled as I sat down, pulling her gently into my lap. “This sentiment won’t mean as much, being as you have the money, but baby, ask it of me and I’ll buy you your own 100-story building and fill it with people.”

She laughed lightly, falling gracefully into my lap, scooting back against my chest. “The sentiment remains the same,” she said, falling into me.

I wrapped my arm around her as she pulled her knees up, curling into me. No longer did she carry any bruises that carried painful memories. No longer did she have sleepless nights or days without food. She was doing everything I asked of her without complaint, without hesitation. She was thriving in her new life. A life we were building together.

“Do you think I can do it?” she asked, smoothing out my tie. “Be successful at being a publisher?”

I nodded, kissing her head, staring at that letter sitting open on my desk. “I have more belief in you than you will ever understand, Emily.” I didn’t want to leave her. I never wanted to leave her again, but we had spoken in length about what my job entails. Malachi had the right to send me wherever he needed me to be, despite my requests. I was still a great asset. Although this wasn’t a part of that job, it was a part ofthisjob. It remained the same.

“Emily,” I began quietly, feeling her shiver in my grip. She loved it when I whispered her name, even more so when I moaned it desperately in her ear, but now wasn’t the time for fucking. Despite her understanding of what I did, I still worried. Still feared that some part of her would resent me, hate me, forleaving.

She lifted her head just enough to run her nose across my neck. “Hmm?” she asked, gently kissing under my jaw.

She had become so comfortable in this. In touching. It was her love language. She couldn’t not touch me. Any time we were around each other, she wanted to touch, to feel that physical contact, and I always obliged because I was just as obsessed with touching her, feeling her. But it was different with her, deeper. It wasn’t just about the physical contact, it was everything that came with it. She needed to feel connected.

I closed my eyes, relishing her lips on me, her sweet, sensual kisses, her hand smoothing over my chest. I tightened my arm around her, my other hand sliding over her thigh. Fuck, I loved her. I was so deeply in love with her that they would need to come up with a new term for how I felt.

“Emily,” I said again, breathlessly.

She dug her fingernails into my chest. Acrylics I had paid for in a style she chose, in colors I craved. Black and blood red ombre. Almond shaped, not long enough to become a nuisance, but long enough to leave streaks of blood when she became overly aroused.

She loved them.

As did I.

“Hmm?” she hummed, nuzzling my neck.

God, I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to bend her over this desk and fuck her until she wept, but this was important. This was so important.

“Baby,” I mumbled, catching her chin, tilting her head up until her hooded eyes found mine.

Lust filled them. A deep, dark kind of lust I knew all too well. “I have to go.”

She blinked, her brows pulling together, worry filling those eyes as they cleared, focusing on my words. “What?”

“An annual retreat,” I explained, glancing to her beautiful pinklips and back. “For the writing department of the school.”

She blinked again, shaking her head, leaning back to try and refocus. “Retreat?” she mumbled, turning to stare at a spot on the floor.

I let her work through it. Sometimes she had a hard time finding the words, and I often wondered if it was because such beautiful and complicated words filled her far too fully. She had to find the right ones to describe what was going on in her head, and sometimes they failed her, which was why I was so grateful we were able to speak without them so often.

Emily closed her eyes, pushing her hair back. “Right,” she finally said with a sigh, her legs falling to the ground as she balanced on my thigh. “Right, I had forgotten.” She turned back to me, chewing on her lip, the crease between her brow revealing her worry. “Two weeks. I’ve wondered since year one why they said the entire writing department. That’s all of you.”

She was right. Most of us taught nothing but writing in some way shape or form, but there were only a dozen of us going.

“I leave in the morning,” I explained, searching her eyes. “I’ll be back in two weeks.”

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “Okay, who is going with you?”

A small smile tilted my lips up. “All big burly straight men with bald heads and cheeto beards,” I told her, a smile spreading across her lips.

Emily rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay,” she laughed. “I get it.”