The Bound Angel (Sacrilege Rising: Book 1)

Chapter Twenty Seven

“Move it let’s go come on I have to peeee,” Emma whined while they waited in the lobby for the elevator. In her defense, it was just about the slowest elevator Mike had ever seen. The number one held steady for a good thirty seconds before the doors finally opened.

Inside, the air was stale and humid. There was nothing to do except stand there and sweat while the number slowly ticked up. A lifetime later, with Emma hopping from foot to foot, the door chimed, and eventually, finally, slowly, opened. She raced out with choppy steps, keys already in hand.

When Mike followed her in, the bathroom door was closed and the light was on. A set of keys were splayed out on the table. And sure enough, right inside the entrance, was an old microwave. It was black, covered in stains, and stank like hell.

Emma swayed a little as she came out of the bathroom looking relieved. Mike glanced down at the microwave, then back to her with a raised eyebrow. She glared at it like it had just said something rude about her hat. Then she turned to Mike and took a breath. “First of all, the lady who owns this building is a real arse. She overcharges on the water bill, lies about increases in rent, and it takes forever to get anything fixed. And when they do finally come, her people leave mud on the carpet and never clean up after themselves. The washer still only has cold water and I told her about it ages ago.”

She moved around the kitchen as she spoke, digging through the cupboard for clean glasses and rummaging through the refrigerator. “A few weeks ago, they sent an email to everyone in the building talking about a summer giveaway. All you had to do was make a wish list and they would pick someone’s at random to fulfill. Well, I was a bit of a smart-arse when I made my list. I asked for little baggies for her people’s shoes, an air conditioner that works, a microwave that actually turns on, stuff like that. It was a good laugh. I thought they’d ignore me, but then I got an email saying I’d won. I was getting one of the items on my list!”

Mike could see where this was going. He waited for the other shoe to drop as she triumphantly pulled a bottle of tequila from the fridge, lined up two glasses, and poured. “I forgot about it until I walked in the other day and saw this box in neat wrapping. If I’m honest, I was excited. Maybe they were making amends for all the shoddy work, you know? Then I ripped it open and saw this rubbish.” She gave him a look. “It doesn’t even work.”

It looked like it had survived a bomb. Or maybe it was a bomb. When Emma kicked the thing like it should have known better than to turn up here, her foot got the worse end of that exchange. “Ow! Arsehole!” Now she had a new reason to hop around.

The glasses caught her attention and the anger in her eyes was replaced by a devious glint. She picked one up and swirled it around, clinking the ice against the edges. She handed the other to Mike. With a pleading look, she asked, “Would you be a mate and carry it down to the dumpster for me?”

Mike had seen where this was going and sighed dramatically. “If I knew hard labor was involved you would have paid for the drinks.”

Pleased with herself, Emma’s face lit up over her glass and they took their first sips together.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

The issue with the microwave wasn’t the weight. It was the bulk. Getting it around corners and through the door was tricky, but he managed with only a few scrapes. The elevator was just as slow on the way down, and by the time he reached the bottom he was sweating again. It was a short walk to the dumpsters at the end of the parking lot, where he had to figure out a way to open the lid. It required a shoulder to lift, then a hip to hold the microwave’s weight, followed by an elbow to prop the lid open. When he finally tossed it in, the microwave landed with a concussive explosion of ringing metal that made him jump back from the dumpster. Maybe it really was a bomb.

Even just a few minutes baking in the sun, after carrying the unwieldy appliance, was a tangible reminder of how sticky-hot it was. On the painfully slow elevator ride back up, waiting long seconds for the doors to close, longer seconds for the motor to hum to life, and longer still to rise to the third floor, sweat was pouring down his face. The stairs would have been better.

“Next time, drinks are definitely on you…” he started to say as he reentered Emma’s apartment. He froze when he saw her.

She’d changed. The sundress, jewelry, and fancy hat were replaced with a tight-fitting V-neck tee shirt and tiny gym shorts. The neckline showed more cleavage than he thought possible on her slim frame, and it was cut short at the bottom, exposing inches of toned midriff. The mesh shorts were miniscule, simultaneously riding low on her hips and barely covering the bottom of her ass. It was the skimpiest outfit he’d ever seen her in. His mouth suddenly felt dry.

Emma was facing the air conditioner in the window, fiddling with knobs and dials. As she leaned and pushed and prodded, it did the most interesting things to her butt, which now occupied his full attention.

“This thing doesn’t seem to be working at full capacity. I’m a bit,” she grunted as she put her weight into it, “miffed, if I’m honest. Lend a hand?”

The chance to be a hero in front of a pretty girl called to Mike’s inner caveman. He took in her long, long legs, and the tiny shorts hugging her ass as he approached.

“Hold this,” she said, gesturing broadly to the entire unit, “while I just…” she rose up on tip toes and reached over the top, dragging the hem of her shirt up even more, revealing most of her trim belly. A metallic clang made him jump as she slammed her hand against the machine. It was a good thing he was holding it in place.

They waited. Nothing happened. When she reached again, Mike couldn’t keep himself from staring. Another smack. Still nothing.

Emma stepped back with her hands on her hips, looking annoyed. “Wonderful. It’s out again on the hottest day of the year.” She returned to the kitchen table, bare feet padding on the floor, hips swaying in those shorts. She held the glass of tequila against her forehead. “I had to change, it’s a real scorcher, and now this. Sorry,” she said with her eyes closed, focusing on the cold glass against her skin, “you must be so uncomfortable.”

That was certainly true, though not in the way she meant.

Eventually, she opened her eyes and noticed he was drenched. “Oh, I’m so sorry, come here, come here, quickly now.” She opened the freezer and took two ice cubes from the bin, handing one to him. The other she held to her throat. “Oh my,” she breathed. “That’s nice.”

Unsure what else to do, Mike mirrored her. The ice felt weird. The cold was nice, but the feeling of meltwater dripping down his neck was awkward. It did take the edge off the heat though. Uncomfortable as it was, his attention was entirely on the sight before him.

Emma was leaning against the refrigerator, head tilted back, eyes closed, a look of intense pleasure on her face. The same water he felt on his own throat was slowly dripping down hers. The runnels trickled over her collarbone, down her chest, and into the valley beyond. Her skin glistened. Even as hot as it was, it took a while for ice to melt, and his mind drifted while he drank in the image of this lovely woman.

Eventually, he looked up. Emma was looking back at him. How long had he been staring? Whether it was the alcohol, or the heat, or some combination of both, he was surprised to find that he wasn’t embarrassed to be caught.

Once she knew he was watching, Emma slowly, sensually, glanced down to his chest, then further to his waist. She bit her bottom lip, and when she looked up her eyes were smoldering. “You’re soaked,” she said quietly, stepping close, reaching for the bottom of his shirt. “Let me wash this.”

Mike froze like a deer in headlights, his mind racing with uncertainty. Was this really happening? It actually was ridiculously hot, maybe he was reading too much into it. Should he kiss her? What if she was just being a good friend?

Everything was washed away by the look in her eyes. Those deep, brown, gorgeous eyes that were now on fire. They’d never been so close. He’d never noticed the little flecks of gold in the brown.

Then she was peeling the wet shirt over his head and they were kissing.

The first touch of their lips was a delicate, hesitant thing, quieting his mind. They came together for a moment that lasted heartbeats, then pulled away, before locking eyes and embracing again. And for a time, they lived in that kiss, memorizing the simple feeling of their lips pressed softly together.

Warm breath and soft skin. A gentle exhale. A tender purr from the back of her throat. A thought intruded, breaking the stillness. Mike became painfully aware that he was bare from the waist up, and Emma wasn’t far behind.

Soft sighs and tickling breaths became deep and heavy. Hands became bolder. Emma rubbed her leg against his. Mike grasped her hips and pulled her against him, making sure she noticed his stiffening erection. Around them, the world swam.

The kiss deepened. She slipped her tongue into his mouth, making him groan. He was holding her bare waist and wanted more. He explored her back, under the tight shirt, then her stomach, over bra-covered breasts, lifting the shirt over her head.

As soon as it was out of the way they were kissing again. Now skin was touching skin and they became bolder still. Her hands were around his neck and in his hair and pulling at the waistband on his shorts. His roamed over her back and squeezed her ass and pulled her hips against him tighter, insisting she notice.

“Oh god,” Emma breathed while her body moved on its own accord, groping and writhing. “Holy shit,” she groaned when she cupped his length over his shorts.

She didn’t curse often. It sounded downright filthy and made him throb in her hand. He pulled one bra strap down her arm and kissed his way over her bare shoulder, before moving to the other. Her hair was messy and her eyes wild as she started fumbling with his belt. Mike tangled his fingers in her hair and forced pressure into the kiss while he reached into her shorts to grope her ass.

They twisted and turned and stumbled toward the bedroom, keeping contact the whole way. In the middle of the living room, Emma finally got his belt undone and reached inside. At the same time, Mike pushed her shorts down until they fell to her ankles. An instant later he was palming her bare ass again. When she caressed his cock over his boxers, he groaned into her mouth.

“Fuck,” she cursed again, “you’re big.” Her proper accent made it maddeningly sexy. “I need it. I need you. Do whatever you need, just give it to me.”

Hotter words had never been spoken, and something stirred inside him. More insistent than mere desire. More selfish than simple need. A dark longing to pin her down and spread her open and take what he wanted. The now-familiar shadow was smothering his thoughts, and a growl rumbled in his throat. Emma’s whimper in response urged him on like a wild animal cornering its prey. He gripped her ass in both hands and lifted until her legs were wrapped around his waist. Panties and boxers were now the only thing separating them.

Between sloppy kisses and selfish gropes, a quiet voice spoke in the back of his mind. Had words like that ever been spoken? His first time with Meredith came to mind, when she urged him to do as he pleased. Allie had sounded much the same, her desperate voice pleading for him to tell her what he wanted.

He pinned Emma against the wall hard enough to make the dishes in the cabinet rattle. Her fingers stroked his hair as she moaned into his mouth. The need for more pressure was overwhelming, and he squeezed her ass and ground his length against her damp panties. Their kiss had dissolved into a frantic mashing of lips and tongues.

But he couldn’t get the voice out of his head. In the span of a few weeks, he’d taken his work crush to bed, lived out darkly erotic dreams with a girl from his fantasies, and now he was about to sleep with Emma. She was his best friend, the most elegant, graceful, proper woman he’d ever laid eyes on. And now she was begging him to do whatever he wanted to her. It was all too similar. It didn’t feel right.

Mike pulled back. He fought the shadow off and broke the kiss. His length was still pressed between her legs, but he held still. Their eyes met. Hers were relaxed, glassy, far away, like she was still drunk at the pub. When they returned to his, they refocused. She kissed him and shifted her hips, humping herself on his length while she slipped her tongue back into his mouth.

“Are you okay?” Mike managed to ask when the kiss broke. “How do you feel?”

Her eyes widened at the sudden questions, but she wouldn’t be sidetracked. “I’m on fire.” She ground against his cock again. “I need this in me. I need to get fucked. However you want. Here against the wall, bend me over, whatever, I don’t care, just fuck me already.” She reached into his boxers and grasped his bare length. The contact made his breath catch, and he throbbed again.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Despite her hand pumping his shaft, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. That this was all just too familiar.

“Jesus. I’m fine. Don’t be a wanker. Let’s fucking go. Come on Mike, please.” Hearing her say his name like that sent fire racing through his veins. She was pleading now, reaching and pulling to get their underwear out of the way, forcing her hips down to meet his length.

Mike’s head was spinning. Could he hook up with another woman? How could that be fair when none of them had the full picture? Could he do it without telling either of his other two… what? Friends with benefits? This was Emma. Could he simply add her to the stable? The word felt gross as soon as it came to mind.

He set her down and stepped back, suddenly feeling light-headed. “I… can’t,” he mumbled through the fog. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Emma panted in response. “What do you mean you can’t? Are you serious?”

Her eyes shifted from wild to confused to embarrassed in a blink. The vulnerability in them, the pain, broke his heart. But it also brought a sliver of clarity.

“Something’s happening to me. I can’t explain it, but I have to go. Emma, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

He stumbled through her apartment. The room spun. He thought he might pass out. But he needed to leave. If he stayed, something would happen neither of them were ready for. He picked up his discarded clothes as he went, eyes lingering on the tee shirt Emma was wearing just moments ago. It looked tiny lying there on the floor.

Was he crazy? What was he doing? Then his shorts were up. A sob came from behind him. It made his nose burn and his eyes water, but he didn’t look back. Then he was out the door, taking the stairs two at a time, desperate to feel the wind dry his tears.