Chapter 2

Emily traced her tongue along the salty creases of Mark’s fingers, swirling over his knuckles as he drove one-handed, his grip on the wheel white-knuckled. The taste of her lingered on his skin—musky, intimate—and she moaned softly around his digits, her lips sealing tight as she sucked them deeper. His jaw clenched, the muscle there jumping under his stubble. “Jesus, Em,” he muttered, shifting in his seat as his cock strained against his zipper again. She grinned, her free hand sliding up his thigh, fingertips brushing the bulge there. “You’re gonna get us wrecked,” he warned, but his hips jerked into her touch anyway.

The suburban streets blurred past, neat lawns and cookie-cutter houses a dull contrast to the feverish heat between them. Emily released his fingers with a wet pop, licking her lips as she watched him exhale sharply. “Mom’s probably home by now,” she murmured, her hand still teasing the outline of his length through his jeans. “Think she’ll notice how wrecked I look?” She fluttered her lashes, knowing full well her skirt was still rumpled, her blouse hastily rebuttoned crookedly.

Mark’s gaze flicked to her thighs—still damp with sweat and the evidence of what they’d done—before he cursed and adjusted himself roughly. “You’re playing with fire,” he growled, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

The familiar two-story colonial came into view, its porch light already glowing in the dusk. Karen’s silver Lexus sat in the driveway, sleek and polished—just like her. Emily’s stomach twisted as she imagined her mother inside, perfectly put together, her book club gossip still fresh on her tongue.

The front door opened before they’d even climbed the steps. Karen stood in the doorway, her silk blouse clinging to her ample curves, her lips painted a soft pink. “There you two are,” she said, her smile warm as she stepped forward to kiss Mark’s cheek. Emily watched, her fingers curling into fists as her mother’s manicured hand lingered on Mark’s chest. “How was college, sweetheart?” Karen asked, turning to her.

Emily forced a smile, her skin prickling beneath her clothes—clothes that still smelled like hay and sex. “Fine,” she said, breezing past her mother before she could catch a whiff of the barn still clinging to them.

Karen frowned, her gaze darting between them. “You’re both ... flushed,” she remarked, her head tilting. Mark cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Em kept rolling the damn window down,” he lied smoothly, stepping around his wife to toe off his shoes.

Emily hovered in the kitchen doorway, watching as Karen absently adjusted Mark’s collar, her fingers brushing his throat. A hot spike of jealousy lanced through her. She doesn’t know, Emily thought, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. She doesn’t know what he tastes like, how he sounds when he comes.

Karen turned, catching Emily’s stare. “Everything okay, honey?”

Emily blinked, smoothing her expression. “Just hungry,” she said, but her eyes flicked to Mark, lingering on the faint red marks her nails had left on his forearm—marks her mother hadn’t noticed yet.

Mark met her gaze, his own dark with promise. Later, his eyes seemed to say. Emily swallowed, her thighs pressing together.

Karen sighed, heading for the fridge. “I’ll start dinner,” she said, oblivious. “Mark, pour me a glass of wine?”

Emily slipped upstairs, her pulse hammering. She could still taste him on her tongue.

And she wanted more.

Mark reached for the wine bottle, his fingers lingering on the cool glass as his gaze tracked Karen across the kitchen. The late evening sunlight slanted through the window, painting her silhouette in gold—the way her sundress clung to the generous curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, the way the thin fabric did nothing to hide the heavy sway of her breasts as she bent to retrieve a pan from the lower cabinet. His throat went dry. They were fuller than Emily’s, the weight of them undeniable, the cleavage deep enough to lose himself in.