She says she didnât miss him. The quick fuse ignites, and Amycus bristles instantly. The fire in his eyes beginning to flicker, the once softness of his features beginning to harden as he took offense. But thereâs something about the way that her grin catches at her mouth. Something sly, something secret, something she knows that clearly he doesnât. Emma didnât kinda miss him; she missed him a lot. That confession alone blooms something warm and not entirely unpleasant within his chest. More importantly, the feeling is not unfamiliar, likening it to the ones heâd felt in her presence long before, feelings that would come to the surface when heâd see her name slide across his phone screen in the middle of a boardroom meeting or when her face would light up when presented with a Cartier box. âDonât do that,â Amycus scolds, sucking his teeth, but it doesnât do too much to chase off the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He has a reputation to uphold, and he couldnât allow himself to jump the gun after one night with Emma, even if his mind already was in the process of it, âI was this close to kicking you off the fucking bed.â
Her lips trail along his jaw, and Amycus tips his head back against his pillow, giving her all the room to lavish him if she wants. âIâm starving,â the confession comes on the tail end of a low rumble from his emptied stomach. âAnd so are they,â he mutters in annoyance, hearing Santo and Diosa pitifully whining in unison on the opposite side of the door. âOkay! PapĂĄâs coming to feed you,â Amycus calls to them, an irritated growl to his voice as he reaches down to the floor for his discarded boxers, pulling them up to sit low on his hips. Slipping regretfully from Emmaâs warmth, from her touch, he rifles quick through a drawer and yanks out a pair of sweatpants, shoving his legs through and pads out to the kitchen, but not before he reaches over the bed to smack her ass loudly over the sheets, recoiling quick to evade her wrath. âThey act like I never feed them,â he tells her as he rations out dry food into bowls, keen ears picking up on another set of light steps entering the room. Excitedly, his dogs sniff at Emmaâs ankles before knocking into each other to get closer to him and more importantly, their food. âCut it out. Donât act up now because we have a guest.â He holds up a hand, his Dobermans obedient, as they wait for their bowls to go down, and wait for their commands. âEat,â Amycus says, and the sounds of munching and crunching begin. âTheyâre very good, these two. Listen to everything I say.â Making his way to the fridge, he had breakfast on the brain, âOoh â I got eggs left. Hope you want an omelet because thatâs the only thing on the menu.â
Emma knows not to play with fire. Every child learns that touching a stove, no matter if itâs just been used or not, carries the risk of getting burned. Often, they do it once, get harmed, and learn to never do it again. And yet Emma still told Amycus she didnât miss him, knowing how easy it was to burn herself this way. It was because she missed him more than the small amount he hoped she had, but still, the first sentence was like dangling fuel before the heat he gave off. She had ignited him in the past and gotten burned, and of course, he had done the same with her. They should have learned by now, that the other was too hot to the touch, too easy to burn yourself on, and yet, they found themselves here, tangled in sheets and limbs and the bliss of the morning. It was so easy for them to burn themselves on one another, but it was just as easy to melt. âYou know I wouldâve killed you if you did that,â she warns, a reminder that her wrath could burn as hot as her skin felt against his right now. That still didnât stop her from craving more of the contact they had as she continued to kiss the skin he gave her more access to.
She didnât quite respond to his comments, only groaned once in agreement at the hunger he felt and another time in protest as he left the bed. Not ready to get up, Emma instead rests on her stomach in the warm spot Amycus left behind, the blankets lazily draped around the lower half of her body. Thankfully, it provides a slight barrier as the forceful smack provides a much harsher jolt of energy than what might have come to her naturally. Instead of a slow oncoming energy at the desire to follow a sweatpants-clad Amycus into the kitchen, there was an immediate burst after he smacked her ass, rising her from bed as she began to shout. âSeriously?â Emma called, digging around for a shirt of his she could throw on before storming her way into the kitchen. âDid you really have to smack my ass that hard? What the hell?!â she shouts, her rage unable to be contained even at this hour. Luckily for him, the dogs ease her anger enough for her to pet their heads before they listen to his commands, her tone quieting as she speaks once more. âHope you know Iâm not like that,â she replies, arms folded over her chest. And yet, she was still here, listening to much of what he had said the night before. Actions spoke louder than words, and hers definitely did as she found herself leaning against him as he spoke. âSounds great. What do you need me to do?â