Paint Me Beautiful

myself that the reason I can't remember is because I have never felt quite like this. Emmett Sinclair is working his magic, and damn it, I'm enthralled. Suddenly, I can't wait to go paddle boating. I want to go paddle boating with him, and I want to sit in his arms and watch the sun set. I want to know who he is and how he got that way, and the most frightening thing of all is that I want him to be mine. I want to lay claim to him, mark him, make sure that nobody else comes by and takes him away.
    I dated my high school sweetheart for three years and not once did I feel this way about him. Not even once.
    “ Emmett,” I say, prying myself away reluctantly. I can hear a car on the gravel driveway. I can't have my mom walk in and find me dry humping on her countertop; she would never recover. “Stop, stop, stop,” I say, but he's already stepping back and bending down to grab his hat. On his face is a serene smile, like he's just ascended the steps to Heaven. It doesn't escape my attention that I was the one that put that look there.
    “ I told you,” he whispers as he stands back up, kisses my cheek, and helps me down. “You feel it, too, don't you?” I have to swallow three times to find my voice.
    “ Yeah, we have good chemistry,” I admit, and Emmett laughs. We both know it's more than that, but I still don't believe in fate, so I don't realize that there are greater forces at work here than I can understand. I hear my mother's car door slam and look over at Emmett. He's waiting for me to make a decision. I can either send him away or invite him up to my room. Either way, I don't think he's going to give up on me. He suspects that I'm not eating, and he isn't judging me. He wants to help me, but he isn't pushing. I like that. “Emmett,” I say and my voice is breathy and soft. I feel my cheeks flush bright.
    “ Hey,” he says, reaching out and touching my chin. “I will see you on Saturday, okay?” He starts to turn away when I grab his hand.
    “ Come upstairs with me,” I whisper, feeling that icy cold creep through my body again. When Emmett is around, I can ignore it. He makes me feel warm; I want to feel warm. “It doesn't have to mean anything,” I add, just in case I'm scaring him off. He doesn't look scared though. His face is gentle, and his smile is soft.
    “ It will mean everything,” he tells me cryptically, but I don't care, I pull him towards the stairs and manage to get him into my room before my mother walks in the front door. I slap my hand on the stereo and let whatever is going to play, play. As if the universe senses I need the perfect soundtrack for my life right now, it plays Who'd Have Known by Lily Allen as I push Emmett against my bedroom door and kiss him hard and furious, desperate. I feel like I'm suffocating, like I can get all the air I need to breathe from his lips alone.
    His hot hands travel under my white cami and find the swimsuit, teasing my nipples through the slippery fabric and then sliding down my ribs, dipping into my jeans. Before he can even ask, I reach down and slide open one of the drawers on the desk and find a condom. I grab his wrist with one hand and place it there, pushing the little package into his palm with force.
    Emmett is walking us backwards towards the bed, moving our bodies in a sensuous dance that ends with him on top of me, pressing me into the white linens of my bed while my hands unbutton his jeans and slide inside, down the bulge of hard flesh between his legs. Emmett moans into my mouth and I respond in turn, arching my back as he returns the favor and slides my jeans down my hips as easily as if they were sweatpants instead of skinny jeans.
    “ Oh, Claire,” he says as he sits up briefly and drops the white fabric to the floor. His face is a strange mixture of sorrow and desperate desire. I forget for a brief moment that I am disgusted with my body and reach up, wrapping my arms around Emmett's neck and pulling his lips back to mine. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers just before we close the space between us with a flaming kiss, one that makes me feel like I'm flying, sending up a flutter of butterflies in my belly. The stupid bells on my bikini bottoms jingle as Emmett unties the laces and slides them out from under me, leaving me bare against his hardness with nothing but the thin, white cotton of his briefs separating us.
    His shirt is next, torn desperately off by both sets of our scrabbling hands as we fight to