Unbroken

strange, shuttered look drops over Emerson’s face. I gulp, suddenly fearful. What does he think of me now? I didn’t invite this, but I sure as hell didn’t put up a fight either.
    Slowly, deliberately, Emerson releases me. He climbs off the couch, pulling his shirt back down, and adjusting his jeans.
    “You hate me,” I whisper. Regret mingles with desire in my bloodstream, sobering me.
    His eyes flash up. A twisted smile curves on his lips. “No,” Emerson says, his tone dry and arch. “But your timing leaves something to be desired.”
    “I didn’t…” I stutter. “I couldn’t…” But words are useless. What can I say, to explain the power he has over me, overwhelming, mindless —how one touch could send me hurtling over the edge, in total freefall, not even thinking for a second about the boyfriend I have waiting for me. The man who loves me, and trusts me…
    Now Emerson’s touch isn’t blinding me with desire, the cold truth of what I’ve just done comes crashing down over me. I flush with shame and guilt, quickly scrambling up from the couch cushions and yanking my clothes back into place. I fumble with the buttons Emerson just pulled open, burning up with guilt.
    How could I do this? How could I be such a terrible girlfriend? To lose my mind and all my loyalty in one reckless swoop—with the one person I swore I’d never do this with again!
    “You need to go.” I tell Emerson, shivering. The tension between us in the room is dangerous; I can still feel the blazing trail his tongue left along my stomach. I shake my head, and take a few more steps away, as if distance between us will somehow erase the last ten minutes. “You need to go, now!”
    “Whatever you want.” Emerson stares at me, cryptic, then turns to leave.
    I cautiously follow him out to the front porch. The night air hits me, cold against my skin. I wrap my arms around myself. My whole body is throbbing, flushed and sensitive, still aching with the release denied. I hug harder.
    “I won’t…” I start to say, then stop, to correct. “I can’t see you again. This can never happen, you understand?”
    Emerson gives me a curt nod.
    “I’m sorry,” I say again, my voice twisting. And I am. Sorry I came back, sorry I dragged up all these old memories, sorry I don’t have the strength or willpower to ever be just friends with this man.
    But not sorry you kissed him, a rebellious voice inside my head whispers. Not sorry you got to taste him, one last time.
    Emerson gives me one last look, then he slowly climbs down the porch steps and walks away into the night.
    Despite everything, I feel an ache watching him go.
    But he only makes it halfway across the lawn before he stops, and turns back.
    Our eyes meet across the dark. My heart catches, and something shifts in his expression.
    “Fuck it,” he swears harshly and strides back towards me. He covers the distance in a few short steps, and I barely have time to think before he grabs me, lifting me up and slamming me back against the doorframe as his lips come crashing down on mine again. I’m reeling, lost to him all over again, but this kiss is different, more than just desire. His mouth consumes me, harsh and devouring, as if he’s trying to brand himself on my very soul.
    I surrender. I fall back, helpless under the onslaught, drowning in the dark velvet taste of him, until finally Emerson drags himself back, panting.
    “You’re mine.” He growls, his breath hot against my face. My legs give way, and he holds me up, gripping my jaw so I have no choice but to stare up into his eyes. To lose myself in them.
    “You’re mine,” he says again fiercely. “Not his, not anyone else’s. You can try and pretend you don’t feel it, but you do. You’ll always be mine.”
    His eyes burn into mine, demanding, and I know with a terrible clarity, that it’s true.
    I belong to him.
    The realization sends a fresh shard of guilt splintering through my chest. He’s right. I’ve always been his. If he picked me up right now and hauled me upstairs to bed, I wouldn’t resist for one second. I would be his, completely, to hell with Daniel and every promise I’ve made.
    But what does that make me?
    Emerson drops one final, searing kiss on my lips, and then stalks away. I sink against the railing, clutching on for dear life as I watch him climb up into his truck and start the engine, the headlights cutting through the night. He backs up and drives away, the lights fading as