Chapter 42

My Cheating Mate

Emma pov

I drifted awake slowly, consciousness returning in gentle waves. The first thing I noticed was warmth. Safety. The gentle, rhythmic motion of fingers moving through my hair.

Jeremy.

I kept my eyes closed for a moment longer, savoring the feeling. His hand in my hair. His solid presence beneath me. The steady rise and fall of his breathing.

When I finally opened my eyes, I found him watching me. Not in a creepy way—his expression was soft, almost reverent. Like I was something precious he was afraid might disappear.

"Hey," he said quietly. "Sleep well?"

"Really well, actually." I stretched, feeling muscles relax that had been tense for months. "How long was I out?"

"About two hours." His hand stilled in my hair. "Should I have woken you sooner? I wasn't sure—"

"No. This was perfect." I sat up slowly, processing the feelings moving through me. The pull toward him. The desire—not just physical, though that was definitely there—to be close. To drop the walls I'd been maintaining for months.

Last night's attack had clarified something for me. Life was fragile. Tomorrow wasn't guaranteed. And I was tired of denying what I wanted out of fear or anger or stubborn pride.

I wanted Jeremy. Still. Despite everything.

So I made a choice.

I shifted my position, moving from lying across his lap to straddling him. His eyes widened with surprise and something else—heat, desire, but tempered with uncertainty.

"Emma?" His hands hovered near my hips, not quite touching. "What are you—"

"Is this okay?" I asked, settling my weight on his lap. The position was intimate, intentional. No mistaking what I was suggesting.

"That depends." His voice was rough. "What does this mean? What do you want?"

"I want you." The admission came easier than I expected. "I want to feel close to you. Want to stop punishing us both by pretending I don't still desire you."

"Emma, we don't have to—I don't want you to feel pressured—"

I silenced him with a kiss. Deeper than the one in the kitchen. More demanding. My hands moving to his shoulders, then up to tangle in his hair.

He groaned against my mouth, his hands finally—finally—settling on my hips. Gripping but not pulling, letting me control the pace, the depth, the direction.

"Tell me to stop," I whispered against his lips. "If you're not ready. If this is too much."

"Too much?" He laughed, breathless. "Emma, I've been dreaming about touching you for months. Wanting you. Missing you. But—" He pulled back slightly. "I need to know you're sure. That this isn't just adrenaline from last night. Or fear. Or—"

"It's not." I met his eyes. "Jeremy, I'm not saying everything's fixed. Not saying I've forgotten or forgiven everything. But I'm saying I want this. Want you. Right now. Is that enough?"

"More than enough." His hands tightened on my hips. "But Emma, I need you to know—if we do this, I'm not going to be thinking about anyone else. Not comparing you. Not wishing you were someone else. Just you. Only you."

The vulnerability in his voice, the obvious need to reassure me, made my chest ache. "I believe you."

"Do you? Really?"

"Yes." I kissed him again, softer this time. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

That seemed to break whatever restraint he'd been holding onto. His mouth found mine with sudden urgency, his hands moving from my hips to my back, pulling me closer. I could feel his arousal beneath me, proof that he wanted this as much as I did.

I ground down slightly, experimentally. He made a choked sound against my lips.

"Emma—fuck—we should probably slow down—"

"Why?" I was already tugging at his shirt, needing to feel skin. "We're adults. We're alone. We want each other. Why wait?"

"Because—" He pulled back, his breathing ragged. "Because I want to do this right. Want to make sure you feel cherished, not rushed. Want this to mean something."

"It does mean something." I managed to get his shirt off, my hands exploring the planes of his chest. Mapping changes—new scars from recent fights, the weight he'd lost and was slowly regaining. "It means I'm choosing you. Choosing us. Choosing to stop living in the past and actually feel something in the present."

"God, Emma." His hands moved under my shirt, tentative, asking permission. "You're incredible. So brave. So—"

"Stop talking," I said, pulling my own shirt over my head. "And touch me. Really touch me."

He did. His hands moving over my skin like he was memorizing every inch. Reverent. Careful. Like I might shatter if he pressed too hard.

"I won't break," I whispered. "Jeremy, I need—I need more."

"Tell me what you need." His mouth moved to my neck, placing soft kisses along my throat. "Tell me how to make this good for you."

"Just—" I struggled to articulate through the haze of desire. "Just be present. Be with me. Don't hold back because you're afraid of hurting me."

"I'm always afraid of hurting you." But his touch grew more confident, more demanding. "It's all I've done for months."

"Then stop hurting me and start loving me." I pulled back to meet his eyes. "Show me. Show me what I meant to you. What I mean to you now."

He stood suddenly, lifting me with him. I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively as he carried me toward the bedroom.

"What are you doing?" I asked, though I knew exactly what he was doing.

"Taking you to bed properly." He kicked the bedroom door open. "Because the couch is too small and you deserve better than a rushed coupling on furniture."

"Trying to be romantic?"

"Trying to cherish you." He laid me down on the bed gently, his body following. "Emma, I've thought about this. Dreamed about getting another chance. And if you're giving me that chance—" He kissed me slowly. "I'm going to make it count."

His hands moved to the button of my jeans. "Still okay?"

"More than okay." I helped him, working the denim down my hips. "Jeremy, stop asking for permission for every move. I'll tell you if something's not okay. Right now—" I got his own jeans unzipped. "Right now everything is very okay."

"Just making sure." But there was heat in his voice now, desire overtaking nervousness. "Because Emma, once we do this—once we cross this line—I'm not going to want to go back. Not going to want to return to careful distance and therapeutic boundaries."

"Good." I pulled him down for another kiss. "Because I don't want that either. I want this. Want us. Want to remember what it feels like to be close to you."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay." He shed the rest of his clothes, then carefully removed mine. When we were both naked, he paused, just looking at me. "You're so beautiful. I forgot—no, I didn't forget. I just wasn't letting myself remember how beautiful you are."

"Stop stalling," I said, pulling him down. "And kiss me."

He did. And then he did a lot more than kiss me.

His hands moving over my body, relearning curves and dips and sensitive spots he'd once known by heart. His mouth following, placing kisses everywhere until I was gasping, arching into his touch.

"Jeremy, please—"

"Not yet." His voice was rough with desire and control. "Want to make this last. Want to make you feel—"

"I feel it." My hands fisted in his hair. "I feel everything. Now please, I need—"

He finally gave me what I needed. Entered me slowly, carefully, his eyes locked on mine. Checking. Always checking that I was okay, that this was what I wanted.

"Look at me," I commanded when his eyes started to drift closed. "Stay with me. Be present."

His eyes opened, focusing on my face with an intensity that made my breath catch. "I'm here. I'm with you. Only you."

We moved together, finding a rhythm that felt both familiar and new. Like coming home and discovering something you'd never noticed before all at once.

"Emma," he gasped as I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper. "God, Emma, I love you. I love you so much."

"Show me," I whispered back. "Show me how much."

He did. With every movement, every kiss, every whispered word against my skin. Showed me what I'd meant to him. What I meant to him now.

And when we finally fell apart together, his name on my lips and mine on his, I felt something shift. Not fixing everything. Not erasing the past.

But building something new. Something real. Something worth fighting for.

Afterward, we lay tangled together, breathing hard, his hand stroking lazy patterns on my back.

"That was—" he started.

"Don't analyze it," I interrupted. "Don't ask if I regret it or what it means for our future. Just—let it be what it was."

"Which was?"

"Perfect." I lifted my head to look at him. "It was perfect, Jeremy. You were perfect. We were perfect."

His eyes were bright with emotion. "Can we do that again?"

I laughed. "Give me a few minutes to recover first."

"Take all the time you need." He pulled the blanket over us. "I'm not going anywhere. And Emma? Thank you. For trusting me with this. For giving me another chance."

"Stop thanking me." But I snuggled closer. "Just hold me. That's enough."

He did. His arms strong and steady around me, his heartbeat solid beneath my ear.

Outside, mercenaries might still be hunting us. Back home, the pack was dealing with a traitor's execution and attack aftermath. Nothing was solved. Nothing was fixed.

But right now, in this moment, wrapped in Jeremy's arms and feeling thoroughly loved—I was happy.

Really, genuinely happy.

And that was more than enough.

For now.