Emersyn
"Hey, Emmie, want to dance?" Fowler's voice pulls me from my Marx-induced reverie.
I look at him, taking a moment to register his words. "Yeah, sure," I say, finally coming back to the here and now. We get up and make our way to the dance floor. As we start to move to the music, I feel the alcohol from the shot and my drink coursing through my veins, loosening my limbs, freeing my mind.
Fowler's hands are on my hips, guiding me in a slow grind to the beat of the music. I move in rhythm with him, my back to his front, and let myself go. The sensation is intoxicating. A heady mix of alcohol, music, and the awareness of Marx's gaze, which I feel like a physical touch even from across the room.
I turn in Fowler's arms to face him and keep dancing, but my eyes are drawn like magnets back to Marx. He's there, behind the bar, his gaze locked onto me. His eyes are even more intense than before, filled with a primal, raw need that mirrors my own. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat screaming his name.
As the song changes, Cruz and Locke join us on the dance floor. We all move in time with the music, a tangle of limbs and laughter. But even as I dance with Fowler, as I laugh with Cruz and Locke, a part of me is still locked in that silent exchange with Marx. It's as if there's an invisible thread connecting us, pulling taut with each passing second.
I feel like I'm on the edge of a precipice, one step away from tumbling into something deep and unknown. The thought is both exhilarating and terrifying. My skin is tingling, my senses heightened, as if my body knows that something momentous is about to happen.
The song ends, and another begins, the beat thumping in time with my heartbeat. Fowler's grip on my waist tightens, and he pulls me closer. "You okay? You seem a little distracted," he says, his voice barely audible over the music.
"I'm fine," I say, forcing a smile. "Just enjoying the moment."
But that's only half true. Yes, I'm enjoying the moment, but I'm also acutely aware that this moment is part of something larger. Something that's been building ever since I moved in with these guys, ever since I met Marx. This truly is where I was meant to be, with these men.
Fowler looks at me, then follows my line of sight. I can tell when he figures out what I'm staring at. He turns back to me, giving me a knowing look and I can't help but to blush.
I press my face against Fowler's chest, trying to hide my embarrassment of being caught basically eye fucking Marx.
"We should get going," Locke announces, looking at his phone for the time. "I've got to be up early for work."
"Yeah, me too," Cruz adds, finishing off his drink.
We all nod in agreement, gathering our coats and belongings.
"Hey, thanks for coming out, guys," Marx says as we approach to say our goodbyes. "I have to stay and close up, do a little bookkeeping. But I'm glad you came."
"So are we," Fowler replies, grinning. "See you back at the house."
We exit the bar and head home, the night air crisp and invigorating. It's a quiet ride back; the energy from the evening seems to have settled into a contented lull. When we get home, Locke and Cruz immediately head to bed, citing their early mornings.
Fowler and I find ourselves alone, settling down on the couch. The alcohol is still there, a pleasant hum in my veins. I'm not drunk, but I feel light, almost effervescent. Fowler seems to sense my heightened mood.
"You looked insanely sexy tonight, Emmie," he says, his eyes searching mine.
"Oh, did I now?" I tease, but I can't ignore the quickening of my pulse.
"You have no idea," he continues, leaning in closer. "The way you wore that dress, the way you danced, even the way you smell...it's driving me crazy."
My heart pounds louder. Fowler's words ignite something deep within me. I'm aware of his hand gently touching my arm, sending shivers coursing through my body.
"And it's not just how you look," he adds softly, his face inches from mine. "It's who you are. The way you laugh, the way you care about people, the way you brought those dying plants back to life...you're incredible, Emmie."
His words soothe my insecurities, confirming that this—whatever this is—isn't just physical. And as he speaks, his lips find the curve of my neck, leaving feather-light kisses that send sparks of pleasure radiating through me.
His hands slowly move to the zipper at the back of my dress, pulling it down with a deliberate slowness that makes my breath catch. I feel the fabric loosen around me, and suddenly, I'm acutely aware of his hands on my skin, tracing lines of fire down my back.
He leans back to look at me, his eyes clouded with desire but also filled with a question, seeking my consent. I answer by reaching for his shirt, pulling it over his head, discarding it carelessly on the floor.
As our lips meet, I feel a sense of surrender. His touch is soft, but the need behind it is urgent, echoing my own unspoken desires.
Fowler's fingers deftly slide down my arms, pushing the straps of my dress down with them. It floats to the floor, leaving me in my underwear and high heels. He pauses for a moment, his eyes sweeping over me, and I feel adored under his gaze.
"You are so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice tinged with awe.
He leans in and captures my lips, a soft, lingering kiss that makes my head spin. His hands find the back of my neck, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there, and the simple touch sends shivers down my spine.
He guides me to sit back on the couch, and his lips trail down my neck, soft yet insistent. My breathing quickens with each kiss, each touch, as he moves down to my collarbone and then to my chest.
He takes his time, his lips closing around one nipple. A low moan escapes my lips; it feels as if he's touching every nerve ending in my body, lighting me up from the inside. The heat from his mouth sends waves of pleasure coursing through me.
"God, you taste amazing," he whispers, his voice thick with desire.
Fowler continues his descent, his lips brushing over my ribs, trailing fiery kisses across my stomach. I can feel the muscles there quiver in response, desire knotting in my lower belly.
He moves further down, his lips grazing the tops of my thighs. I'm hyper-aware of his every movement, every touch, each one leaving a lingering trail of warmth on my skin.
He stops at my ankles, his fingers deftly unfastening one of my high heels. He sets that foot gently on the ground before moving to the other, removing it with the same careful attention. As he places it beside the other, his hands start their slow journey back up my legs. I've never felt so exposed, so open, yet so incredibly cherished.
When his thumbs hook into the waistband of my lacy thong, I can hardly breathe. He pulls it down with an agonizing slowness that ramps up the tension coursing through me. I feel myself growing wetter, the heat between my thighs spreading like wildfire through my entire body.
Finally, the fabric slides down my legs and joins the growing pile of clothes on the floor. Fowler's eyes meet mine, his gaze intense but tender, as if he's asking for permission to continue. I give him a slight nod, my breath caught in my throat.
He wraps his arms around my legs, pulling them up until they rest on his shoulders. Trailing light kisses up my inner thigh, Fowler gets close to the spot I so desperately want him to touch. I feel his hot breath against me, and a whimper escapes my lips.
He teases me for what feels like an eternity, his lips so close to my most sensitive area but never quite touching.
I squirm, wanting-- no needing, him to touch me. I whisper soft pleas to Fowler as he continues to tease me. My eyes close from the pleasurable torture.
But then I hear a noise. It takes me a moment to realize what I'm hearing.
It's the front door.
My heart starts to race for a completely different reason now. I open my eyes to see Marx standing at the door. I move to cover myself, to shield my completely naked body, but Fowler holds me in place.
"Stay," he whispers before turning his head to look at Marx. Something is being discussed between the two of them, with no words being spoken.
My skin flushes from the embarrassment of being splayed out like this in front of Marx, Fowler on his knees between my thighs. But I would be lying if I said that's the only reason I'm flushed. I'm embarrassed and nervous, yes, but I am also excited.
Before I can say or do anything, Fowler turns back to face me. Our eyes lock, and he winks at me before burying his face between my legs, finally giving me what I want, what my body has been craving.
I gasp as Fowler's tongue circles my clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure through me. My hands instinctively go to the back of his head, my fingers tangling in his hair.
I should stop him. We shouldn't be doing this, not in front of Marx.
But the pleasure and excitement win over my embarrassment and reservations. I'm slowly losing my ability to care. Fowler's mouth on me feels too good.
A surprised moan escapes me when he bites down on my clit. He laps his tongue against me, teasing me with the tip. He brings one hand up, his thumb rubbing slow, tight circles on my clit, making the pleasure almost too much to bear as his tongue enters me.
My hips rock against his face, desperate for more. His free hand grips my thigh, his fingers pressing into my flesh, attempting to hold me in place. His other hand stops circling my clit, replaced by his mouth. His fingers slide down my wetness before plunging into me.
I let out another moan.
This time, it's louder.
This time, I make eye contact with Marx.
He's closer now. I hadn't even seen him move. His eyes are dark, shaded in lust. I can't help but notice a very large bulge forming in the front of his jeans.
Fowler's movements are rhythmic, building my pleasure at a delicious pace.
What are we even doing? I should stop this, right?
This isn't the same as when I was with Locke and Cruz. With them, we went into Locke's room together, knowing exactly what was going to happen.
But now, this is different. Marx wasn't here when Fowler and I started. Marx was pulled into this when he walked through that door. What if he doesn't want this?
Marx moves once again, to sit in the chair at the end of the couch. I think he's just going to watch, but then he moves to unzip his jeans. His erection is so large and so hard that it practically springs from his jeans.
My muscles contract around Fowler's fingers, and I know I will come soon.
I watch as Marx begins stroking himself. Slowly at first, but quickly picking up speed. His hand moves up and down his long shaft, and the sight of it sends me over the edge.
I buck my hips and arch my back as an intense orgasm rips through me. Fowler grips me tighter, his tongue never slowing down. He draws out my orgasm, milking it for every last drop.
Marx comes immediately after I do. Thick ribbons of come cover his cock and hand. It's beautiful; it's mouthwatering.
Once I've come down, Fowler gives me one last long lick before finally removing his mouth from me.
"You're such a good girl coming so hard for me," he says. "You're so delicious."
He turns to face Marx. "Would you like a taste, too? I guarantee that Emersyn is the sweetest thing you could ever taste."
Marx says nothing, only stares. His gaze is locked on the mess between my thighs. The urge to cover myself is overpowering, but I don't. I stay still, letting him drink me in.
Fowler looks at me before looking back at Marx, his eyes going to Marx's come covered hand and cock.
"Emmie, dear. It seems that Marx has made a mess of himself. Would you like to help him clean up his mess?" Fowler asks in a playfully seductive tone.
Marx looks at me. There's a mixture of emotions in his eyes, lust being the main one.
I should say no. That would be the smart thing to do. But Fowler is right. I want to, oh so desperately.
I study Marx, trying to gauge what he is thinking. Does he want this? Does he want me?
Marx moves his hand from around his cock. Is that an invitation?
"Emmie, would you like to help Marx clean up his mess?" Fowler repeats. "Do you want to lick his cock clean?"
He pauses for only a moment.
"Actually, I know you do. It's written all over your face. You better take the offer while it's on the table. Get on the floor and crawl to him, Emmie," Fowler coos.
I hesitate, and Fowler must sense it because he leans into my ear. "Be a good girl and follow orders, and I promise you will be rewarded."
I slowly move from the couch, sliding down to the floor. My body is shaking, my heart pounding.
Fowler watches, waiting.
Marx watches, not moving, his cock rock hard.
I take a deep breath and begin to move toward him, slowly. I've never crawled in front of anyone before, especially not completely naked. The thought both excites me and terrifies me.
I make my way to Marx, crawling slowly. His eyes never leave me, taking in every inch of my body.
Once I'm in front of him, I hesitate again. But I know I want this. I want him.
"Good girl," Fowler praises. "Now, show Marx how much you love helping out. Show him what a good girl you are. Show him how much you need him."
I lean in, and without a second thought, take Marx's cock into my mouth.
The first thing I notice is that his come is salty and sweet. I expected it to be more bitter. I swirl my tongue around the tip, collecting all the remnants. Then, I take him further into my mouth, inch by inch.
His cock is huge. It stretches my lips and fills my mouth. I bob my head up and down, licking and sucking, trying to get every drop of him.
Marx lets out a deep moan, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair. I can feel his cock throbbing in my mouth.
I continue to suck him, using my hands to stroke what doesn't fit. Fowler is watching the entire thing, and he can't help himself. He kneels behind me and his fingers tease my opening.
Then, I feel his erection against me. He is so hard and I know that I am the cause.
My own arousal is dripping down my thighs. I moan around Marx's cock as Fowler enters me, slowly pushing himself in.
Marx and Fowler groan at the same time. Marx is filling my mouth and Fowler is filling me from behind. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
I continue sucking Marx's cock, my head bobbing up and down as Fowler thrusts in and out of me. His hands are gripping my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh.
"She's so wet, so tight, Marx. Are you sure you don't want to try another hole?" Fowler asks.
Marx doesn't say anything, but instead a long, husky moan escapes his lips.
"You're such a good girl, aren't you, Emmie? You're taking me so well, while Marx's cock is in your mouth," Fowler whispers as he pounds into me.
"Mmmm..." I moan, the sound vibrating around Marx's cock.
"Such a good girl," Fowler grunts. "Look at you, loving getting fucked from both ends."
Marx and I moan in unison.
Fowler is pounding into me, his cock stretching and filling me, and I can feel another orgasm building inside of me.
"Don't stop," Marx growls. It's the first words he's said this whole time. His voice is husky, needy. And I know I'll never get tired of hearing him sound like this.
I can feel his cock throbbing in my mouth, and I know he's close.
"That's it, Emmie," Fowler purrs.
The sound that comes out of Marx as he releases inside of my mouth is the most beautiful sound I think I've ever heard. I swallow every last drop.
"Fuck, you're perfect," Fowler praises, pounding harder. "Such a good girl. Come for me."
I rest my face in Marx's lap and only then does he finally touch me. His touch is gentle as his hand brushes my hair out of my face before coming to rest on the side of my jaw. He watches me intently as I start to come.
My entire body shakes, my orgasm exploding through me, causing my vision to go blurry. Fowler isn't far behind, groaning and emptying himself into me. His come drips down my thighs.
I look up at Marx, trying to read what he's thinking. I want more from him, need more from him. But instead of giving me what I want, what I so desperately need, he stands up. Pulling his jeans up as he walks, I watch him ascend the stairs, disappearing into his room.
I don't even have time to react to Marx leaving, walking away from me again, before Fowler is pulling my back flush against his chest. He dips his hand between my thighs, touching my sensitive bundle of nerves.
I can't possibly take much more, but I don't protest. I need something to keep my mind off of Marx for even a moment.
But Fowler has other plans. He rubs soft circles around my clit, pleasure already starting to build.
"He wants you, you know?" He whispers in my ear. "He wants you just as badly as the rest of us do." He dips two fingers in me, coating his fingers in our mixed releases.
He continues his slow circles around my clit.
"He's just too stubborn to admit it." He pushes his fingers in, curling them inside me, hitting the spot that causes a wave of pleasure.
"I've seen the way he looks at you." He pumps his fingers in and out, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. "You just have to give him time."
Fowler's other hand moves to my breast, taking my hardened nipple between his fingers. The mixture of pain and pleasure is enough to send me over the edge, another orgasm ripping through me. I let out a cry, my voice sounding unfamiliar even to my own ears.
"He will claim you, just like we all have. We all want you and he is no different. We are all falling more in love with you every day, even Marx."
My orgasm continues, Fowler's fingers not slowing their assault. I'm still on my knees, but my legs go weak under me. I think I'm going to fall, but Fowler wraps his free arm around my waist, holding me up.
When I finally come down from my high, Fowler kisses the top of my head and then my shoulder. "Let's get you cleaned up." He lifts me off the ground, carrying me to my room.