Emersyn
I stretch gently, careful not to disturb Fowler, who is still sound asleep beside me. The puppy is curled up in her blanket, her chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm.
"Morning," I murmur, nudging Fowler softly. His eyes flutter open, meeting mine with a sleepy smile.
"Morning," he replies, his voice thick with sleep. "How'd you sleep?"
"Good, surprisingly. Lil' Doberman didn't make a peep all night," I say, glancing toward the puppy.
He chuckles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Guess she's a keeper then."
I sit up, the blankets pooling around my waist. "Hey, if you take her out for a bathroom break, I'll get started on breakfast. Deal?"
Fowler stretches, a mock groan escaping him. "Only if you're making those muffins I love."
I laugh, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "Deal."
He grins, scooping up Lil' Doberman and standing. "Good morning, little baby."
I watch them leave the room, the puppy wriggling excitedly in his arms. I shake off the lingering threads of sleep and make my way to the kitchen.
As the coffee brews, I pull out the ingredients for the muffins. Flour, sugar, eggs. I mix the batter, the rhythmic stirring a meditative process that allows my mind to wander.
Marx. The puppy. Fowler. Everything feels like it's moving at the speed of light, yet here I am, grounding myself in the act of baking. I wonder what Marx will say, how he'll react. Will the puppy bring him the joy we hope for?
Fowler returns with Lil' Doberman not long after, the crisp morning air still clinging to them both. The puppy is a bundle of energy, her tail wagging furiously as she skitters across the wooden floor. Fowler sets her down, and she immediately pounces on a rope toy lying nearby.
"Looks like someone's got energy to burn," Fowler laughs, dropping to his knees to engage in a playful game of tug-o-war with the puppy. I watch from the stove, a smile spreading across my face at the sight.
I turn back to the stove, cracking eggs into a sizzling pan. The aroma of cooking food fills the kitchen, mingling with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked muffins. I lose myself in the rhythm of cooking, flipping eggs and stirring a pot of oatmeal.
The peace is broken by the sound of footsteps, and I glance up to see Locke stumbling out of Cruz's room, his eyes squinting against the light. He grunts a half-hearted greeting before collapsing onto the couch, remote in hand. The TV flickers to life, filling the room with the low murmur of a morning show.
Cruz follows shortly after, far more alert and chipper. "Morning, Em," he greets with a warm smile, rolling up his sleeves as he approaches the counter. Without missing a beat, he starts helping with breakfast, cracking more eggs and setting up slices of bread to toast. His presence is a natural fit in the kitchen, his movements practiced and efficient.
The kitchen becomes a flurry of activity, the sound of laughter and the smell of breakfast mingling in the air. Lil' Doberman runs between our legs, her playful barks adding to the cacophony. Locke occasionally grumbles from the living room, his morning grumpiness a contrast to the rest of us.
As Cruz flips another egg onto a plate, he looks over with a grin. "So, Em, you think Marx will be surprised with the new addition?"
I nod, pouring more batter into the muffin tin. "I can't wait to see his face."
Fowler chimes in from the floor, still engaged in a battle of wills with the puppy over the rope toy. "He's gonna love it, Em. I mean, look at this face!" He gestures to Lil' Doberman, who's now chewing victoriously on the frayed end of the toy.
Locke's voice floats in from the living room, laced with sarcasm. "Yeah, because Marx is all about cute and cuddly."
Cruz chuckles, shaking his head as he sets a plate of toast on the counter. "Locke, you're just jealous you didn't think of it first."
Locke mutters something unintelligible, his attention back on the television.
I slide the tray of muffins into the oven, setting the timer. "Okay, team, breakfast is almost ready. Cruz, can you set the table?"
"On it," Cruz replies, fetching plates and cutlery.
Fowler stands up, dusting off his knees, puppy in tow. "And what should I do?"
I glance over, the corner of my mouth lifting. "You can stay on puppy duty. Make sure she doesn't sneak any bacon when we're not looking."
He salutes playfully. "Aye, aye, captain."
As we all find our seats at the table, the kitchen now filled with the comforting sounds of morning conversation, the door from upstairs creaks open. Marx descends the stairs, his footsteps slow, his hair disheveled, a clear sign of his disturbed sleep. He's still half in the world of dreams, his eyes barely registering the bustling scene before him.
He ambles straight to the coffee pot, pouring himself a generous cup, his movements automatic, routine. The puppy, noticing a new person, skitters over, her little paws patting against the floor. But Marx is oblivious, his focus solely on the much-needed caffeine.
It takes a moment, the world still fuzzy around the edges for him, but then his gaze lowers to the small, expectant face by his feet. The room goes still, all eyes on Marx, watching the realization dawn on him.
He blinks, looks at the puppy, then at me, and then back at the puppy. His expression is unreadable, a mix of confusion and the remnants of sleep.
I hold my breath, my heart thumping in my chest. "Surprise," I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
The silence stretches on for a heartbeat, then another. Marx's eyes soften, a crack in his usual stoic demeanor. He crouches down, his hand extending towards the puppy, who wags her tail frantically, eager for the new attention.
"Surprise?" Marx repeats, his voice rough with sleep but tinged with something else, something like wonder.
The puppy licks his hand, her tiny tail a blur of motion. Marx chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that fills the room and eases the tension. He looks up, his gaze meeting mine, and there's a gratitude there, a silent acknowledgment of the gesture.
"We thought... she might like a home with you," I explain, my voice stronger now. "Fowler and I picked her out."
Marx nods, his attention back on the puppy. He scoops her up, holding her close. She snuggles into his chest, her little whimpers of contentment filling the room.
"You guys..." Marx starts, his eyes flickering to each of us in turn. "This is... thank you."
Fowler grins, his eyes sparkling.
Cruz claps Marx on the back as he returns to his seat, the puppy still cradled in his arms. "Looks like you've got a new shadow, man."
Locke, who's been quietly watching, nods his approval from the couch. "Not bad, guys. Not bad at all."
As Marx takes a seat, the puppy now comfortably settled in his lap, we begin to pass around plates of food. The conversation picks up again, lighter now, filled with laughter and the occasional yap from the puppy.
Fowler catches my eye, a silent conversation passing between us. We did good, his look says. I nod, my heart swelling with a quiet pride.
The puppy, now a little bundle of warmth in Marx's lap, yawns, her tiny mouth wide open in a silent squeak.
"So, what are you going to name her?" Fowler asks, looking at Marx.
Marx, still holding the puppy close, looks thoughtful for a moment, his gaze lingering on her wagging tail and bright eyes. "How about 'Sabel'?" he suggests, the name rolling off his tongue as if he's been thinking about it for a while.
The room falls silent for a moment, everyone considering the name. Sabel, the little black Doberman, seems to approve, her tail wagging even more vigorously, as if she understands the conversation.
"That's perfect," I say, my voice warm with approval. The others nod in agreement, smiles spreading across their faces.
"Sabel it is," Fowler confirms, a wide grin on his face.
Marx gently sets Sabel down on the floor, watching as she explores her new surroundings with enthusiasm. She scampers around, sniffing at shoes, chasing her shadow, and occasionally returning to Marx's side for a reassuring nuzzle.
Eventually, everyone starts to go about their day, but the warmth of the morning lingers. Marx takes Sabel for a short walk, promising to get her settled and perhaps even start on some basic training. Fowler and Cruz head out, their spirits lifted, while Locke retreats back to the quiet of his room, the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly.
I find myself alone in the kitchen for a moment, the remnants of breakfast a happy reminder of the morning's events. I take a deep breath, the smells of coffee, muffins, and the faint scent of puppy filling my senses.
I finish tidying up, the sounds of the house settling around me.
The sound of a distant door opening and closing, footsteps on the stairs, a quiet murmur of voices. I know without turning around that it's Marx. He steps into the kitchen, Sabel padding along behind him.
"Hey," I say softly, meeting his gaze.
"Hi," he replies, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a slight smile. He leans against the counter, his eyes never leaving mine.
"So... what do you think? About Sabel, I mean."
His smile widens, his expression softer than I've ever seen. "She's perfect," he replies, his voice gentle.
We stand there for a moment, the space between us full of unspoken words. Sabel nuzzles at my ankle, and I reach down to stroke her soft fur.
"Thank you, Emersyn." Marx's voice is low, his eyes holding mine. "For this, for everything. I can't tell you how much it means to me."
My heart swells, a surge of emotions welling up inside me. I reach out, my hand finding his, the warmth of his skin a grounding presence.
"You're welcome," I murmur, a smile spreading across my lips.
Marx's fingers lace through mine, the moment suspended in time. Sabel nestles against my leg, her tiny body a reassuring weight.
I look from our intertwined fingers, back to Marx's face.
"Marx," I say his name. My voice is barely audible. We agreed just to be friends, but this, this doesn't feel like just friendship.
He swallows, his gaze searching mine. "Emersyn," he breathes, his voice thick with emotion.
His thumb rubs a gentle circle against my hand, sending sparks through my body. My pulse quickens, a flutter in my chest. I take a step closer, drawn in.
We lean in, the space between us narrowing. His eyes drop to my lips, and my breath catches. The air around us is charged, the tension building with each heartbeat.
The moment stretches on, the seconds ticking by.
"I've tried so hard," he says, his breath warm against me.
"Tried what?"
"Just being your friend," he reveals. "But every time I'm around you, all I can think about is kissing you. You're making me lose control."
"Maybe you should stop trying so hard," I murmur, my voice thick with longing.
"Maybe you're right," he agrees, his gaze darkening.
The moment hangs between us, the tension building to a fever pitch.
And then, finally, we bridge the gap, our lips meeting in a tentative kiss. It's slow, tender, and yet filled with a passion that takes my breath away. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer. I melt into his embrace, the feeling of his body pressed against mine intoxicating.
Our kiss deepens, the world around us falling away. My hands roam over his muscular back, his skin hot under my fingertips.
He breaks away first, resting his forehead against mine. His breathing is ragged, his heart racing. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, matching the fire burning inside me.
"We should probably—"
I cut him off, crashing my lips against his, a desperate need taking over. My body is screaming for more, for everything.
His hands are everywhere, igniting a trail of flames wherever they touch. He lifts me up, not breaking our kiss. I wrap my legs around his waist, the delicious friction sending waves of pleasure through my body.
His strong hands grip my ass, lifting me onto the kitchen counter. Our bodies press together, his hard length grinding against me.
I break the kiss long enough to whisper against his lips. "Your room. Now."
Without a word, he lifts me up again, carrying me as if I weigh nothing. I wrap my arms around his neck, trailing kisses along his jaw.
He sets me down inside his bedroom, his dark gaze hungry. He pushes me gently against the door, his mouth reclaiming mine in a searing kiss.
His hands slide under my shirt, exploring the bare skin of my stomach, my chest, my breasts. He pulls away only long enough to tug my shirt over my head, discarding it on the floor. My bra follows shortly after.
He takes a moment to admire me, his eyes roaming over my exposed skin. "You're so fucking beautiful," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "You're everything I want and need."
I don't have time to respond, his mouth claiming mine once again. His hands roam over my body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
I moan, my body aching for more. He obliges, his hand slipping under the waistband of my pajama shorts, his fingers teasing my slick heat.
"Oh, god," I gasp, the sensation driving me wild. He circles his thumb around my sensitive nub, sending sparks of pleasure through my body. My hips buck against his hand.
"Please, Marx," I plead, the tension building inside me. "I need you."
He groans, his breath hot against my neck. "Say that again."
"I need you," I repeat, the words barely escaping before his mouth captures mine in a hungry kiss.
He lifts me up, carrying me to the bed, our lips never parting. He lays me down, his body hovering over mine.
He breaks away, his eyes burning with desire. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this."
"Show me," I murmur, pulling him close.
And with that, the final barrier between us comes crashing down. He undresses me with a passionate urgency, and I return the favor, my hands exploring the taut muscles of his body.
Finally, we're skin to skin, nothing between us. He grinds his hard length against my aching core, drawing a whimper of pleasure from me.
I had forgotten how big he is. "I don't think it's going to fit," I whine.
"You can take it. Just breath in and out," he replies, pressing the head of his cock against me.
"I'll go slow, okay?"
He's so gentle. His thick shaft presses further and further inside me, stretching me to my limit.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans.
The pressure is intense, but there's also an overwhelming sense of pleasure. My nails dig into his back, my hips rocking against him.
"You're doing great," he encourages, his voice strained. "Just a little more."
He keeps pushing until he's fully inside me. The fullness is unlike anything I've ever felt before. He pauses, giving me a chance to adjust.
"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice husky.
"Yes," I reply, my voice barely a whisper.
He pulls back slowly, then thrusts forward, filling me again. The pressure is intoxicating, the friction sending waves of pleasure through my body. I gasp, gripping his shoulders, my body arching against him.
He groans, his hips picking up speed. "Fuck, Emersyn, you feel so good."
His words send a jolt of excitement through me, and I rock my hips, meeting his thrusts. We find a rhythm, our bodies moving in sync, the pleasure building with each movement.
I can feel the pressure building, the tension coiling inside me. I'm teetering on the edge, the pleasure bordering on pain.
"You're perfect," Marx whispers against my lips before kissing me again. His tongue slides against mine, causing my walls to clench around him. Slight pain stings my lip as he bites it.
He grabs a fistful of my hair, tugging gently, and I whimper, the pleasure and pain mingling. He breaks the kiss, his eyes dark with lust.
"Say my name," he growls, his voice a deep rumble.
"Marx," I moan, his name like a prayer on my lips.
He grips my thighs, his pace quickening. The tension builds, the pressure almost unbearable. My body is on fire, my senses heightened.
"Fuck," he exclaims, his voice huskier than before.
The pleasure explodes, washing over me in waves. My body arches against him, and I cry out, the orgasm tearing through me.
"Fuck, yes," he grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic.
The sensation is too much, the pressure sending me spiraling into another mind-blowing climax. My body trembles, the aftershocks rippling through me.
"Em," Marx groans, his eyes squeezed shut, his hips stilling as he pulls out of me, emptying himself on my stomach.
It's warm and sticky, and there's more of it than I expected.
We lie there for a moment, breathless, the intensity of our release subsiding. He reaches over to the bedside table, grabbing a towel to clean me up. He wipes his own mess off me and tosses the dirty towel on the floor.
His eyes meet mine, and there is still fire behind them.
He crawls toward me, like a tiger on the prowl, until he's nestled between my still-shaking thighs. His eyes are hooded when he looks up at me. I watch as his tongue darts out, swiping against my clit.
"What are you doing?" I pant, a new wave of arousal shooting through me.
"Shhh," is his only response.
He goes back to work, his mouth hot against me, his tongue probing, tasting, devouring. He's relentless, pushing me towards another orgasm, and I know this one is going to be even more intense.
He slips two fingers inside me, and the sensations are too much. I fall apart, my body writhing under his touch, my fingers gripping his hair, keeping his mouth pressed against me.
He finally releases me, his lips glistening, his gaze dark and dangerous.
I'm panting, my body trembling, my limbs heavy and sated. "Marx," I breathe, my voice ragged.
"I can't get enough of you," he says, burning his face in my pussy again.
I can't catch my breath. It's as if I'm underwater, drowning in pleasure. My nails dig into his scalp. "Oh god, Marx."
"I know," he coos, slipping his fingers back inside of me. "Come for me, Emersyn. Come on my fingers."
"I don't think I can. It's too much."
"Yes, you can. Let go, baby."
My body betrays me, responding to his commands. I fall apart again, a scream ripping from my throat. My vision goes white, and I feel like I'm floating, the sensations rippling through me.
Marx pulls away, a satisfied smirk on his face. He kisses his way up my body, stopping to pay extra attention to my nipples.
"You're so fucking beautiful when you come," he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.
I can't find the words, my mind still fuzzy from the intense orgasms. All I can do is lay there, panting, my body thrumming with pleasure. My body feels heavy and weightless at the same time. Having sex with Marx was everything and more than I thought it would be. Our connection, emotionally, not just physically, is more, too.
I can feel Marx is hard again, his erection pressing against the soreness between my legs. He doesn't push inside of me just yet, though. His kisses are wet and needy against my neck.
"I need more, Emersyn, please," he whimpers in between kisses. "I've never needed something as much as I need to be inside of you right now."
I can't find the strength to protest. My body aches, but the need to be close to him is overwhelming. I need him just as much as he needs me.
He rolls us over, settling me on top of him. He grips my hips, positioning me over his waiting cock. I sink down, slowly taking him inch by inch. The feeling is intense, my body still sensitive.
He lets out a strangled moan, his fingers digging into my hips. "Fuck. That's my pretty girl."
His words send a jolt of excitement through me, and I grind my hips, drawing a deep groan from him. I ride him slowly, savoring the feeling of him stretching me.
He guides my hips, our bodies moving together in a perfect rhythm. His eyes are locked on mine, the intensity in them sending a shiver down my spine.
"I could watch you ride me all day," he growls, his voice strained. "You look so fucking perfect on top of me."
I whimper, the praise pushing me closer to the edge. I ride him faster, the pleasure building, the pressure coiling inside me.
He moans, his eyes dark with lust. "God, yes, Emersyn. You're so fucking sexy."
His words are like gasoline on the fire burning inside me. I throw my head back, my body moving of its own accord.
He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me closer, his lips brushing against my neck. His other hand snakes between us, finding my sensitive clit.
"Marx," I gasp, the sensation almost too much to bear.
"That's it, baby," he urges, his voice low and husky. "Come for me. I want to feel you come apart on my cock."
The tension inside me snaps, the orgasm tearing through me. I cry out, my body shuddering, my walls clenching around him.
He groans, his grip tightening. He thrusts his hips, his pace erratic. His movements are rough, almost animalistic, and the sounds he's making are intoxicating.
He pushes me over the edge again, my body tumbling into another earth-shattering climax. He growls, his hips stilling as he finds his own release, spilling himself inside me this time.
We're both panting, our bodies covered in a sheen of sweat. I collapse against his chest, his heartbeat hammering against my ear. He wraps his arms around me, holding me close, his breathing ragged.
We lie there, the silence enveloping us, the weight of the world finally off our shoulders.
I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck, the warmth and the comfort of his embrace making me feel safe and protected.
"You have no idea how badly I want to fuck you again and again," Marx mutters.
"Mmmm," I mumble sleepily, snuggling closer to him. "As long as we can take a nap first."
"Of course, baby. You've earned it. I probably need to go check on Sabel first, though."
"Go. I'll be here when you get back."
I can't believe we waited this long to do this. We could have been having amazing sex this whole time. I don't regret our friendship, though.
Marx presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Don't move, Emersyn. Not one inch. I'll be right back."
He's true to his word. When he returns, I'm still lying naked on his bed, not a care in the world.
"Hey," he says, crawling back into bed beside me.
"Hi," I murmur, wrapping myself around him, desperate for the closeness.
"Sabel is fast asleep. I gave her some food and water. She should be good for a while."
"Mmmm," is all I can manage.
Marx chuckles, his chest vibrating beneath me. "You really are spent, aren't you?"
I nod, burying my face against his neck. "It's your fault," I mumble. "You and your... everything."
He laughs again, the sound sending a flutter through my stomach. "My everything, huh? I'll take that as a compliment."
I drift off to the sound of his breathing, the warmth of his body, the lingering scent of our lovemaking.
There are no words to describe how I'm feeling. Content, satisfied, happy.