A Kaleidoscope of Butterflies - Christina Lee Page 0,12
counter, he welcomed his solid presence, which made his limbs buzz with a warmth he felt to his toes.
“Tell me what you want,” Rhys rasped, a slight tremble to his lips. “You’re not always good at looking after your own needs.”
He was right. Emerson had essentially pushed all his own needs aside to care for his siblings. He hadn’t allowed thoughts about himself to enter the equation. Until he simply couldn’t ignore them any longer.
“I just…want to feel something other than numb,” he confessed.
“That makes sense.” Rhys reached out and hesitantly clutched his hip, gentler than he had on the dance floor. Yet it felt profoundly different. More intimate.
They stood that way for a long moment as the heat from Rhys’s palm soaked through his skin.
“I don’t want you to have any regrets.” Emerson had whispered that part almost to himself, but he should’ve known Rhys wouldn’t let it skate by.
“No matter what, I will always be your friend.” Now his other hand gripped his waist, providing him the security he needed right then. “Even if you just want to experiment. Or figure out whatever’s going on in your head.”
Emerson swallowed thickly. Did Rhys feel anything too? Or was he only trying to help his best friend figure shit out? Did it matter? Of course it did, but he couldn’t seem to think straight, not with him this close.
And then Rhys’s thumb reached up to graze along his jaw, and he nearly melted into a puddle on the floor. “So tell me what you want.”
“I want…you. Just you.” It was simple, really. Yet complicated as hell. And he had just totally put himself out there. Fuck.
But this was Rhys. His best friend. If he couldn’t trust him, then who could he trust?
“Damn it, Emerson. The way you say things.” Rhys’s breath feathered over Emerson’s lips. “You have about one second to change your mind.”
Emerson shook his head. No way in hell was he changing his mind.
His chest was so achy and tight, he thought it might crack into jagged pieces.
Given the building tension between them, Emerson expected Rhys to smash their mouths together. Instead, Rhys’s lips brushed his with a tenderness that was nearly his undoing. Soft, careful, breathy…it was almost unbearable.
And God, it was even better than what he’d imagined as Rhys wound his hands in his hair and tapped their mouths together again, this time angling his head and groaning so deep, it sent a shockwave through Emerson. He looped his hand around Rhys’s waist and fisted the back of his shirt, drawing him closer, then closer still, until there couldn’t possibly be any space left between them.
The tip of Rhys’s tongue traced his lips, then flicked in and out of Emerson’s mouth. Emerson could barely take it as he flipped them around, hemmed Rhys against the counter, and took his mouth in a fierce, deep kiss.
They stayed that way for an eternity, it seemed, or no time at all, as Emerson’s hands slid along the knobs of Rhys’s spine, memorizing every curve, touching him while he still had the chance. Before he woke up from this crazy dream.
Rhys gathered Emerson’s face in his hands as he licked into Emerson’s mouth and dragged soft moans from his throat. When Rhys drew away, his breaths harsh against Emerson’s cheek, a good dose of fear, along with guilt, found its way inside him.
“I’m sorry…sorry if this ruins—”
“Christ, don’t be sorry. You feel so good.” He pulled Emerson against him, and their mouths slid together again. Their hands wound in each other’s hair, and Emerson could feel how hard Rhys was against him. When he groaned, he felt Rhys tremble. It was pretty intoxicating, having Rhys respond to him this way.
They heard a creak from the staircase, and Emerson paused to listen, then pulled away. He recognized that sound after so many years.
Taking Emerson’s lead, Rhys stepped aside just as Audrey came around the corner.
“What are you doing up?” he asked as Rhys turned away and swiped at his mouth.
Audrey shuffled toward the sink. “I just needed some water.”
“Of course.” Emerson opened the cupboard and pulled out a glass.
“I gotta go,” Rhys said. His lips were swollen, his cheeks flushed, and he had trouble making eye contact, which made warning bells sound off in Emerson’s brain.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll walk you—”
“No! It’s okay,” he replied in a brusque voice, then practically ran out the door. Emerson’s heart sank to his stomach, and he couldn’t fucking breathe.