CHAPTER 38
Julia
“THEN THIS WILL be a nice opportunity for you and Evelyn to release some… tension,” Teri says suggestively.
Me? My eyes water under the strain of not rolling them.
I’m standing with the crew around me, facing the love seat that Emmett and I built. Teri’s back is to me, and Emmett faces her. Which means I can see every expression that plays on his face.
He’s being interviewed before the next date. Evelyn’s turn comes after him, followed by a couple’s massage in front of the cameras.
One of the largest spare rooms in the bunkhouse has been transformed with two simple massage tables, crisp white sheets tucked tightly against the mattresses.
Candles flicker on the chair rail, and vases of red roses adorn the dresser behind them. A playlist called Romantic Jazz filters from the speaker in the corner.
I know, because I set up this date for them. And while I should be uncomfortable about the whole thing—I’m not.
Partially, because I feel incredibly invested in Emmett succeeding. I adore his family, and I want to save this farm almost as much as he does.
And partially, because I’ve slowly been allowing myself to believe that this thing between us is real. That we have a shot once we get clear of this sham of a show. And it’s so close to being over.
“So tell us, Emmett,” Teri starts, tapping her tablet and flicking through questions. They want to get as much footage as possible before they make this date look more suggestive than it will be. “Do you think you’ve found love on Romance Ranch? Or a connection that feels intense enough that it might be
love?”
Lame.
“Yeah, Teri. I have.”
My head snaps up, following the warm, deep rumble of his voice to the love
seat.
Where I find his gaze fixed on me.
“Have what?”
“Found love,” he clarifies, all so that they clip together these bits and make him sound like he’s saying something he’s not.
“Exciting,” Teri coos, leaning forward as though he’s sharing a secret with her and not recording publicly in front of tens of people. “Can you tell us what that feels like for you?”
His eyes don’t leave mine, not even for a second.
“It’s terrifying. Consuming. Unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.”
The air feels too hot. My clothes feel too tight. I glance around me to check if anyone else is picking up on what’s happening here.
He smiles at Teri, finally freeing me from the grip of his stare.
“This is a big step for a guy like you. Going from playing the field so notoriously to thinking you might have met the one. How can you be so sure?”
The one.
He grins, features softening. “Sometimes you just know.”
His eyes dart to mine for a beat before Teri exclaims, “Perfect! We can use all of this. Thanks, Emmett. Take ten while I talk to Evelyn then the two of you can go enjoy yourselves. And maybe even enjoy each other.”
I keep it cool while I watch him behave himself in front of the camera. He graciously thanks Teri for her time and says he’ll be back in ten. Shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of workout shorts slung low enough to reveal the two sharp lines slicing up from his hips, he’s impossible to ignore. Even the producer isn’t above letting her eyes linger just a little too long.
He doesn’t look at me as he passes back toward the bunkhouse. The good humor from that interview has evaporated from his features, and it feels as though he’s avoiding even looking at me after what he just did.
What he just said.
I feel jittery knowing I have to wait until much later tonight to corner him about this.
“Julia?” Ben whispers from beside me as he adjusts the film in his camera. “Can you double-check that we have all the equipment we need in the house? I don’t want Dick Wad to chew my ass out for holding up recording when this is all going so well.”
I bite my tongue and offer him a bright smile. “Of course.”
I’m always a keen, hard worker on set so my agreeing to this isn’t out of the ordinary. But right now, I’m only agreeing because it means I can follow Emmett into the bunkhouse.
I turn, striding across the grass to the front stone patio, past the archway and wine barrel planters, up to the front door.
Catherine is getting her own massages off-site, so the bunkhouse is empty for filming. It was a simpler solution than getting permits and working around a schedule for a spa.
With a deep breath, I push the screen door open and step inside. I’m greeted by the open living space, vaulted ceilings, and Emmett.
Emmett twisting the cap off a water bottle. Tendons in his arms flexing. Veins in his hand bulging. Agitation lining his every movement.
And then his eyes find mine, searing me to the spot.
“What did that water bottle ever do to you?”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes a long swig of water, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he continues to stare at me.
When he pulls the bottle down, he drags the back of his hand over his mouth, and it reminds me of the way he looks up at me from between my thighs.
Thighs that clench as he shrugs.
“Nothing. Other than witness the biggest sham of my life.” The plastic crinkles under his too-tight grip. “They’re still pushing the whole Evelyn thing so damn hard. Enjoy each other? God. Read the fucking room, Teri.”
“So you’re in a mood?”
His shoulders heave on an exhausted sigh. “I’m just so tired, Jules. It’s tearing me up having to lie about… this.”
My brows shoot up as my body moves toward him on instinct, but then I remember where I am. There are crew members crawling all over the place. Hell,
Richard is in his trailer just down the driveway, which means he could show up any time.
So I turn, heading for the hallway, hoping he’ll follow me.
Because I hate seeing him all torn up like this.
I glance over my shoulder and walk down the long hallway that leads to multiple contestant rooms. One is full of furniture, and another has recording
equipment.
“Where are you going?”
He follows.
I hear his steps behind me as he closes the distance between us, a shiver racing down my spine. Knowing that he followed me. That he can’t help himself.
It’s power. And it’s intoxicating.
“To show you something,” I reply, before turning around, grabbing his hand, and yanking him into an empty room.
Jada’s empty room. But I believe in my heart that Jada would understand what I’m doing here.
I have to believe that a woman who unleashes her full artistic talent to paint dick-toes for a fellow contestant would support me in this moment.
Jada would understand.
“What are you—” I cut him off when I click the door shut and shove him against the wall. He lands with a light oof sound before finishing breathlessly, “Doing?”
“Turning that frown upside down,” I whisper, not missing a beat as I drop to my knees in front of him and frantically tug at the waistband of his shorts. “Can’t send you on a date with another woman looking like you’re heading to the
gallows.”
“It feels like I—”
Shorts and boxers tugged down, I press a soft kiss to his upper thigh.
Distracting him. Catching him up to what we’re doing here.
“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” he says, but his hand strokes my hair, his fingertips digging in just slightly at the back of my skull, encouraging me. His cock thickens, and I lick my lips.
Shouldn’t is simply not part of my vocabulary right now.
“Emmett, shut up and lock the door. I only have ten minutes.”
My palm slides over his dick as I trail my tongue up, kissing, grazing my teeth across his skin until he sighs in pleasure. A modicum of tension leaves his body, and from the corner of my eye, I see him reach over and turn the small lock.
“Good,” I murmur, then I lick just beside his cock. A tease, just enough that his length straightens and bobs.
“Julia.” His voice is raspy. “What I said out there…”
I fondle his balls and lick the other side, digging my teeth in just below his hip bone. He bucks toward me, and I get more turned on by the way his grip changes in my hair. It’s gone from tentative, to eager, to desperate.
“I know.”
I settle back on my haunches and make a show of looking up at him as I grip his length at the base and hold my mouth open. Wanting him to watch me take him. To hold my gaze as I do.
A needy shudder racks his body. A tendon in his jaw flicks. He’s on a precipice, torn between frustration and desire.
“I meant it about…” He trails off, eyes searching mine. I can see that he wants to say it. Wants to tell me. But I also understand him. This is a big revelation.
But here? Now? Under these circumstances? None of it feels quite right.
Still, I know. We both do. Which is why I just grin at him and say, “Why do you think I’m so desperate to get your cock in my mouth?”
Tongue flat, I lick the tip and his eyes go hooded. “Jules.”
His fingers curl, tugging my hair.
I lick again, this time tasting the salty flavor of his pre-cum.
“Jules.” His head tips back against the wall, hands pulling me closer. He looks like a fucking Greek god above me, sculpted by a master. I could stare at him all day long. Lounge in his arms. Listen to him breathe.
Unfortunately for me, we currently have about seven minutes.
I push up so that I’m even with his waist and try to take his full length in one go, swallowing at the end to keep from gagging.
He whimpers, his thumb tracing the shell of my ear with aching tenderness.
That one sound—that one touch—is all the proof I need of what he said earlier. And the knowing makes me want to take my time. Savor him. Watch his
every expression as I pull him apart, thread by thread.
Later, I promise myself. Because right now, we need this.
I need him.
I suck him back again, cheeks hollowing as I increase the suction. I work him over, making it messy and frantic and desperate. Saliva pools in my mouth.
Wetting my lips. It drips down my chin, and I can feel him watching above me.
Admiring.
I choke—on purpose. He groans, his head thunking back against the drywall.
I do it again, gripping his thighs for dear life. His entire body has gone rigid, like a string pulled too tight. He feels ready to snap.
Soon his hands go from holding my head to gripping it.
I smile around his cock, satisfied by his fraying control.
“Jules. Fuck. Tell me what you want.”
Looking up, I make a show of pulling off, eyes slightly watery, a line of saliva stretched between the head of his thick cock and my bottom lip. “I want you to fuck my face. Hard. Like you hate me for doing this to you.”
His cheeks flush and his eyes darken. “For doing what to me?”
“For making you fall in love with me.”
His tongue pops into the side of his mouth as his eyes race over my face like he’s searching for something.
Finally, one hand moves. His thumb presses against my chin to pry my lips open, and his cock surges, brushing against my cheek lewdly. “Then open your fucking mouth and choke on it, Julia.”
I open as his hips flex, and he shoves himself in. My lips latch on, suctioning tight. And then I strap in for the ride. My jaw goes slack, and my neck softens as I give myself over to Emmett.
His hand strokes my head in praise. “You look like a fucking angel down on your knees for me, Jules. Working so hard to keep up. How’d I get so damn lucky?”
My chest fills, and I gaze up at him, telling him with my eyes that I feel the same way.
He holds me, works me, uses me. And yet I’ve never felt more cherished— more vital to someone.
A roar of laughter filters in from outside, a stark reminder of where we are and what we’re doing, but rather than dissuading us, it drives us on. He turns more frantic while I turn more impatient.
“I’m close,” he mutters roughly right as I feel his cock turn even more rigid against my tongue. “Gonna fill that hot little mouth.”
I moan desperately, slipping my tongue over his head on every thrust.
We clash, and yet everything is in perfect harmony. My lashes flutter, and I hold on tight as he uses my mouth.
“Just like that. Take it.” His movements turn jerky, and so do his words.
“Take. That. Cock.”
His voice washes over me like scalding water. My nipples ache against my bra, my pussy lips slipping as I move my legs, widening my knees for extra purchase.
Then a ragged, “Fuuuck,” as he holds me down, filling my mouth and my throat. The satisfaction of him pulsing inside of me soothes the angst that overtook me earlier.
I swallow as his touch gentles and his length slips from my mouth—feeling far more accomplished than I should for a woman who is failing spectacularly at her job.
And when I look up at Emmett, all I see is adoration. No trace of the edge and anxiety from before. Pride surges through me.
I did that.
My satisfaction is short-lived when I glance at my watch and realize we only have a couple of minutes to spare before our poor decision-making blows up in our faces. He sees me do it but doesn’t say a word.
Instead, in a split second, he’s dropped to his knees, coming to my level.
Then he’s holding my cheeks and kissing me. Soundly.
His kiss says more than words ever could, and I smile against his lips.
“Thank you,” he breathes against my mouth, while propping his forehead against mine.
The position is intimate, as though we’re sharing a secret.
And maybe we are. Because we both know that thank you meant something else entirely.
