For Kris – happy birthday, baby. :) You are amazingly awesome and I hope this is your best yet.

Special thanks to mjinaspen for her beta services. To LightStarDust, LoreliD, hmonster4 and h32mh32m, ILY for pre-reading and not laughing at me.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.

I sat silently and watched him, thumbnail caught between my teeth.

I'd been waiting for this for a while. It was hot as hell in the bar and though Emmett was barely working – shooting the shit with Jasper and Edward certainly didn't count – he'd worked up a good sweat. His hair had grown damp at the base of his neck and I'd been watching a droplet of sweat hang precariously off the end of a lock of hair. I was waiting for the moment when it would dislodge and descend his damp, golden skin.

That moment was now.

My eyes, heavy-lidded from the weight of heat and wanting him – god, always wanting him – followed its path. I watched it snake slowly over the gentle hills of his cervical spine and then disappear beneath the neckline of his shirt. I wanted to watch where it went next, to see the way it moved sinuously down the subtle ravine of his back. I wanted to catch it with my finger at the bottom of his back, right above those two dimples that perfectly accented his ass, and press myself against him, taste the salt of his skin.

I brought my gaze up slowly, taking in the narrow span of his hips, the way his torso tapered out into a gorgeous chest, broad shoulders, let my eyes wander over the perfectly corded muscles of those hands that knew every inch of my body, of the forearms and biceps that strained when they held me up in the shower or gripped my hips in place against his completely dilapidated, but surprisingly sturdy, dining room table.

I moved my eyes over his mouth, the mouth that had been everywhere, had touched and teased and sucked and licked, and watched it move while he talked and laughed with Jasper and Edward. I watched the dimples that framed his lips flash and disappear, flash and disappear. And when I finally made it to his eyes, he was looking at me in a way that brought goose bumps to my overheated, sticky skin. Jasper and Edward were looking, too, and I noticed and immediately dismissed the knowing grins on their faces, the way Jasper leaned in and murmured something that turned Emmett's grin wicked and sinful.

Though it was 80 million fucking degrees in this place, I didn't know heat until he leveled that knowing look at me. It was the look that told me the same montage that was playing through my head right now – remembering the ways he bent me over, the way he lightly pulled my hair, how he talked dirty to me and fucked me in his slow, dirty, Southern way – was playing through his, too.

It was the look that told me I was in the kind of trouble I loved being in.

He said something to Jasper and Edward that made them all laugh and then slid a glass of amber-colored beer toward me. I caught it easily and licked off the liquid that sloshed over the side and onto my fingers.

"Remember, this is a family establishment," Jasper called, cigarette stuck behind his ear, as Emmett made his way over to me.

"The hell it is. Did you or did you not fuck Alice against the cooler in back two days ago?" Emmett called back, his eyes still locked with mine. He stopped in front of me and I stood, letting him sit on my stool.

Jasper shot us a cocksure grin. "Oh, that? We just wanted to give y'all an example of what not to do."

"Good one, Jazz," I said, rolling my eyes.

"What was that, sugar tits?" Jasper shot back. I flipped him off with both hands and an angelic smile.

"Eyes up, you confederate fuck." Emmett grinned at him over his shoulder, then looked back at me, his eyes roaming over the taut cotton of my white tank top that was unapologetically and almost obscenely sheer. "Jesus Christ, Rosalie, are you even wearing a bra?"

"Sure," I replied with an innocence we both knew I didn't possess. It was a poor excuse for one, though, all wispy lace that barely covered anything. I didn't want to be swaddled in insane amounts of fabric during the height of summer, and anything more than this and the cut-off shorts I was wearing was entirely too much.

Besides, the way Emmett was looking at me told me it would all be coming off very soon anyway. He let out a close-mouthed groan that reverberated in his chest and out to me, into my veins, electrifying my skin and cells and making the hair on my scalp stand on end. His eyes moved over my face, down my neck, over my breasts, and his hands dug into my hips, pulling me between his legs.

"Were you put on this earth just to tease me? I swear to god."

I shrugged, smirking. In truth, I loved teasing him, but I loved having him more. I loved the way he looked at me, the way his body responded to mine, that magnetic pull I always felt when he was within a two-mile radius of me. I loved the way we argued - over politics, what to have for dinner, the best route to take to school or the gas station or our favorite restaurant - and the way we made up after it. I loved waking up at night with him there next to me, solid and tangible and mine.

I couldn't remember exactly what it was like to not have him. Three months and he'd already rooted himself so effortlessly, so completely into my life.

"I always come through, McCarty," I said. I wondered if he could hear or see the rapid thumping happening underneath my sternum, my telltale heart.

"Baby, you always come, period." His grin turned cocky and I slapped him lightly on the cheek.

"Like you complain."

"No," he replied, his voice going rough, his expression intense and seductive. He crooked his finger at me and I moved closer until our noses were almost touching. "I love making you come. I love hearing you say my name."

I swallowed, all semblance of my cool façade gone. He grinned, the dimples reappearing, but his eyes remained serious and fixed on me.

"Where can we go?" I murmured against his ear, my hands bracing against the bar on either side of him, my breasts lightly grazing his chest. I bit the sensitive skin of his lobe and then pulled back, leveling him with a challenging stare.

"Office," he murmured back, blue eyes deep and almost predatory.

"Can you take me there?" I asked, drawing out the words, letting my tongue drag across my bottom lip.

"I can fuck you there," he shot back, low so that only I could hear him. A shiver of anticipation rolled up my spine, and my want for him clawed at my skin, clenched low in my belly. God, if he just touched me for a minute, maybe two, I'd be done for. He stood, the entire length of his body grazing mine, and wrapped an arm around my waist. "Jazz, I'm taking a twenty."

"Oh, I doubt it'll take more than five," Jasper quipped.

Emmett tsked. "Aww, sweetheart, don't be bitter. If you had any clue where or what a clit was, you'd be able to get Alice off pretty quick, too."

"Fuck off," Jasper called jovially, middle finger held high. He moseyed toward Edward, who was at the far side of the bar, eye fucking a slim brunette dancing by herself on the dance floor.

"How'd you know?" I asked, letting Emmett drag me toward the back.

"Seriously, try and keep the screaming to a minimum so you don't scare off our three customers," Edward called to us, his eyes still trained on the girl.

"I think your creepy staring will take care of that, Eddie," Emmett laughed, his hand sweeping down to cup my ass. "Stop being a pussy and go dance with her."

"Yeah, no problem, I'll just fucking work while you two screw around," Jasper said, sticking the cigarette that had been behind his ear in his mouth.

"Great," Edward replied, pretending to miss Jasper's sarcasm as he threw down his rag and headed out from behind the bar. Jasper snorted derisively, muttering to himself around the cigarette.

Emmett shot Jasper a wink and then guided me toward the back, letting me walk in front of him. I could tell he was enjoying the view, could feel his eyes on me and the warmth emanating from his body. I dragged my fingertips along the wall as we made our way down the dark hallway toward the office, letting my hips sway back and forth. I looked at him over my shoulder, catching my bottom lip between my teeth. His eyes were cast downward. My shirt had ridden up because of his wandering hands, and I knew he was taking in his favorite part of this body that was all his, where the curve of my ass and hips narrowed up into my waist. That was where he lavished his attention when I was on top of him, his hands moving back and forth along the dip between my hips and ribs, watching me, telling me what he loved, moaning out the dirtiest things in the accent that thickened whenever he was tasting, feeling, fucking me.

His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist and suddenly I was pinned against the wall, my arm above my head. He stared down at me, his eyes blue, on fire, and brushed his mouth against mine. He did it again and then pressed it to mine firmly, with a confidence that shot right to my abdomen. I parted my lips for him immediately and his tongue was warm, exploring, familiar and exciting and right. I inhaled sharply, bucking my hips forward to gain contact with him, to somehow help the pressure building, but I needed more than this. His hands, perfectly molded for my body, went up until they were cupping my breasts, his thumbs moving over my nipples.

"Fuck," I gasped into his mouth and my hips twitched again, my head banging against the wall.

"Yes, now. Move," he growled, but he grabbed me and practically carried me the rest of the way to the office. My feet barely touched the ground.

If possible, it was hotter in the office than it had been in the bar, but I wasn't sure if that was because the room was small and windowless or if it was because of Emmett and the way he'd been touching me, looking at me. I disengaged from his arms and strolled over to the desk, propping myself against it while he took care of shutting and locking the door.

He was in front of me quickly, a foot away. I looked up at him and raised a questioning eyebrow, daring him to make the first move.

"Stand up," he said, mouth twitching.

I stood.

"C'mere," he continued, voice low and honeyed, dripping with promise and sex. I stood on my tiptoes and his mouth met me halfway. Our lips melded slowly, deliciously, our tongues meeting and caressing and this is what I imagined moving in slow motion felt like. It was like every second ticked forward lazily so that I could feel every bit of this, how his hard, solid body pressed against mine, how his hands moved to cradle my head and his fingers weaved themselves into my hair, how his moan vibrated in my mouth and against my chest and lower.

"Please," I murmured in a voice that sounded like mine but not. I couldn't believe how badly I wanted him right now. My need was so acute that I was almost caving in on myself.

"Please what?" His hand reached down between us and roughly grazed the apex of my legs. There might as well not have been any barrier between his hand and my skin, because I felt his touch and it was right there and I needed him there, too. But he was teasing, smiling, even though his eyes were almost black, pupils dilated and wanting. He loved to hear me ask for it. He loved to see me lose control.

I pulled back and looked up at him. My fingers curled underneath the hem of my tank top and I pulled it up and over my head. I tossed it aside and leaned back against the desk, palms flat on a stack of papers. His eyes flew everywhere - stomach, swell of breast, nipples, collarbone and back down - and I raised an eyebrow while he gaped at me, his fingers twitching against my hips. I loved the way we played with each other before succumbing to what we both desperately wanted and needed, the constant struggle for power and control over the other. It was like a game of chess - intellectual, strategic, but also sexual and primal.

And I invariably always won.

"Fuck me," I said, and then for good measure added sweetly, "Please."

"Fuck," Emmett drew out, making the one-syllable word into at least eight, his voice echoing around the small office. I tried to stop my smug smile, but it slid across my face anyway. His eyes narrowed for a split second and then he shot me an unsteady, sexy grin and breathed out, "You win."

It was all the encouragement I needed. I snaked my hand around the back of his neck, damp skin on damp skin, and brought his mouth back to mine. It was slow again, at first, but deep and I ground my hips against his and I thought maybe I could get off like this, just with him kissing me and grabbing my ass. But I'd asked him to do something else and I wanted it. As if he heard my thoughts, he gave me one last lingering kiss, taking my bottom lip into his mouth, then went for the button on my shorts. I reached for his belt and undid it quickly, flicking open his five-button fly, then tugged impatiently at the hem of his t-shirt. He lifted his arms, allowing me to peel it off, his eyes focused on me the entire time.

"God, you're gorgeous," he said. I let my eyes wander over his chest and torso, taking in the powerful muscles there, all sinew and firm, hard man. I raked my fingernails lightly over them now, enjoying the way his muscles clenched in anticipation as I moved down the length of his chest, his abs, over the subtle line of muscle that made a "v" down into the waistband of his boxers. My eyes lingered there and I bit my lip.

Yes, definitely hard.

"You don't need to sweet talk me, baby. I'm already yours." The last part slipped out accidentally and I would have thought about being embarrassed by my candor if it weren't for the fact that his hand was sliding past the waistband of my underwear. It was, though, and his fingers found sensitive skin and I couldn't even remember my name, let alone the fact that I'd just made myself vulnerable in a way that scared me.

"You're what?" he asked, licking up my neck as his fingers worked me.

I let out a low moan, one hand blindly feeling around for something to hold onto. It curled around the edge of the desk, holding me in place. My legs were starting to shake - god, he was so good at this - and I felt a drop of sweat wind its way down between my breasts.

"Yours," I gasped out. I reached into his pants and felt him and he groaned into my neck, pressing his hot, open mouth against it. I didn't know if it was from my touch or my response or both, but I was starting to see stars behind my eyelids and his hand wasn't where I wanted to come. "I thought I asked you to do something, and this isn't it."

"You don't like this?" he crooned into my ear, his short-bursting breath mingling with mine. There was the accent. His fingers moved lower and curled inside and Jesus Christ. My hand, wrapped around him, squeezed involuntarily and we both cried out loudly. "Shhh," he laughed hoarsely. "We have to be quiet."

"Ungh," I breathed, nipping at his shoulder, then panted, "Emmett McCarty, if you're not fucking me in two seconds, I swear -"

If there was one thing I appreciated about Emmett, it was that he was an excellent listener. I didn't have time to finish my sentence because his hands were hooked around my shorts and underwear, pulling them down, and then I was bent over the desk, forearms resting on it. I widened my stance slightly, my heart pounding against my chest, and shivered under the weight of the humid air. I bowed my head and looked over my shoulder up at him. His eyes met mine and a wicked smile played on his mouth before he slowly, teasingly, moved into me until the front of his thighs sat flush with the back of mine. The smile disappeared and we both groaned. I dropped my head, moving back against him, needing to feel the friction to somehow manage the ache between my legs, the knot settled low in my stomach.

There were times when he'd grind into me slow, savoring me, touching and kissing me everywhere, moving and molding my body in different ways. This was not one of those times. The contact was intense, immediate, fast and almost desperate. His hands, one gripping my hip, one flat on my back, held me in place while he moved against me, inside me. It was so much, almost too much, and I couldn't make any sound but short, staccato moans, my fingers curling around random papers.

God, what he did to me. Even when he was fucking me, like now, it felt like he was loving me, like he needed me as much as I needed him.

"Jesus, Rosalie," he moaned, his voice thick with strain and lust. "You're...fuck...god, so good."

I pushed back against him, undulating my hips in the way I knew he loved. He moaned again, loud and deep, and his hand snaked around the front of me, moving between my legs. I slammed my hand against the desk to keep from screaming. His fingers, the ones that weren't hurtling me over the edge, dug into the damp skin on my back and soon his movements became more erratic, more wild and uncontrolled.

"Close," I panted, feeling the warmth spreading out, the knot in my stomach unraveling and spiraling downward. I wanted this feeling to last. I wanted to savor it. But I also needed the release so badly, needed to feel him in that way, too.

He grunted in response and I could feel the spasms starting, clenching around him. He let out another moan, a low curse and then another, his words fragmented, growled out.

"So beautiful," he gasped. I looked over my shoulder and his eyes were hooded, heavy, focused on my face. He ground into me, hard, one more time, and then I was gone, moaning out his name and crashing against wave after wave. My body shuddered, helpless against the intensity of what he did to me.

I felt him press harder against me, bend me further over. His hand went down next to mine on the desk and he moved into me once, twice, three times before stilling and letting out a low, guttural groan that vibrated in the air around us and right through me.

He half-collapsed with a hum and curled over me, resting his forearms on the desk next to mine. The office was quiet now; my pounding heart and the memory of his voice when he was inside me and coming was the only sound ringing in my ears. I could feel his hot breath on my sticky skin, his heart thumping against my back, the solid weight of him. I closed my eyes, a lazy, euphoric smile curling my lips.

I loved the after-sex time with Emmett almost as much as during it, when I'd lie on top of him or next to him and we'd let our hearts slow and sync, transitioning from a frantic rhythm to a slower, satiated one. And then he'd start playing with my hair or running his finger up and down my arm or side, or he'd kiss my shoulder like he was doing now. He left tiny, open-mouthed kisses up the curve of it, meant to bring me out of my post-coital haze. I felt his fingers brush against the back of my neck, moving my hair, and I shivered. He laughed against my skin. God, it was amazing, so insane, how we could be so desperate for each other one minute, breathless and grinding, and then share these quiet moments. Both were equally intimate in a way that made my heart dip and squeeze, that made me silently hope I would always have him.

"You alive down there?" he asked finally, voice slow and low and sated.

"Barely," I murmured. I was secretly impressed that I managed to get a word out, given how he had worked me to absolute exhaustion. If this desk hadn't been here to support me, I'd be in a heap on the floor.

He peeled his body away from mine and I groaned in protest. He laughed again, caressing my hips and giving me one last kiss, this time near the base of my spine, before moving further away. Warm air hit my skin and I propped myself up on my elbows shakily, bending my knees to test their strength.

"Christ, what I wouldn't give for a camera right now," Emmett said, smacking my bare ass. I reached blindly back for him and then gave up, settling instead for flipping him off. "Need some help, sweet cheeks?"

I straightened up, trying to look put out, but it was difficult to be indignant when I wasn't wearing any pants. He was standing in the middle of the room, gathering the clothes we'd discarded. His jeans hung low on his hips, the waistband of his boxers playing peek-a-boo. His hair, those dark curls I loved to run my fingers through absently, was mussed and damp around his ears and neck. I watched him silently, ran my eyes over the soft pinkness spread over his cheekbones, the gentle curl of his mouth. He must have felt my gaze because he looked up and one corner of his mouth went up further. His eyes were at the same time intense and soft, brilliantly blue and holding a look that I knew was specific to me.

I felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked, but my hands went instinctively to cover my lower half anyway. I probably should've covered the metaphorical sleeve where I wore my heart instead.

"Really?" he said, raising a sardonic eyebrow. That look was still there, but tempered by amusement.

I held out my hand, trying for indignant again. "Shorts, please."

"Okay, don't get your panties in a twist," he replied and then looked down at the thong in his hand. "Oh, wait."

"Oh, you're so funny," I drawled, rolling my eyes. He tossed me my shorts and underwear and I wiggled quickly into both while he watched, arms crossed over his bare chest. And then he walked over to me and my fingers forgot that they were supposed to be buttoning my shorts. He brushed them aside gently, fastening the button himself. Then he grinned and leaned forward to place a kiss on my forehead.

"You love it." He moved down to the bridge of my nose. I closed my eyes, reveled in the feeling of his lips making a whisper-soft trail down my face until they reached my mouth. He kissed each upturned corner, then pulled back and cupped my face, running his thumb over the high plane of my cheekbone.

"Do you know how much shit Jasper and Edward would give you if they saw you like this?" I teased, though I loved seeing him like this. We played and fought hard, took as much shit as we gave one another, but these small glimpses of deep and true affection were the perfect balance to the scale of our relationship.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing that this me is only for you then, isn't it?" he said, his gaze steady on me.

I smiled, closing my eyes as he dipped his head down for another kiss and this time I didn't even try to hide my heart. He knew it was his.