Money Power 20

Emery’s POV

The day passed quietly, but with a strange weight hanging under the surface. Landon had his own way of looking after our child.

He never missed a single appointment. He was always there during my checkups, steady and calm, ready to help whenever I felt tired or overwhelmed.

And the grocery bags never stopped showing up, there was always a plastic bag waiting by my door filled with fresh fruit, soup, vitamins, or something thoughtful, sometimes even a note in his awkward handwriting.

But that morning, when I stepped out, the door was bare. No bags, no fruit, no soup, no vitamins, and no notes.

At first, I told myself maybe he overslept or got caught up with something urgent. But as the hours ticked by, even after noon, there was still nothing. No message, no call. That wasn’t like him.

Something felt wrong, and it gnawed at me.

I found myself standing outside his rental apartment, chewing the inside of my cheek, feeling the knot tightening in my stomach. I knocked twice. No answer.

“Landon?” I called, my voice low and cautious.

Still nothing. I hesitated, then tried the door. It wasn’t locked. Slowly, I pushed it open. The apartment was dim and quiet, the blinds drawn shut. A blanket was bunched up on the couch.

And then I saw him.

He lay curled on his side, pale beyond anything I’d seen before. His eyes were barely open, heavy and tired. A half-empty glass of water sat untouched on the table, next to a container of soup he hadn’t eaten.

“Landon,” I said softly, moving closer. “Are you okay?”

He stirred, blinking slowly. When I pressed the back of my hand to his forehead, I felt the heat radiating off him. “You have a fever,” I said, a little sharper than I meant to be.

He muttered, his voice low and rough. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “You idiot.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, weak but genuine. “That kind of attitude, huh? You’re usually softer.”

I rolled my eyes and stood up, trying to keep my tone light. “Not anymore. I learned the hard way.” He gave me a bitter smile, full of guilt that I could see even in his tired eyes.

“Anyway,” I said, taking a breath, “you’re lucky I came. Looks like I’m the one who needs to take care of you now.”

Because the truth was, I couldn’t leave him like this. I would blame myself if anything worse happened.

That moment, I stayed. I didn’t overthink it. I moved around the apartment, made soup, found a clean towel, and sat on the arm of the couch so I could be close.

Every few hours, I gently wiped his forehead and switched out the cool towel.

He drifted in and out of sleep, barely speaking, but every time his eyes opened and found mine, a small smile would flicker, like my presence was enough to steady his breath.

As the sun dipped low and the sky outside turned orange, he looked better. Less pale, less shaky. When I returned that night to check on him, he was awake, propped up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket.

“The temperature’s going down,” I said, pressing my hand lightly to his cheek. “You’ll live.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Damn. Here I thought this might finally get me out of family dinners.”

I smirked but turned toward the door. Just as I was about to leave, his fingers reached out and wrapped around my wrist with surprising strength.

“Stay,” he said quietly. “Just tonight.”

I didn’t answer right away. My heart started pounding, like it knew this moment was different from all the others. I turned back to face him. Our eyes locked, no pretenses between us, just the raw truth hanging in the air. I nodded.

He reached up slowly, his hand sliding up my arm, fingers brushing the side of my jaw. The touch was gentle, hesitant but full of something that had been waiting too long to come out.

Before I could stop myself, I leaned in.

Our lips met softly at first, testing the ground. Then everything broke open, messy and breathless, the kind of kiss that held all the words we hadn’t spoken for months.

It was desperate and warm and real.

In that moment, the silence and the waiting, the worry and the distance all faded away. It was just us, here and now, finally closing the space between what had been broken and what was still worth fighting for.

He pulled me closer like he was afraid I’d vanish again and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t resist. There were no words, only wanting.

His hands moved under my shirt, hot and slow. I gasped when his thumb brushed the underside of my breast.

“God, I missed you,” he whispered, mouth grazing my throat.

My hips pressed against his lap instinctively, and I felt him there, hard already, thick and waiting. He groaned, deep in his chest, as his shaft throbbed beneath me.

“Shit,” he muttered, forehead dropping to mine. “You don’t know how much I want you right now.”

I moaned softly, grinding down once and his grip tightened on my hips.

“Don’t tease,” he warned, voice shaking.

I reached between us, dragging the waistband down just enough to free him. His cock sprang out, heavy and flushed.

I ran my fingers over the tip, spreading his precum, watching his head fall back with a groan. “Fuck, ahh…”

I lifted my shirt but left it on, straddling him slowly. He helped line himself up, one hand on his shaft, the other steadying me as I sank down, inch by slow inch, until he was fully inside. My moan broke the quiet. His breath caught.

“Jesus… you’re so tight,” he gritted, fingers digging into my thighs. “So fucking warm.”

He didn’t move yet, just stayed buried inside me, like even that was enough to undo him. I kissed him again, deeper this time.

Our tongues tangled, messy and slow. Every breath we shared was soaked in want.

Then I started to move, gently. Rolling my hips in slow, grinding circles. He held still, letting me control the pace.

“Oh God,” I whimpered, my hands curling into his shoulders.

He tried to stay gentle, but I felt the tension in him, the way his muscles flexed like he was holding back from slamming up into me.

“I want to fuck properly you so bad,” he hissed, lips dragging along my jaw. “But I can’t— not with the baby. Not like that.”

“Then don’t,” I whispered, gasping as he brushed a spot deep inside me. “Just… stay with me like this.”

He thrust slowly, deeply, each movement purposeful. My wetness clung to him, soaking the base of his cock. He groaned with every tight slide in and out, low and wrecked.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he growled.

“Yes,” I moaned, nails digging into his chest. My orgasm built slowly and sweet, waves lapping over me. And when it hit, I clenched around him hard, crying out against his mouth.

“Oh god- Landon-”

“Shh, I got you,” he whispered, groaning as he spilled inside me seconds later, holding me down as he came deep, hips twitching beneath mine.

For a while, we didn’t move. Our foreheads stayed pressed together, bodies slick and shaking. “I’m never letting you go again,” he breathed. And I believed him.