[ Emery doesn't notice her at first. He's too involved with rubbing smooth and firm over that sweet spot behind his balls; with stroking his cock and twisting just so, in that way which makes his toes curl and pulse race. It isn't until that tiny choked-off "oh" that he realises he has company — Elle, of course, of course it would be Elle, because this is really a classic example of how his luck tends to go. ]

Elle!

[ He yelps her name just the once as he sits bolt upright, scrabbling for a pillow, which he slams over his crotch with a wince and an embarrassed huff. The sleepy light from the street lamps is streaming in through his open curtains ... but Emery hopes it's still dark enough to hide the beet-red blush staining his cheeks and ears. ]

I ... um. I'm ...

[ Em's still panting a little, although now it's partly panic, and he runs his hand through his hair before realising he just pushed pre-come and spit through his own 'do.

Oh God.. She should be able to tell how humiliated he is by the sudden inflection of Welsh in his words; ]

I'm so sorry, Elle. I ... I didn't mean to wake you up.