Chapter Thirty-One
Blake
H is fingers started lightly tracing up my side at some point but at my words, those same hands grip onto my hips and hold me in place. It isn’t hard enough to hurt, and even with my injured ankle, I know I could easily push him off—but his mix of newfound possessiveness, and endless consideration for me, makes it so much hotter.
He hasn’t even touched me—hell, he hasn’t even really kissed me tonight—yet my body’s on fire in a way it’s never been before. There have been glimpses of these feelings, smaller flickers of flames whenever he’s near, but this is overwhelming.
Addicting, even, because I just want more before I’ve had any.
“Fuck me,” he murmurs as his lips crash down on mine. He wastes no time pulling my bottom lip down with his teeth and slipping his tongue into my mouth.
And it’s a good thing or I would’ve said something stupid like ‘okay.’ That’s how far out the window my inhibitions feel right now as I’m wrapped in his earthy, cedar cologne.
It’s hard not to move when all I want is to crawl onto his lap and get as close to him as possible. However, I know his care for me will win out over his apparent lust if he thinks I’m in pain.
So I do my best to sit still, but when one of his hands slips from my hip down to where my thigh creases, I can’t fight it. My hips buck up and I let out a low moan in his mouth.
“Sit still, pretty girl,” he quietly commands.
Nodding, I turn to watch the slow journey his hand makes across my body. With a gentle nudge of his head, he pushes mine to the side and kisses along my neck, even pulling the collar of my crewneck to get more access to my skin.
The sensation threatens to roll my eyes to the back of my head, though I don’t allow it. Instead, I focus on the way his hand slips under the crew neck and skims my lower stomach. Just as I’m getting used to that, he moves back to that spot at the top of my thigh.
My breathing picks up even more when one of his fingers slips under the built-in spandex of my skirt. It’s short enough that his long, thick finger easily skims the edge of my panties underneath. He groans behind me, and it’s the sexiest thing I know I’ll ever hear in this lifetime.
It’s then that I realize his lips left my skin at some point, and I look up to find him watching the same show.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows before looking down at me with dark eyes. It’s hard to tell with his deep brown irises in this light, but the way he’s looking at me feels visceral, more primal.
“If you want to sto—”
“I don’t want to stop.” Almost desperately, I shake my head and grab onto his wrist, holding his hand to my center. On a breath, I quietly demand, “Keep going.”
That possessive glint in his eye I sometimes catch is in full force for the first time at my words.
He removes his hand and tugs on the hem of my skirt. “Can I take this off?”
Nodding, I bite my lip, feeling a little nervous suddenly. From the way Adrian stiffens behind me, I know he can read the emotions on my face. Before he can switch into worry mode, I twist around as much as I can and grab onto his t-shirt.
“This too,” I softly demand.
It’s clearly an effort to even the playing field right now because there’s no way I could comfortably do anything for him in this position. Without hesitation, he sits up, pushing me with him, and swiftly slides his shirt off.
Even with a partial view, I can tell he’s perfect. He really is a Greek God reincarnated.
“Holy fuck,” I blurt out before I can think to stop myself.
Adrian laughs, and the sound is so soothing, it breaks down any embarrassment I might have felt.
Slipping his thumbs into the waistline of my skirt, he whispers in my ear, “How’s that saying go again? ‘I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours’?”
It’s a teasing callback to the afternoon in the candy shop, and I like knowing he remembers the little moments we share.
With my hands braced on his thighs, I lift my butt off the couch so he can push the skirt down. Knowing it’s the easiest choice, I only remove one foot and let the skirt hang around my other calf.
It feels ridiculous, but Adrian doesn’t offer it a second glance. Instead, his gaze is fully honed in on the soft pink cotton thong I’m wearing. It’s nothing special really, but from the way he’s looking at it, you’d think I was handing him his first Playboy magazine.
Moving to push the scrap of fabric down next, his hand engulfs mine as he pulls it up to his lips.
“Keep that on.” His other hand skims the edge of my panties, and I instinctively open my legs further, urging him to give me more. “I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what you wear under those scrub pants.”
Typically, I don’t wear this under my scrubs, but it’s like a higher power was in my room while I was changing earlier tonight. I don’t bother correcting him though, not wanting to break the spell that he seems to be under as he stares at my covered pussy.
When his hand moves further underneath the fabric, I stop watching his expression and let my gaze fall to the space between my legs.
“You’ve had a hard night, pretty girl. I can make it better.”
“Yes, Adrian,” I breathe.
Letting his fingers skim over my already wet slit, he muses, “The first time I see your pussy, it’s going to be when you aren’t hurt, and I can have both of your legs thrown over my shoulders.”
“Oh my God,” I whimper. The desperate need claws through my veins the longer he drags this out.
“But this pink here?” He snaps the fabric against my sensitive skin. “It looks so fucking pretty on you, baby.”
Internally, I fucking melt . I’ve never been called that by anyone. And I’m more thankful now for that than ever—knowing it can’t get better than the gravelly way it falls from Adrian’s lips.
Before I’ve processed that one word, he goes on, “I know it’ll be even prettier when you’ve soaked right through it.”
Panting, I look up at him as he starts to push one finger into me at the same moment. It takes me by surprise—the good kind of surprise. The kind I’ve started to remember since meeting him.
He holds my eye contact as he slowly pushes into me, using his thumb to slowly work my clit when I tense around him.
“Shh, relax.” He kisses my neck and settles on the nape, under my hairline, and gently sucks.
Whether it’s his words, or all the different ways he’s touching me, I let my body give into his control. It’s not that I didn’t want to from the start, but it’s been a while since I was with anyone—and none of those boys were Adrian.
“That’s my girl,” he praises against my skin once he’s pushed inside me fully. Moaning, I brace my good foot on the cushion and gently buck against his hand.
“Impatient, little thing,” he teases.
I am , I want to scream, although it comes out as an unintelligible whine.
After a few, slow strokes he asks, “Think you can handle another one?”
“Yes,” I breathe out.
A low groan falls from his throat as he pulls all the way out, only to line a second finger up and pushes both inside me. This time he doesn’t let me adjust. He pushes into me in one, deliciously tortuous pump of his hand.
“Ah, Adrian ,” I cry. “Fuck.” There’s a little bit of pain, but it’s gone in an instant. Morphing into pleasure.
Clumsily, I grab onto his forearm with one hand and push his other hand up my top. His knuckles lightly move up my chest until he makes contact with my simple, cotton bra. He pauses for half a second when he gets to the swell of my breast.
I don’t show off my chest that much, despite how often my friends insist I should. So, even though I don’t necessarily try to hide everything that’s going on under there, I think there’s a difference between seeing my silhouette in clothes and actually holding the full weight in your hand.
Adrian seems to agree as his hand gently cups me, seeming to test how I fit there.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he confirms, his low voice like a prayer.
His exploring touch turns into something more possessive and firmer as he grasps my breast harder, giving it small, pulsing squeezes. It feels good—more than good, amazing .
It’s better than any other time I’ve been with anyone else. But I know my body well enough to know that the slow, languid strokes aren’t going to get me where I need to be.
Turning my face into his bare chest, I whisper, “Faster.”
He does what I say but surprises me by removing his hand from my breast and grabbing one of my wrists off his leg. “Show me.” I watch as he slides my hand under my panties, but he doesn’t let go.
With one hand, he continues pumping into my wet heat as the fingers on his other hand entangle with mine and he pushes us against my clit.
“Show me what you need, Blake, and I’ll give it to you.”
Nodding, I turn back to lay my head on his chest—reveling in the feel of his skin against mine. Pushing down harder than he was before, I guide our fingers in tight circles. As we fall into a rhythm, his other hand moves faster inside me, matching the speed I’ve set.
After a couple of seconds, he seems confident to take over again. Brushing my hand aside, he settles his palm against the sensitive bundle of nerves, and continues the tight, firm pattern as he pushes into me again and again.
His now free hand moves back up my crew neck and grabs the full weight of my breast again, flicking the peaked bud with his thumb. And the fact that I can feel myself on his fingers still, only adds to the sensations burning through me.
His other hand works my core faster, as do his movements to my pinched nipple over my bra. I’m lost in the sensation of having Adrian’s full, lustful attention on me that I don’t see my orgasm coming.
But that doesn’t stop it—if anything, it hits me even harder because I wasn’t expecting it. Crying out, partly because I try to push my hips up using both feet as leverage, forgetting my ankle, and twisting around to search for some form of contact with Adrian.
Seeming to know what I need, his lips drop to mine. It’s an awkward angle, but that doesn’t stop him from nibbling on my bottom lip and slipping his tongue into my mouth as I ride out my orgasm.
As my body unwinds and I come down from the high, he gently removes his fingers from inside of me. For a second, we both just look at his hand that I made a complete mess of.
I can feel my cheeks starting to burn and am about to offer to get him a napkin—even if I have to limp over there—when he does the last thing I had expected.
With a dark, glazed expression he brings his fingers to his lips and sucks them into his mouth. I’m already squirming in my seat, suddenly ready for a second round, when he groans in pleasure.
Catching me staring, he pops them out and smirks, using that same hand to gently grab me around the throat and kiss me again.
He pulls away enough to break the kiss but we’re still stealing each other’s air. “You’re so hot,” I blurt out against his lips.
A shocked chuckle falls out of him, as he tips my head back by my chin and murmurs against my lips, “That’s exactly what I was just thinking about you.”
Without any hesitation, I grab the back of his neck and pull his lips the last couple of inches down to mine. He holds me to him with an arm around my waist and we stay like that for a few minutes longer.
When it gets to around one a.m. I know it’s time to go, not ready to take the leap of staying the night with him just yet.
Untangling from his embrace, he helps me pull my skirt back up and guides me to the bathroom to clean up. He offered to get a towel for me, but I’m still reeling from the level of intimacy we just reached. And from the small reassuring smile he offered me, I knew he could sense that.
I didn’t, however, fight him on carrying me to his car and my front door.