Chapter Thirty-Eight
Blake
M aybe it’s a coincidence, but it’s not a surprise that Adrian set the water to the exact temperature I like. He wordlessly follows me into the stall and presses his body against mine.
Between him and the water, I feel like I’m on fire. Leaning on my toes to kiss him, he slides his hand into the hair at the nape of my neck and pulls my head to the side—giving him access to nibble along my neck, but not for me to kiss him.
As if he can read my thoughts, he says against my skin, “Let’s get your hair washed.”
That’s when I notice he didn’t throw out the hair products I accidentally left here.
“I wasn’t sure who this belonged to,” he admits, and pops open the lid of the shampoo. “But it smells like you, so…”
A soft, gooey smile splits across my face. I’m not keen on overwhelming or strong fragrances, so I’ve used fresh melon scents for as long as I can remember. And a silly, possessive part of my soul loves that Adrian knowingly associates that with me now.
“It’s mine,” I confirm. With that, he squeezes a dollop into his hand and continues to wash my hair. As he does, I tell him about all the things Margo found in his apartment.
“Honestly, it wasn’t a lot. Meera was right, ‘ lovely apartment ,’” I teasingly mock her. “There were barely any dirty clothes to complain about, your note-taking is impressive, and there’s nothing questionable on your Netflix account.” Closing my eyes and mouth while he rinses the suds out for a second time, they pop back open as soon as he’s done. “The most talked about finding was the un -open box of condoms in your bedside table.”
“That’s scandalous?” he asks while gently working the conditioner through the knots.
“Not scandalous,” I tell him. “Kind of disappointing to my friends, I guess.” That makes him laugh—making my body pebble and warm at the same time. Tracing a pattern across one of his pecs with my finger, I confess, “It was a green flag in my opinion.”
Looking down at me, his expression is a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Yeah?”
“I mean, I’m glad you think about those things. I’m not, uh, on birth control. I didn’t like the pill, and unless it’s a big deal, I’d rather no—”
“Blake,” he quickly cuts me off. “I’ve never not used a condom with someone. So I appreciate you telling me that, but it’s the type of decision you make on your own. I’ll respect it.”
Smiling, I let out a small sigh of relief. “Okay. Thank you.” As he ties my hair on the top of my head, he just smiles and rolls his eyes at me. Probably for thanking him for that.
“ Anyway , the box was closed,” I continue, “does that mean it’s fair to assume it’s been a couple of months? Since you’ve… you know, been with someone?” I grimace, more at my own awkwardness than the question.
I’d be an idiot if I thought for a second Adrian gained this level of confidence with his body without some sexual experiences. And I’m not exactly a blushing virgin either. At the same time, I want to put some things into perspective for myself before we go any further.
He smiles at me as he wipes a glob of conditioner from landing in my eye. It’s not pitiful or patronizing—just pure affection. “No, Blake. I haven’t been with anyone in months. Closer to a year,” he clarifies.
“Oh, okay,” I breathe out with a nod. “It’s been a long time for me as well.”
His eyes rove over me before grabbing onto my waist and pulling me flush against his very hard, very naked body. A small moan falls from my lips as his thick cock brushes against my stomach.
“There’s a lot we could do in here without a condom,” he muses and drops a kiss to my shoulder.
“I mean, I should let the conditioner sit for a while,” I whisper and tilt my head back, giving him access to the front of my neck and collarbone.
Chuckling against my skin, he slowly pushes me until my back is against the wall and he’s towering over me. There aren’t any more words between us; his actions are slow—giving me the time to stop him or object if I want to—as he drops a hand between us and slides his fingers through my wet heat.
“Adrian” I whine, needier than I’ve ever felt before.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he murmurs against my skin as he moves his lips to meet mine. “I’m always going to take care of you, Blake.”
And I believe him. God, do I.
And that realization is the most liberating sensation of them all.
“Remember when I made that joke about working you open?” My eyes pop open to find him smirking down at me. Nodding and remembering the first time he FaceTimed me, the laugh quickly dies in my throat as he pushes two fingers into me all in one go. Crying out, I almost miss him say, “I don’t think I was kidding at all.”
“Adrian,” I plead, not sure what I’m begging for. Just knowing he’s the only person who can give it to me.
“Mmm,” he hums against my lips before dropping to his knees in front of me. Gripping one thigh—my still slightly injured leg—he throws it over his shoulder. Before he’s even fully settled my weight on him, his tongue darts out and licks my clit.
“ Ahh ,” I cry out and buck my hips, pushing myself further into his face.
Again, he hums in approval and pulls me closer. One hand on the thigh curled around him, the other now gripping my ass cheek, as he wastes no time getting fully acquainted with my pussy.
“Fuck, Blake,” he groans. Seeming to gain some control over himself, he pulls away far enough to look up at me. With the way I’m angled—hips pulled toward him, back pushed against the wall—and each panting breath, my tits rise and fall, blocking my view of him for short seconds.
With his thumb, he spreads me open and takes in the sight of me before him. With a cheeky grin, he looks up at me and muses, “Such a pretty pussy for an even prettier girl.”
I can feel my face flush, stunned by his words, yet feeling more alive than I ever have. Sex has always been more about quick pleasure, but with Adrian, it’s about every little experience and sensation.
He takes his time learning my body—licking, sucking, nibbling along my heated, sensitive skin. One of my hands slaps the tiles over my head while the other continues to hold the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as I thrust my hips against his face.
“Clit—my clit, Adrian,” I demand. Sliding his hand up to rub tight firm circles, he hums in approval and pushes me closer to the precipice.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs in between licks. “Use your words, baby.”
“God, yes ,” I moan when his tongue moves inside me in tandem with his fingers running along the sensitive bundle of nerves.
And with every swipe, I’m closer… and closer… and closer…
Until I’m thrown over the edge and gasping out Adrian’s name, still holding him close to my center. As overwhelming as it is, the last thing I want is for him to go anywhere.
To his credit, he doesn’t pull away or move. Even once the pleasure has subsided and my arms fall limply to my sides. His fingers move from my over-sensitive clit, but his tongue continues lapping at my lingering arousal.
I’m so lost in the way he’s worshipping my body, I don’t notice he moved his hand from around my thigh until I hear the wet slide of skin against skin.
He’s fucking his hand while fucking me with his tongue.
The visual alone sends a new spark of need through my body. And from the look of tortured concentration on his face, I know he’s close.
Slipping one hand down to touch my clit while the other grips my own breast, I begin teasing the nipple in a similar way to how Adrian does.
Noticing that my pleasure’s building back up right alongside his, those eyes I could drown in drag open, and he looks at me with a dark, lustful gaze. I hold his eye contact while touching myself in rhythm with the way he’s touching both of us, we slowly bring ourselves to orgasm—mine seeming to be the catalyst that brings his own pleasure.
Panting, I slip my thigh from his shoulder and lean against the wall. My legs feel like Jell-O, and I consider dropping to the shower floor right now. Before I can, Adrian slides closer and rests his head against my lower stomach, right above my pelvis.
“Fuck, Blake,” he murmurs, placing soft kisses against my skin.
Taking a moment to catch my breath, I’m not sure what comes over me. But I find myself reaching for his shampoo. While I was staying here last week, I noted that it’s specific for his hair type and smells like cedar wood.
When he hears the lid flip open, his eyes find mine. The smile he offers me is tender and endearing. Allowing me to take care of him—in the same way he did for me a few minutes ago—he sits back on his heels as I work the suds into his hair, scratching my nails down the trimmed sides and back up. The gesture makes him groan in pleasure.
It’s different from the sounds he was making while between my legs, but it’s just as consuming. Letting me spend more time than needed to shampoo his hair, he stands and rinses it out.
At his full height, it would be too uncomfortable for both of us for me to finish the task. Instead, I hand him the accompanying conditioner and move to rinse my own hair.
Once I tie it up and out of the way again, I gasp when Adrian suddenly presses behind me and moves the washcloth along my stomach. It doesn’t take me more than a second to relax into his hold and let him do as he pleases.
The longer we’re in our own little bubble—surrounded by the building steam and only the sound of running water—I get the feeling that Adrian somehow needs this moment with me too. Like he’s getting just as much out of this newfound intimacy as I am. So, neither of us rushes as he finishes washing both of us and rinsing the lingering soap off.
I could stay here forever, I think to myself.
Until the water suddenly drops to a lukewarm temperature, and I yelp, trying to hide behind Adrian’s large body to protect myself.
Laughing, he leans forward, turns the tap off, and twists around to me. Swiftly, he lifts me around the waist.
Letting out a startled squeal, I naturally wrap my body around him, so I don’t fall.
“You’d just sacrifice me like that? After I made you come twice ?”
After setting a towel on the counter, he plops me down and wraps another one around my shoulders. “If we were ever in a real situation where one of us had to sacrifice ourselves, I’d argue you’d never let me be the one to do it.”
“Fair and true assumption,” he agrees with a nod and wraps a towel around his own waist. Grabbing a small cotton towel for himself, he starts to gently pat his hair dry. “I know we’re just hanging out, but I have to do something with my hair, or I’ll regret it in the morning.”
Adjusting the towel that he wrapped around my shoulders and moving it to tie around my chest, I hop off the counter and grab one of the spare combs he has. “I’ll go change. Can I borrow this?”
“Go for it,” he nods in my direction.
Without second guessing myself, I lean on my toes and place a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll find us something to watch.”
With that, I swipe the clothes he left for me off the counter, leaving him to his hair routine. Once I’ve combed out my own hair and left it to air dry, I contemplate the outfit Adrian picked for me. It’s an old Nike tee and a pair of large sweats. Not only are they way too long for me, considering our height difference, but they look thick and hot . Temperature hot, not attractiveness—I don’t find myself caring about that after what Adrian and I just shared together.
I’m only in the oversized T-shirt when he walks out of the bathroom a few minutes later, still contemplating the pants.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
Feeling silly, I shake my head and decide just to wear the stupid sweats. “Nothing, it’s okay.”
Tilting his head and contemplating if he should push the subject, he snaps into motion when an idea. With only one leg in the garment, I watch as he walks to his dresser and pulls out a pair of boxer-briefs.
Holding them in my direction, he teases, “Wouldn’t want you getting too hot—covered feet and all.”
Rolling my eyes, I snatch the underwear from his hand and pull them up my legs. Twisting around a little bit, I look up and tell him, “These are really comfy. I might keep them.”
“Go for it,” he offers easily. “You look cute.”
He moves to pull on the abandoned sweatpants as I sit crisscross in his bed. “Sooo…” I trail off.
“So?”
“I just don’t want the food to go to waste again, and I don’t want you to have to drive in the middle of the night.”
His eyes glance to the clock by his bed. Twelve fifty-three a.m. “I’d say it’s already the middle of the night,” he cheekily states.
“Oh,” I flush at the realization of how much time has passed since we left the haunted house. “Do you want me to g—”
“No, I want you here. Unless you want me to take you home,” he adds. Kneeling in front of me on the floor, he gently runs a hand up my neck and tangles it into my hair. “I want you to stay with me tonight, but only if that’s what you want, Storm Cloud.”
“I don’t want to leave,” I whisper. “I just… didn’t want to overstay my welcome.”
Shaking his head, he presses a kiss to my lips and promises, “You’re not. I want you with me all the time now—it’s becoming a problem I don’t actually want a solution to. I don’t think I could handle the idea of sleeping in my bed alone after tonight.”
Not knowing what to say to that—or at least, not having the courage to scream the words that have been growing in my heart—I grab him by the cheeks and pull him into me. I know words will be a necessity at some point. Though right now, tonight, sharing our bodies feels more important than any words we could give each other.
Pulling away, Adrian tells me to get under the covers and hands me the remote to the TV. As I start to scroll through the movie options, he brings our food with extra plates and napkins before crawling into bed next to me.
As we get settled—me choosing what to watch and him fixing my plate of tacos—we spend the next couple of hours in a state of intimacy and comfort. One I know I’ll never be able to replicate with someone other than Adrian.