Chapter 11 Adrian
Adrian
The largest of the groomsmen suites at Azure Tides looks like it’s survived a storm.
Half-empty bottles glimmer on the low table, their labels catching in the mellow lamplight.
Jackets sag in a corner, and someone’s sunglasses lie abandoned on the carpet, like they’ve melted there.
The air smells of sunscreen, sweat, and the sharp bite of bourbon, with a faint trace of citrus cleaner lurking underneath.
Golden light pools in the corners, soft and forgiving, glinting off glass and polished wood.
I sink into the arm of the couch, pretending to scroll through my phone, but really I’m watching. Trevor sprawls back, fingers brushing the rim of a whiskey glass. Becca has been swept away by her aunt and a circle of relatives after dessert at dinner. That leaves him with the guys. Just us guys.
“Not that I’m complaining,” he says, swigging from the bottle, “but how come none of you blokes have even thought about hitting the resort bar? The place is crawling with girls.” His tone is easy, teasing, but there’s still a question tucked in there, a little needle under the joke.
Silence stretches, taut and sharp enough to cut.
Lance raises his brows, his gaze drilling into me as if he’s trying to map every inch of me and every secret I’m too scared to admit.
George scratches at his jaw, eyes flicking to me like I would know the answer to that.
Vince doesn’t look up from the bottle in his hand, but I can feel him in the room.
Precise, controlled, a predator waiting for the tiniest slip.
The usual testosterone drive to hit the bar, to chase and to throw themselves at strangers, isn’t there. I honestly wouldn’t know what they normally do since I just met them a few days ago, except for Vince, but something tells me it’s not normal for them to sit here and do nothing.
All of them are looking at me. Heat prickles under my collar, twisting in my stomach. “Yeah, I wonder why. So…why not, guys?”
With that trademark half-smirk tugging at his mouth, Lance finally breaks the silence. “Well,” he drawls, casual but not careless, “lately my tastes have kinda…evolved. I figured I would try and humor it, see if I like myself doing it or being it.” His tone is light, almost teasing.
“Yeah…you tell us,” George murmurs, and it lands heavy, like the fault is mine to carry. It’s like I’m supposed to know why things are…different.
Vince’s silence, though, makes the most impact. His history with women is curated the way museums display art. Polished, high-profile, untouchable. It was never messy or lingering, yet there are gaps I can’t ignore. Would he hook up with someone without rules or control?
I swallow. The moment stretches tight, crackling with something curious, hungry, and daring.
None of us speaks it aloud, but the tension presses against our throats.
Vince’s gaze slides over me in a slow, calculating sweep.
I can feel it in my chest, a sudden, low-burning awareness I can’t name.
This isn’t straight-guy territory anymore, no, not tonight.
And somewhere in the pit of my stomach, a thrill blooms that I can’t stop.
Lance leans back on his elbows, grin wide and suspiciously tipsy, eyes glittering like he’s just dared himself to light a match in a room full of gasoline. “Alright, boys. How about we play a game? Something pretty boy Adrian over here would definitely…enjoy.”
“What game?” Trevor asks, though his eyes are already cutting toward me, like he knows damn well where this is headed.
“Truth, Dare, or Touch,” Lance declares, savoring every word. “Strip if you chicken out.”
I groan and laugh at the same time, dragging it out, already resigned to my fate. “Okay, but why do I feel like the stripping part is mainly reserved for me? I mean, sure, it’s literally my job.”
Lance just beams, smug and merciless, like a cat with a mouse. He points at me, tapping his finger against my chest, the touch light but loaded. “You’re it the whole night. Entertainment package.”
The room shifts, the air tilting heavy as the words sink in. For a beat, no one moves.
Trevor leans back, eyebrows arched, grinning like he’s already replaying my Magic Mike number in his head.
“Oh, this is gonna be good,” he drawls, drawing out the vowels like he’s settling in for a show.
“I’ve seen what this guy can do with his hips.
I can’t wait to see what he does when we’re calling the shots. ”
“Okay, so how does it work?” George asks.
“It’s just a classic game with a twist. I spin the bottle, and whoever it lands on would pick from Truth, Dare, or Touch.
If Adrian tells the truth, does the dare, or makes no reaction to the touch, no point to you.
But if he does the opposite,” he turns to me and gestures at my shirt, “you get a point, and one article of clothing comes off him. Whoever gets to reach three points first will be the winner.”
Vince almost doesn’t let him finish. “And the winner gets what?”
Lance tries to appear like he’s thinking about it, but we know he knows what he wants to happen. “The winner gets to make Adrian do whatever he wants for three minutes.”
Vince takes a slow pull from the bottle, gaze hooded, mouth quirking at the corner in that way that says he’s already agreed and is planning his move.
Heat prickles up my neck as I throw my head back in mock despair, but the smirk tugging at my mouth betrays me.
Lance snatches Trevor’s top-shelf bourbon off the crate, drains the last drops, and sets the empty bottle in the middle of our circle with a theatrical spin. He spreads his arms, grin wolfish. “Gentlemen. The game begins.”
Trevor bursts out laughing, palms slapping together. “Adrian’s so fucked.”
“Not yet,” Vince says smoothly, low enough it almost doesn’t sound like a joke. His chuckle is quiet, but there’s a subtle heft to it, like he knows exactly how the night’s going to end. “Give it time.”
I whip my head toward him before I can stop myself. Vince, of all people, talking about me being stripped down, touched, and handled by other men like it’s inevitable. He seems not to care, or worse, it’s like he wants to watch it happen.
The shock must flicker across my face, because he only meets my stare with a look so steady it feels like a challenge. There’s no smirk or dodge, but just that calm, dangerous silence that always unsettles me more than words.
Lance takes it upon himself to be the scorekeeper.
He finds a hotel notepad and a pen, then scribbles a tally score list. “Right then, I’ll be keeping score.
One point for every squirm, every moan, basically anything that proves our boy here’s getting hot under the collar.
And let’s be clear,” he looks directly at me, his grin sharp, “you strip if you mess up, if you lie, or if you chicken out.”
I groan again, mostly for show. “So basically, I’m screwed.”
Lance beams. “Exactly.”
And then he spins the bottle. It scrapes to a stop, pointing at Trevor. He gives me a knowing smile before tapping his knee. “Truth.”
“Ask away,” I say.
“Fastest someone ever made you come?”
My whole body goes hot. I shift on the carpet like that’ll save me, but they’re all staring.
“Probably…five minutes?” I blurt out like an idiot.
Trevor hollers, clapping like I just set a world record, and Lance leans in with that hungry look, eyes sharp, not about to let me slide. “Details. Don’t half-ass it.”
My mouth’s dry as bone. I tell myself I should lie, keep it vague, and laugh it off, but the truth presses up anyway, and I can’t swallow it down. “Oral,” I admit, the word sticking in my throat. “He was…good. But I was imagining someone else doing it. Someone I liked. A lot.”
The last part barely escapes, almost a whisper, and I keep my eyes anywhere but Vince. Carpet, bottle, my hands, until I cave—one quick glance. His jaw twitches once, sharp and silent, and I feel it right in my chest. George notices, too, his look slicing between us.
The tension lingers, like we all just exhaled together and now can’t stop staring at each other. I shift on the carpet, still feeling the burn from admitting more than I should, and Lance grins like he’s savoring every second of it. He grabs the bottle again and spins it.
It slows…slows…and lands on George.
“Touch,” he says.
“What sort of touching do you want to do, G?” Lance asks.
“Inner thigh.”
I brace myself, positioning my palms on the floor behind me, legs bent, a little wider than usual, just enough to give him access without giving too much away.
His hand slides gently along my inner thigh in a motion that’s unhurried, a few seconds that feel like forever.
I stay still, keeping my expression neutral, though I can feel the room heat up just by him being there.
After a few beats, Lance finally calls it. “No reaction. No point to George.”
“Maybe you should’ve gone higher,” Vince murmurs, dry and pointed, and my eyes snap to him, startled. A rush of something hot pulses through me, sharper now, feeding the fire before it can die down.
Lance’s already got the bottle spinning again, glass rattling over the floor.
It stops, landing right back on him. He grins like he planned it, like the damn thing obeys him.
“Dare,” he says, already smug, barely hesitating before pointing at Vince across the circle.
“Vince to kiss your neck for ten seconds.”
I bark a laugh. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
Vince breathes out, unimpressed. “This is stupid.” But he doesn’t back off. After a beat, he shifts until his body angles toward mine. His lips meet my neck, right where my pulse hammers against skin.
One…two…three…
Nothing. He stays still, not chasing a reaction, not giving me one either.
Eight…nine…ten…
My pulse is wrecked, and he’s past the count now.
Fifteen.
That’s when he finally pulls back, maddeningly composed, like it cost him nothing.