Chapter 51 Sonya
SONYA
I guide his fingers down. A whimper builds and grows untenable inside me as he makes contact with the sensitive, almost sore point of my nipple.
He claims the bud as if it’s precious, holding it between his fingers. “You haven’t said it. What you are.”
“R-Remind me again,” I stammer, unable to think or look way from where he’s touching me.
“Repeat after me. I am worth cherishing.”
“I am worth…cherishing.”
There’s elation. Pride. Then Adrian’s expression grows agonized as he cups my whole breast. “Now, tell me you know you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Whatever happens next, you are supported, admired, and loved.”
He kneads gently. “Tell me you know you don’t have to become the first or the best, to be deserving of that love. You are a fucking gift exactly the way you are.”
“I’m—a gift.”
He groans. His head drops. Stubble marks my neck. “Darling, I think you’re not talking enough for how much I’m touching you.”
“Your fault.”
“Is it?” He chuckles. “Sorry, Sonya. I’ll do better.” His head lowers further. I have no idea where he’s going but jolt into another dimension when his mouth replaces his fingers. He laves his tongue through the material of my top and slowly sucks my nipple into his mouth.
I choke out a cry. My mind blanks. I thought I was wet before, but that was nothing compared to how I’m ruining the thin silk of my underwear now.
I grab the strands of short hair at the nape of his neck and tug. His chin tilts up. My mouth goes completely dry. Because I’m treated to a vision. Adrian, cheeks flushed, mouth wet, this wild look of desperate longing on his face.
Then he glances down, admiring the wet spot he’s created. “That’s much better.”
“So cocky,” I accuse breathlessly.
“No one is as cocky as me,” he agrees. “No one but me for you.”
He’s the hockey captain now, wrapping his large hands around my waist and pulling me onto his lap. Holding me like he’s in charge. “You know the deal. Keep talking.”
“And say what?”
“Tell me that you know, that you matter.”
He’s already unraveled me enough, does he have to keep going?
I want to shut him up by putting my mouth on his, trapping it closed. I have to, because the vulnerability he’s pulling on is cracking me open. I don’t know how to close myself back up again. I feel as if I’m spilling messily all over the place.
But just as hungrily and selfishly and fiercely, I actually don’t want him to stop. I’m collecting every word.
Adrian stares at me, then strokes my hair. His smile temporarily drops. “Your foster parents didn’t deserve you.”
“You’re so sure—”
“Every time they didn’t pay attention,” he growls, “it was their fucking loss. Because you are worth listening to, worth celebrating, worth watching, worth cheering on, worth loving—”
I shut his mouth up, but not with my own. My hand blocks his lips.
You’re getting inside me, I wish to accuse sharply.
I’ve spent my whole life guarding myself so fiercely that many people think I don’t have a heart.
Or that it’s not very big. But it’s there.
Leaning, crawling, reaching out, wanting more.
Scared but wanting to believe everything you’re saying is true, but most of all just wanting… you.
My forehead meets his. “I need this.”
A whole paragraph of emotions parsed down. Could he possibly know what I mean when I say those three words out loud?
One thing is sure. There’s no drape his shirt can use to hide how much he wants me. The thick ridge driving outward and to the right of his pants is unmistakable. I see it again. That perplexing, mouth-watering curve.
My chest heaves. More. I want more. I roll my hips, squirming and grinding until my pelvis presses against his thigh, losing my mind. My clit throbs, seeking more pressure.
I grind harder.
“Sonya.” He pulls my hand off his mouth. His jaw rolls as he holds my gaze. “Baby, you might burn your pretty pussy doing that. Let me—”
His hands move from my hips down to the curve of my ass, grabbing me firmly. I want to rub harder against him, but he doesn’t let me. I’m picked up and put down again in the middle of the couch.
He sinks down to his knees on the floor before me.
I moan, unable to help it.
I’ll never get used to this.
The man carrying the heavy burden of winning another Stanley Cup for our city, a man I’ve also mocked in the past for being smug and arrogant and too self-aggrandizing, is kneeling before me, his hair at the perfect height for me to run my fingers through it.
When I do, his eyes flutter shut. “You have no idea how good that feels,” he shudders out. His voice is gone. It’s gravel and smoke. Ruined.
I want to outline his face this time, mapping out his beautiful eyes, strong nose, that incomparable mouth—but he doesn’t let me. “No. I can’t think when you touch me.”
But I want him to be desperate like me. To bite back his own groans.
I reach down to grab ahold of his hardness, but Adrian doesn’t let me. He opens me wider until I’m dropping backwards, my knees trembling. His eyes lock with mine as hands trace patterns up the side of my legs, setting each nerve ending on fire. “Is it okay if I take your pants off?”
I nod.
“Remember our rules. You have to talk or I won’t touch you.”
Such a bossy order, but it hits an invisible button inside me I didn’t know existed. I’m quivering even as I attempt to argue. “Fine, but only if you take off your shirt,” I blurt out as a half-hatched reply.
He grins.
In a single move, using only one hand, his shirt is slipped over his head and tossed to the side. My heart slams against my chest, and my mouth parts open. His body is spectacular, no matter how many times I’ve seen it. I’ll never get used to it, will I?
His fingers toy with the drawstring of my pants and my hips raise, encouraging more. That makes him sigh happily as if he’s been waiting a very long time for this.
Slowly, Adrian pulls on the bow until it comes undone. He takes hold of my pants at the waistband and starts sliding them down.
“You are so beautiful, Sonya.” His voice is thick. And then muffled as incoherent praises and kisses rain down on every inch of skin that’s been revealed.
My head goes back. Hits the cushion.
He pulls my pants off completely. Spreads me open.
“Sonya.”
My head lifts again. My name. It was tortured out of him. That’s because he’s—
Staring at where I’ve soaked through silk. The heat in his gaze melts straight through me. “Baby, how long have you been this wet for me?”
My cheeks blast with heat.
“I’m clearly losing it,” I accuse. “It’s your fault.”
“Yeah? Join the club, baby.” The back of his knuckles drags a line through my wetness, and stops short of my clit. It won’t go any higher, no matter how my hips buck.
He’s holding back.
It’s then I remember our rules. I need to talk.
“I, Sonya, am capable, so capable and strong and resilient. Brave, too. I’ve survived and have turned into this person—who is great and capable. Did I say capable already? I mean, adaptable and wonderful and I should be proud of myself—fuck, actually I am proud of myself—”
I’m blabbering.
But he gets the message.
Pushing the silk to one side, I don’t have time to feel the rush of cold air against my core, because his mouth lights it on fire, diving in tongue first.
My back arches and head knocks into another pillow. There’s no warning. No hesitation.
Adrian devours.
I’ve never been parted like this or licked or sucked.
My spine curves as groans of pleasure spill from his mouth, vibrating against my clit.
I’m—rushing straight into an orgasm? It makes no sense.
When I’m with someone else, I need time.
Lots of time. Mental gymnastics. Toys. Last-ditch efforts where I close my eyes, and pretend I’m reading one of my kinky books, imagining a scene from there.
I don’t do this.
I don’t spiral into completion. But maybe this whole night, and every moment leading up to it, has been a stretched-out dance of sensual foreplay between us.
It’s like I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.
The first orgasm hits me, shaking my entire body with a kind of shocked release that robs me of all rational thought.
Without stopping, Adrian sinks a finger inside, down to the knuckle, extending it longer by pumping in and out, circling my clit harder with his tongue.
My fingers slide into his hair. “Fuck—Adrian. Can’t. I can’t take more.”
Such strong words, except I’m grinding up against him, keening.
“You’re doing so well taking it.” He pulls my hips closer and lifts both legs to drape them over his shoulders. “And now, you’ll take more.”
Adrian doesn’t relent. He eats me out through my release—and then keeps going. No rest. No break, adding a second finger when I’ve been stretched enough. “Look at that beautiful pussy shake for me. Look at how desperately it needs to be fucked.”
My hips shift to accommodate him shamelessly. It doesn’t matter if my body is wrung out. If I’ve been rocked by continuous waves of toe-curling pleasure.
He laps my clit using the broad flatness of his tongue. “That’s it, baby. Keep squeezing my fingers with your pretty pussy.”
His words—and his fingers—and his tongue make me whine. I’m going incoherent.
“You taste so good, Sonya. I can’t get enough.” He curses. “Fuck, I won’t ever be able to get enough.”
He lifts his head as his two fingers plunge into me faster, curling upwards.
Foggy blue eyes lock on mine, knocking the air out of my lungs.
“You’ll want more, won’t you? This isn’t it, is it?
” He’s pleading for answers in that demanding way of his as he continues to unravel me with his fingers.
“You’ll invite me to your bed next time, won’t you, darling?
Say yes. Or we can go to mine because my bed is already yours.
Did you know that? It’s yours. So is everything I have. You own me completely.”
“No—” I attempt to deny him.
He pinches my clit. Coaxes it. Pinches again.
My spine curves. “Adrian, fuck! Fuckfuckfuck. Please.”
“Argue all you want but, darling, you’re—”
My whole world?
I don’t know if those were his words, because the second orgasm barrels right into me. And I’m lost, shaking and floating away in a state of spasming bliss.
It takes a long time to come down from it. I mumble something about not being able to move.
No matter.
Adrian is doing all the work. Rearranging me on the couch, pressing kisses on the tops of both knees, then skimming his mouth over my pussy again as if he can’t get enough, not wanting to waste any bit of my fading orgasm.
Nuzzling his face there, praising me, saying how breathtaking I am, that he could spend the rest of his life tasting me and it’ll never be enough.
How he can do better if it’s not enough, that he’ll give me more because anything I want, I get.
He’s checking to see how I’m doing. Are you okay? Was it what you wanted? Was it what you needed?
My eyes blink close as I mumble incoherent yeses.
When they open again, he’s back with a warm damp towel cleaning me up. I’m given water. Propped on his chest. My body sinks against his. He says he loves the weight, arranging me to be completely on top of him. We’re…cuddling.
I’ve never allowed myself to experience this. I never trusted anyone else to be like this with them before.
My hip brushes the front of his pants. His cock is still half-hard, but there’s dampness.
“You came?” I whisper.
His cheeks splash pink. “How could I not? I was tasting you.”
My hand reaches down, intending to stroke. It’s not fair I didn’t see the moment when he broke apart.
“No.” He traps my hands. Kisses all the knuckles. “Please. Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Next time.”
The way he says it, there’s this unmissable implication. That there will be a next time.
“Next time,” I promise. “But also this time—”
“Sonya, you’ve made me hard more times than you can ever imagine, and it hasn’t killed me yet. I’ll survive,” he insists.
I give in since he’s turned me boneless, holding me like this. I want to stay resting over him like this forever.
It feels like I am.
Until it’s time to eat pasta.
Adrian devours the whole bowl and asks for seconds. That portion is demolished, too.
Eventually we’re back on the sofa again. Diana has snuck closer, curling asleep on my soft rug.
My whole body is abuzz.
I should also be peacefully drifting, but I’m quietly rocked, as if I’ve been hit by sizable waves. Lots of them, but there’s one left in the distance. A powerful one that will change everything if I let it catch me, strong enough to wipe all my walls away, no matter how long I’ve had them up.
Not so long ago, I’d have turned and run as far as I could in the opposite direction.
I don’t have the energy, I tell myself. Maybe later.
For now, I need to deal with this other strange…
tenderness…growing in me. The one that’s compelling me to quadruple whatever Adrian’s given to me, this healing we’re trying, and pour it back on him.
Not because of balance and scales—who’s thinking anything about scales right now? Not me—but because…because…
The wave, maybe. I’ll blame it. I don’t know.
“When was that memorial again? For Jesse.”
He’s stunned. Adrian doesn’t say anything for a few long moments. “This weekend.”
“We’ll go. I’ll come with you.”