Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
It’s nothing like the last time we were like this, none of the frustration or anger in the press of his lips to mine.
It’s rough and filled with a need I’ve never felt before in my life.
It’s heady and hot, intoxicating and quickly taking over every aspect of my consciousness.
His hands move to rest over my T-shirt on my waist, pulling me closer, stepping closer to reduce any space between us until our bodies are flush, the thin layer of clothes we’re each wearing doing nothing to stop me from feeling the heat of his body against mine.
But somehow, it’s not enough.
My body shifts, trying to get closer, and a small mewl leaves my lips.
Something changes, snapping in Adam. His movements become urgent, his hands moving with purpose.
His warm palms slide over my hips, then up under the light T-shirt I slept in, dragging the fabric up as he does.
I lift my hands, our lips still moving against one another and only breaking for a moment while he tugs the T-shirt over my head.
He tosses it in a corner, but I can’t focus on where exactly, not when his hands are sliding over my bare skin, wrapping around to pull me to his chest. I put a hand on his chest between us, though, stopping him.
He looks at me with a mix of worried confusion and a smile on his face.
“You too,” I whisper, the demand feeling awkward and foreign on my tongue, but I know it was the right move when his grin goes wide and pleased.
“If you ask for it, you get it,” he murmurs, then crosses his arms behind his back, grabbing and tugging the long-sleeved tee over his head.
Lean muscles ripple and flex as he does, and I have to bite my lip from making a noise at the sight.
The shirt gets tossed in the same direction as mine before his hands move again, pulling me to him.
My hands press into his hard chest, and I groan as his lips fall onto mine, sliding up and over his shoulders to twine into the hair at the back of his neck as his tongue dances with mine.
His own hands slide up my back, stopping at the clasp of my bra and pausing.
I nod into the kiss, and his fingers move deftly as we kiss, undoing then sliding the straps down each arm.
It’s frantic and needy and hot, and I want more. I whimper with loss when he pulls back, and a cocky grin plays on his lips, but that look turns into something different. Something hotter as his eyes travel down to my breasts.
“Fuck, these are pretty,” he says, cupping my breasts and pinching the nipples and making my breath hitch.
His lips tip in amusement as he watches my every reaction, repeating the action.
My back arches, and my eyes drift shut, and he groans, one hand moving to the back of my head again and pulling my lips to his.
He kisses me again, and his tongue mimics the movements of his fingers.
My hips shift as need begins to pool in my belly.
I brush up against his hard cock, and he moans into my mouth before breaking the kiss once more, both hands moving to my waist and then trailing down to my hips.
“These are cute, Birdie, but they gotta go,” he says, fingers moving under the waistband of my pajama pants.
I forgot that I had them on, and a blush burns over my cheeks, embarrassed that the hottest man I’ve ever seen is before me and I’m wearing…
this…but then, when I look at his eyes, I feel that embarrassment melt away.
He looks like he’s never seen anyone more gorgeous.
He looks like he needs me in a way I’ve never experienced.
He looks like he wants to devour me.
I nod in agreement to his unasked question, and a satisfied look spreads over his face.
His thumb hooks into my pants and underwear, and without him telling me to, I plant my hands on the counter and lift my ass a bit, and am rewarded with him dragging down my pants.
I expect him to push them down and then pull me close, but Adam never truly seems to do what I expect.
Instead, as he drags them down, his body lowers down, down, down, until my pajama pants are off my dangling feet and I’m towering over him.
Towering, because Adam is on his knees before me, his face right before my pussy, breath coasting along my skin.
My own breath is stuck in my lungs, and I try to ignore the discomfort I feel at the imbalance of our positions, both my being completely naked and him being very much not, as well as him being on his knees with me looking down my body at him.
It all disappears, replaced with searing heat and need, when he presses a kiss to the inside of my knee. Moving on instinct, I spread my legs, desperate to feel his kiss elsewhere.
“That’s a good girl.” He whispers his praise, and he’s so close, I feel the scruff of his beard along the inside of my knee.
I let out a sigh as I feel the pressure of need curl into my belly.
His hands grip both of my legs firmly, further spreading me for his eyes to take in, his thumbs just inches from my pussy.
From where I suddenly need him desperately.
I’ve never been a very needy person with a partner.
The goal of sex has always been simple for me: make my partner feel good.
Occasionally, I get to feel those warm flutters from an orgasm along the way, but everyone knows that it’s just not something women always feel.
I’ve had an ex put his head between my legs, but it was always just something that felt like a chore to be checked off a list. When it became increasingly clear that my ex didn’t get joy or pleasure out of it, I never pushed for it again.
But right now, the look in Adam’s eyes is telling me he very much wants to put his mouth between my legs, and honestly, I want nothing more than to let him. My fingers itch to move through the hair on his head, to push him against me, to beg him to eat me out until I come on his face.
But that would be crude and probably a little bit rude, so I don’t. Though when he looks up at me, his eyes wide and heated and his full lips parted, my restraint crumbles just a bit.
“You are so fucking beautiful, Wren.”
I blink at him, confused. “What?”
“Every goddamn part of you, gorgeous. Perfect. I should have known, you being my own personal wet dream brought to life, but fuck, you’re more perfect than I could have imagined.
” A blush blooms over my cheeks. “I especially like it when I say something like that, and the pretty blush on your face moves down your neck.” He gives me a wicked grin.
“Do you know how long I’ve been wondering how far it goes? ”
One hand leaves my thigh, and I almost whimper at the loss of his warmth, but then his hand is cupping my breast, lifting it, and stroking a thumb over the nipple. My breath hitches at the caress.
“If it would go down your chest and turn these that same pretty pink?” His fingers meet, pinching and rolling my nipple, and I moan.
“Happy to report it does,” he adds. The hand moves to my other nipple, giving it the same treatment.
I want to tip my head back, close my eyes, and revel in the pleasure his simple touch is giving me, but I want to remember this moment in vivid detail.
He seems to be taking his sweet time, alternating nipples all the while the thumb of his other hand swipes lazily against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.
I tighten, my body desperate for more, for release, and the words tumble from my lips.
“Please, Adam.”
With them, his eyes snap to mine, a teasing grin on his face.
“Please what, baby?” he asks. His hand slides up half an inch, and I whimper.
I bite my lip, looking down, not sure of how to respond.
I want so much right now, but I don’t know what he is comfortable with.
But most of all, I just want his hands on me.
I want this neediness to be abated in any way he can.
I take in a breath, trying to steady myself as I look into his eyes and make my request. “Please touch me.”
A small, almost inaudible groan leaves his lips, and his hand leaves my breast to trail down my belly, over my hip, and to my thigh, mirroring where his other hand is. Both shift higher, his thumbs grazing along the crease where my thigh meets my center.
“Where do you want me to touch you, sweetness? Here?” His thumbs are swift, grazing along the close-cut curls, and I nod.
“Yes, yes.” The words are frantic, and he smiles again, but I can’t concentrate on what it might mean, not when his thumbs are moving again, hands sliding up, and he’s urging the digits to tug my folds open, exposing my most intimate parts to his eyes.
“Is this where you want me to touch?” His eyes leave my center for just a moment to lock on mine.
“Yes, please,” I whisper. His look goes almost catlike before he looks straight ahead again.
I take in the visual I have as well. This angle is absolute perfection, and I hold my breath for his next move.
He’s kneeling on the ground, my legs framing his head, his hands holding me wide, thumbs holding my pussy open for his inspection.
I should feel self-conscious—hell, in any other situation with any other man, I would.
But the way he groans when the fingers of one hand shift so his thumb can graze over my center, barely even whispering to me, I can’t seem to find it in me.
“Oh, what I want to fucking do to this,” he murmurs. I clench at the tone of his voice and his words, and a groan leaves his lips again. He must have fucking seen it.
Again, I shouldn’t be embarrassed by that.
Again, I’m very much not.
“Yes, please,” I whisper.
Again, he looks up at me.
Again, he smiles, but this time, it’s not a kind smile, not a loving smile, not even the smile of a man who knows he’s about to make me come like a freight train. Instead, it’s one of a man who knows he’s about to drive a woman crazy.
“Tell me what you want, Wren.”