Chapter 18
ADAM
We lay tangled together, her heartbeat thrumming fast and steady against my chest, my arms caging her in a loose, drowsy way that felt less like possession and more like a promise.
The room glowed with that late-afternoon honey, burnishing the walls and quilting the scattered sheets a muted gold.
Billie burrowed into my chest. She was all smooth, warm skin, and soft curves, her hair a spread of caramel waves over my bicep and onto the pillow.
Her legs tucked around my waist, holding me in place so I couldn’t pull away. Not that I ever wanted to.
I pressed my lips to her shoulder, lost in the salty sweetness of her skin, the little constellation of moles between her neck and her back.
She made a sound, a tiny gasp, like she’d been bracing for something serious and I’d surprised her.
My hands, which could never settle, mapped new terrain over her hips, across the gentle valley of her stomach.
She shivered, even though the air in the room was thick and still.
She ran her hands up and down my arms and shoulders, slow and deliberate, her nails grazing every muscle, every scar, every inch of me.
When she touched the raised skin over my left shoulder, I didn’t want to tell her it was from a gunshot wound.
She must have known because she pressed her palm there, then leaned forward and kissed it.
Her hands wandered lower, knuckles brushing my stomach, then dipped beneath the waistband of my boxer briefs.
She hooked her thumb in my belt, hands trembling like she’d just downed six espressos, but the look in her eyes was clear, she wanted this.
Wanted me. Now. I tried to stay still and let her do her thing—let her have this power over me, let her set the pace—but her hands weren’t cooperating.
The first loop stuck, and she made a muffled sound of frustration against my collarbone, a combination of a growl and a huff, as if she’d never struggled with a pair of pants in her life.
She fumbled again, managing to pop the buckle this time, but the button just wouldn’t yield. Her fingers slipped, and she swore softly beneath her breath, which made me bite back a grin.
“Worst escape artist ever,” I whispered, and she laughed, the sound vibrating through both of us, lightening the mood but not the urgency.
She tried again, more determined, but her hands were still shaking, so I covered them with mine, and together we managed the button, and then the zipper.
She tugged at the waistband, and I lifted my hips off the mattress and shoved my pants down.
A shoe caught on the sheet and was uncooperative, so I kicked both shoes and socks off at once, and they landed somewhere on the floor.
Her hands traced the lines of my hips, rougher now, like she meant business. She paused at the waistband of my boxer-briefs, hesitating just for a second, then slid them down, slow enough that my brain nearly shorted out.
She looked up at me, eyes huge and dark and a little wild, and I realized she was nervous. Not of me, but of what came next. It caught me off guard, this flicker of vulnerability in someone so strong-willed.
For a moment, it made me want to slow things down, to say something reassuring, but then she leaned in and kissed me, her lips dragged along my jaw that was all teeth and tongue, and I lost track of every thought except how desperately I wanted her.
Her hips angled up so I could feel the full curve of her against me, the electric brush of her sex along my cock.
I’m not sure who started the slow, rhythmic grind, but once we found it, neither of us wanted to leave.
Naked and hungry, both of us strung out and raw from a lifetime of not touching, not daring, not admitting that we wanted it this badly.
When she shivered, I thought of all the times I’d wanted to touch her like this, all the times I’d stopped myself because I thought it would ruin us, and now I couldn’t remember what my reasons had been.
She made a noise, a moan, and I wanted to hear it again, so I kissed her shoulder, then her neck, then the edge of her jaw.
I nipped at her earlobe, aiming for playful, but I think it came out a little possessive. I didn’t care.
She moaned and arched her back as she pulled me in closer, her thighs clamping around my hips.
Needing more control, I rolled her onto her back, she let it happen, arms flopping overhead, splaying out vulnerable and open, the exact opposite of every guarded move she’d ever made with me before.
Her cheeks flushed hot, her nose wrinkled at the bridge.
She blinked up at me, pupils blown wide, the way a person looks when they surrender.
I kissed her neck, her jaw, the rounded edge of her collarbone.
The taste of her—savoring the unique flavor of her—letting the taste settle into my mouth and I wanted to remember it forever.
She caught my wrist as I tried to move my hand, but not to stop me.
She moved one hand to her breast and arched into it, bold as hell.
My thumb circled her nipple as my forefinger captured it and pinched, and she shuddered, her lips parting in a whispered “fuck.” The air buzzed with static.
Things didn’t start out frantic. It was slow, almost reverent, both of us chasing some new sensation, some proof that this was real and happening and not a fever dream.
For a while, we just rocked together, the friction of skin on skin driving me toward insanity.
My cock slid along the slick heat of her, ramping up the pulse in my ears to deafening levels, but I held back. I wanted more. I wanted all of it.
She tightened her legs around me, hands gripping my ass, pulling me in so the tip of my cock nudged her opening and then slipped away.
Teasing, testing how long I could last before I lost control.
She was soaked, and every time I pressed forward, I felt her body shudder in anticipation and then relax with relief when I didn’t go further.
My hands went everywhere: her thighs, her stomach, tracing the arch of her hipbones and cataloging every inch.
I wanted to memorize her, to burn every detail into memory.
We held still for one long, trembling second, just breathing each other in and out.
Then, I had to say it. “Shit, I don’t have any protection.” My voice sounded wolf-rough, desperate.
She looked up at me, eyes heavy-lidded but sharp as glass. “I’m on the shot,” she whispered.
I tried to process it, to keep the animal part of my brain from crowing with triumph. “I haven’t had unprotected sex in…years. I just got a full physical when I got out. I’m…clean.”
“Okay.” She nodded, not breaking eye contact.
“Are you sure?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “I mean that you want to—”
She answered by reaching down, wrapping her hand around my shaft, guiding it to her entrance. Her hand was steady, authoritative. “Yes,” she said, almost a dare.
I pushed into her body slowly, inch by inch, bracing myself so I wouldn’t come right away.
Her heat, the unbelievable wet clench of her velvet tunnel, sent a surge of electricity through my whole body.
Her inner walls clamped down around me, hugging me, molding to me, like I’d been created specifically for her.
I had to close my eyes and bite my lip to keep from finishing in two seconds flat.
When I was fully inside, I stopped, panting like I’d just run a marathon.
“Billie, I—”
She grabbed my face and pulled me down for a deep, greedy kiss.
It was like she wanted to eat the words out of my mouth before I could say them.
As our kissing shifted from frenzied to passion, her hips began to roll restlessly, I moved, slow at first, then faster when she started to moan and buck against me.
Our bodies fit like a puzzle, every motion lined up, every nerve ending firing together.
It was the best sex of my life. Period. Not just because it was unprotected and I could feel every twitch, every shiver of her body, but because it felt like a long-overdue homecoming. Both of us were desperate, both starved, and both terrified of what would happen if we ever stopped.
She hooked her ankles at the small of my back and dug in her heels, making me go deeper and harder.
I gripped her hands in mine and pinned them above her head, threading our fingers together into a cage.
Her breath caught and she gasped, but her eyes stayed wide open, glued to me, as if she wanted to see every second of what was happening.
We were both close. I could feel it in the way her body shook, in the little tremor beneath her skin.
I slowed down, trying to draw it out, but she wouldn’t let me.
She milked my body with hers, urging me on, until we both shattered at the same moment.
The orgasm hit me like a crash, violent and all-consuming, the kind that made me forget my own name. I saw stars.
When it was over, I collapsed onto her, both of us still shaking. I rolled to the side, not wanting to crush her, and pulled her so her head was resting on my chest as I ran my hand up and down her back as we lay wrapped in each other, and I wondered if I’d just made the best mistake of my life.
We didn’t talk for a long time. Just breathed together, hearts racing out of sync but not entirely mismatched.
She traced lazy circles on my chest, and I tried not to fuck it all up by saying something dumb.
I could feel the world starting to creep back in, the responsibilities, the consequences, the long shadow of everything that came before.
But for a minute, we just existed. No past, no future, just now.
And then, of course, the bubble was burst.
My phone buzzed, it vibrated against the floor in the pocket of my pants. I rested my forehead against hers. “I would ignore it, but the girls…”
She nodded, and I moved from underneath her, to the side of the bed, swinging my legs over as I sat up. I fished my phone out of my pocket and answered the call.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Mr. Knight, this is Carly. I was just checking to see if you wanted me to feed the twins. They are hungry and—”
“No, that’s okay, Carly, I’ll be home soon. They can have snacks if they want. Thanks so much again. And you can call me Adam.”
I put down the phone and looked at Billie, who was now seated with the sheet wrapped around her chest like an emotional drawbridge.
In the quick flip of a switch, the mood in the room had changed.
The closeness and warmth were replaced by something distant, anxious, already running away from what we’d just done.
She turned her back to me and began gathering her clothes from the floor, folding each piece with careful precision. I wanted to say something to fix it, but the words caught in my throat. There was a wall between us, freshly built, higher than ever.
“Billie—”
“Bailey messaged me, too. She’s worried. We need to go.” Her tone was clipped as she stood, walked into the bathroom, and shut the door.
As I watched her go, I knew that I fucked up. Literally.