12. Fucking Hypnotizing #2
“I want to be in charge of my destiny,” Rosie murmurs. “It feels like, no matter how much control I try to exercise, I can’t control my future.”
“Your future and your destiny aren’t the same thing. Your future is anything that’s going to happen, the things we can’t pick. But your destiny…it’s everything that’s meant for you. The things we work hard for every day, because we want
them. Maybe part of your destiny is a future where you aren’t afraid to wade through the deeper parts of the creek in the mountain, to swim with your son without fear, to be able to say good-bye to him every morning without that fear that it might be permanent.
But those things don’t come easily, do they? ”
The way she looks up at me, a tiny crease between her brows as she hangs on every word, mulls it over in her head, it’s a heady, addictive feeling, like she’s not anywhere else but right here with me.
“It’s something you want, and you’re putting the work in to get there, because you know it’s your destiny, a life you’re bound to live for however long you’re going to live it, and you won’t accept anything less.
Your future is a life with your son. Your destiny is a life with him where your strength and courage make it the best life possible. ”
A beat of silence stretches between us as she watches her hand move over my thigh, her touch firmer, slower, more purposeful as it travels in a dangerous direction. A shudder of breath escapes her, and she gazes up at me with wonder. “I want that.”
“Then take it,” I tell her, capturing her wrist. If her hand keeps moving the way it is, something inside me is bound to snap, and I’m supposed to be in control.
There’s a heat that comes over her, like it lights her from the inside out, but it doesn’t touch the furthest corners of her.
Not the edges of her gaze, tainted with frost, a faint uncertainty that lingers, like she’s desperate to shake it.
I’m not sure what it is, until I shift closer, tugging at the towel still covering her haphazardly.
She lets the plush material fall, slender fingers fluttering over the adorable daisies on her high-waisted bikini bottoms, hands coming to rest over her belly.
Her gaze bounces to my thigh, the way the muscles flex as I shift closer still, then to my arms, my chest, and down farther, settling on my stomach.
She swallows, fingers spreading wider, covering more of herself, and something inside me dies.
“Does it bother you that I don’t look like you?”
What bothers me is the hidden meaning behind her words, so I start with humor to try to ease her tension. “That you’re short? It’s a little inconvenient, sure. My neck’s gonna hurt once we get to all that kissing.”
She rolls her eyes and swats my shoulder. “I’m not short! You’re just massive!”
“Right, sorry. Average
.” I catch her flailing hand, linking our fingers, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “What’s on your mind, Rosie? Let’s talk it out.”
Heat creeps up her neck like a vine, but she holds my gaze.
“I think you’re really handsome, and sometimes—especially when I’m in a bikini—I struggle being comfortable in my body.
I don’t have a single ab, and you’ve somehow got eight of them.
Plus, this…” She dips her fingertip into the dip of muscles in my stomach, tracing the line of my left hip, the muscle that disappears beneath my shorts, and she sighs. “This ridiculous V
. Who invented this? Do you know what this does to a woman?” She smiles. Soft. Honest. Vulnerable. “I guess, next to you, I’m feeling a bit average.”
“If I hear that word come out of your mouth one more time, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”
Mossy eyes blink up at me, wide and full of surprise.
She opens her mouth like she might argue it, say that fucking word one more time.
Before she can, I grip her hips, jerk her forward, until she’s flat on her back, and I’m living out a vision I’ve been dreaming of since I met her—her, beneath me, lips parted, chest heaving, heat staining every exposed inch of skin.
“The only thing average about you, Rosie, is your height.” The words are thick with gravel, a too-generous heaping of pent-up lust for a woman who’s been occupying my brain for the last few weeks.
My knees bracket her in, one hand doing a slow glide up her luscious side, over immaculately flushed skin, sunshine and daisies, more skin, and so, so
much warmth. “And all the things you see as imperfections are where somebody else, like me, finds beauty.” My thumb runs over the indent in her chin, the teensiest piece of perfection I’ve ever seen.
“Like this dimple. It’s so perfect, I’ve found myself wanting to kiss it at least five times today.
And these hips…” My hands shake as my fingers rain down on her sides, grazing her waist, skimming the edge of her bathing suit bottoms where they wrap around the wide flair of her full hips.
Every touch is a hunger barely restrained, a starvation I haven’t felt before.
“Jesus, I wanna grab them. Burn my fingertips right into them. So much, it’s painful to stop myself from doing so. ”
The second her hands come up, a frantic touch that scrapes through the hair lining my jaw, that restraint snaps, a thread that was barely hanging on.
I drop my hips to hers, and pressure explodes low in my stomach as she presses into me, a guttural, inhuman sound rumbling in my chest when she moans, like she’s as starved as I am.
Smooth legs come around my waist, and my hands grab onto their only lifeline, fingertips dipping below her bottoms, sinking into her plush ass as I hold her tight to me, like I’m afraid she might get away.
I won’t let her.
“And these fucking legs,” I breathe out, running my hands over them, a rough slide that has me pressing closer as Rosie throws her head back, exposing her long neck. My lips fall to the flushed skin there, tasting her, and fuck
, it’s not fucking enough. My mouth slides up the columns of her throat, nipping at her chin, until I finally get to kiss that dimple right there. “Not sure where you get off thinking they don’t go straight to heaven. I sure as hell don’t see anything but heaven when I look at you.”
“Adam,” she whimpers, writhing below me, fingers plowing through my hair.
“Not fucking average at all.” I drag my nose along her cheekbone, settling my mouth above hers. “I never wanna hear that word again. Got it?”
She nods, a frantic jerk of her head, wide eyes ready to give up any semblance of control. “Got it.”
“Good girl.”
I run my hand up her throat, fingers itching to lock it in place, keep her right there. Instead, I grip her jaw, giving her a slightly less demanding version of me, gentle. As gentle as I can be right now with her below me, running that tongue across her pink lips, getting ready.
“Gotta tell ya, trouble, this isn’t exactly what I had planned to earn that first kiss.” I trap her lower lip beneath my thumb, my gaze tracking its drag across a mouth I can’t wait to claim. “I’m gonna steal it anyway.”
Our gazes collide, and through all the manic hunger, something inside me softens at the hope swimming in her eyes, the trust.
Her lips part, I dip my head, and a tiny voice calls out through the video monitor sitting five feet to my right.
“ Mamaaa
!”