Chapter 58 Sonya
SONYA
Streetlights and dense green trees bracket the road, and music from the radio plays in the background.
Adrian is driving, and he has one hand resting on my thigh.
I’m leaning into the touch, content in an exhausted way.
We’re both the good kind of drained, where so many of our emotions were wrung out and have now melted away.
Traffic is light, so the drive back to Vancouver takes an hour and a half. Neither Adrian or I say much. It’s precious downtime, being together like this without needing to say anything.
I want it to last forever, but too soon Adrian stops his car in front of my apartment building. It’s almost one in the morning. He has to leave for the airport in less than five hours. He should go home to rest as much as he can, and yet…
He hasn’t let go of my thigh. Nobody has said goodbye. I have a feeling we’re both thinking about when we’ll see each other next.
I have to barricade myself in the studio, that’s how much practicing needs to get done before my audition. As for him, after Edmonton, the Wings fly to San Jose. Then to Las Vegas.
“Are you tired?” I whisper, glancing over.
Fatigue-heavy eyes are already locked on me, watching. “Nope.”
He’s fully lying.
Not that I blame him for doing that, because I’m also not ready for this night to end either. Maybe…
“I know you’ve got an early flight, but did you want to come up—”
His seatbelt is undone so quickly, and in a blink of an eye, he’s turned off his car. My mouth twitches as he gets out and jogs over to my side. Before I have a chance to move, Adrian opens the door for me. His hand is right there, waiting. I take it, and we walk into my building.
Farim isn’t at his desk, so I lead Adrian straight to the elevator. The doors open as soon as I press the button. It’s empty. We step inside. The doors close.
Usually I don’t watch the numbers lighting up, one by one, but tonight, I am. He’s also watching, his chest rising heavily up and down. Still we don’t talk.
Seven floors up, but I feel like I’m falling.
The elevator chirps, letting us know we’re here. We step out and turn to the right. I dig out my keys, but my hands aren’t cooperating. Shit. I should be embarrassed.
“Let me.” His voice is strained. He takes the keys from my hand. I notice his hands aren’t exactly steady either, but he’s motivated to get the door unlocked.
The door swings open, revealing the cozy darkness of my apartment.
My entryway is wide and the floor plan is open in a way where you see a lot at once.
Like the dim outline of furniture pushed to the side for a dance floor mat, my overstuffed duffle bag, and pointe shoes dangling from hooks and lying on the floor.
There’s a lingering floral smell from the black tea I brewed but never drank.
I don’t know who reaches out. Whether his hand finds my waist or mine brushes against the back of his arm—but that’s all it takes.
My back hits a wall, but I barely register the impact because Adrian is lifting me up, and I’m wrapping my legs around him. My nipples peak as his mouth devours mine. I’m threading my fingers through his hair, sucking on his tongue.
“Fuck, Sonya,” Adrian growls, moving his mouth down to suck on my neck. “You don’t know how much I’ve thought about this.”
Me, too.
I’ve imagined it so many damn times. Sometimes without wanting to, but more recently purposefully thinking about it as if I can’t picture it enough.
Us naked in bed, him pulling my knees apart and pushing the swollen head of his cock against the entrance of my pussy.
Holding me as his hips start to move and work his thickness deeper, stretching me open until I’m moaning or cursing his name.
I don’t know which one, but it doesn’t matter as long as he doesn’t stop.
My head falls back as he cups the curve of my breast and squeezes.
We’re fumbling—no, scratch that. I’m fumbling and writhing against him while Adrian carries me deeper into my apartment.
He’s somehow capable of locating my pushed away couch.
Before he can lower me onto it, I dig my fingernails into his shoulders.
“Bed.”
His reaction is everything.
His breath catches in his throat, then rushes out in a broken exhale.
“Where’s your bed, baby?” he asks, voice rough and eyes bright even in this darkness, like wild ocean waves crashing together at night.
It’s a Murphy bed. It needs to be pulled down from the wall. One of us needs to step away and do that, and it should be me, but I’m already working the buttons on his shirt. As if I can’t make up my mind about what happens next. As if I’m losing my senses.
“Off,” I demand. “I want to see you.”
A tremor runs through him. Adrian walks us a few steps, crossing my studio easily before placing me up on my kitchen counter. Set down where I won’t move an inch. Like he needs to control where I am and where my hands can reach if he’s going to survive this.
“My ballerina is bossy,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “Oh no, guess I have no choice but to listen to her and get naked.”
I roll my eyes at him because we both know that’s not a hardship for him.
His grin flashes at me in the dark. Without losing it, he begins to strip.
And God.
Clumsily, I reach behind me and flick on the little light above the stove. It’s barely enough to push back the shadows, but I see enough and understand why Adrian is so smug. The things any woman would want to do to him as soon as he takes his clothes off…
My mouth waters as a possessive feeling ricochets through me. No, I don’t like the thought of any woman. My skin prickles. He’s mine.
Standing left only wearing slutty red trunks, Adrian watches me and his smile falters—just a flicker—and he’s serious, his eyes locked on mine.
“Sonya. The look on your face, I can’t—” The tendons on his neck are standing out.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he rasps. “I just…I need you to know that.”
My heart stutters.
He comes closer.
I think we’re about to ravish each other, but his forehead touches mine.
“I have to be good,” he says quietly. “Better than good. I want to make it perfect for you. And—” He breaks off, exhaling a shaky laugh. “I think I’m suddenly afraid of disappointing you…”
He’s nervous?
But he’s done this a hundred times. Probably more.
And yet, he’s stepping back and standing like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. There’s an embarrassed curve to his mouth, and the tops of his cheeks stain pink.
I’ve seen him cocky. I’ve seen him loud, grinning, arrogant. We’ve already kissed before. Touched. He’s gone down on his knees more than once for me.
But I’ve never seen him this worried about messing up. Not because he doesn’t know what to do, but because it matters so much. Because if this was just sex, we’d already be halfway there.
But this isn’t that.
Not with him.
What’s between us isn’t remotely casual or temporary. Honestly, I don’t think it’s ever been like that or will ever be like that between us.
That clear realization should rattle me and my barely-standing walls, but I’m getting off the counter.
I go on my toes and kiss him.
It’s a matchstick dropped on gasoline.
Our mouths fuse together, and there’s fire shooting in my bones.
We’re demanding and taking, and there aren’t enough hands, the way he’s touching me.
He kneads my breast, strokes my neck, palms my stomach, races his fingers up my leg, stopping to sculpt the thicker part of my hips—before doing it all over. A ravenous circuit.
My focus is more singular.
I reach into his trunks and try to get a hold of his length. Thick, warm, solid, curved cock. I pull it out, and it’s perfect. Long, thick, heavily curved upwards and to the right. Almost like a right-handed hockey stick.
Adrian quickly traps my wrist so I can’t explore it, groaning. “I’m—I’m not gonna last. I want you so bad it’s fucking embarrassing, darling.”
He’s blushing even harder.
“I should…” he starts, swallowing hard, “…take care of myself, go jerk off or something. Not that I think it would make a difference—Christ, Sonya, having you touch my dick, I’m—”
He cut himself off with a quiet groan, like just saying it made it worse.
I ache. The pulse between my legs throbs harder. I never thought this would be the thing to turn me on.
Not the abs, not the cheeky smile as he tries to make me laugh when I’m frowning too much, not the way he stands a little too close, talking in his low, confident time. Or him wagging his eyebrows and standing there with his dick out, which is how I pictured a night like tonight going.
No, it’s this.
Him falling to pieces.
“Let me taste you first,” Adrian orders with a side of begging. His lips are parted and eyebrows slant together.
Heat unfurls inside me like a lightning strike. “No.”
“Don’t you like the way my tongue fucks you?” Adrian reaches out and cups my chin. “Remember when I did that? I’m going to lick your pussy until you can’t think straight.”
He tries going down.
I hold him up. “No,” I choke out.
A crease forms between his eyebrows. “Sonya.”
“I told you. It’s my turn.” Using my other hand, the one he hasn’t captured, I start stroking his shaft. He doesn’t expect that. A broken moan in the back of his throat spills out.
When I swipe my thumb across his blunt head, his mouth opens, but he’s not breathing. My hand tortures him and his cock. It’s mad at me, glistening with pre-come. I continue my slow, excruciating pace, and try to bend my head to lick the wetness away.
He doesn’t let me. “Wait, please?” Before I can argue, he adds, “Two minutes first,” he gasps. “Give me that, and then do whatever you want with me.”
I’m flushed, breathless, and aching so badly it borders on pain. And technically, two minutes is nothing. That must be why I give in and nod.
He works quick. My panties come off together with my leggings. Not a second later, his knees hit the kitchen floor.
“Oh my God!” The words burst out of my throat as he laps at my pussy, so hungrily that I hear the sound of my wetness echo off my walls. He’s using his tongue to part me and sucking insistently on my clit. At the same time, I’m stretched with a finger. Another one. Both of them are curling.
It’s too much.
“Can’t. Can’t even think.” I’m gripping his hair and shaking. My head tips back without me meaning to. I’m already close. Too close.
Not yet.
I pull on his hair, hard enough that it tells him to get up. Even if it’s unfair and he hasn’t gotten his full time, Adrian doesn’t resist. Eyes half-lidded he rises, moaning as I immediately go back to his cock, stroking him up and down.
“Feels…too good. I—shit, I’m—” A vein pulses at his temple, his whole body coiled and trembling. His hips jerk, and a low sound slips from his throat. He’s losing it, right in front of me.
“No,” grunts Adrian, echoing what I thought earlier. He pulls my fingers off his cock and turns me around. So, this is what we’re doing, is it? Going back and forth. It’s torture. I can’t get enough.
It’s his turn now.
Adrian puts a hand on the middle of my lower back, and I bend over. Quickly, he’s down there again, devouring me from behind.
“Please.” My body shakes, full-on trembling. I’m a ballerina, yet my limbs are useless, barely holding me up.
“I’ve got you, darling,” he breathes, sounding like he’s also barely holding on. “Fuck, I’ve got you.”
It’s building too fast. Every nerve feels on fire.
My hips won’t stay still. I’m grinding against his face, and the tension coiling deep inside me is on the verge of snapping.
I can feel it—right there, right there—and somehow I wrench myself away.
Because no, I haven’t done it yet. I haven’t made him come undone.
Turning around, I try and go down to suck his cock. He won’t have it. Probably because he thinks the floor is too hard and unforgiving for me.
He moves us to the couch.
I push at his chest until he drops onto the seat. Moonlight spills through the window, carving silver lines across his bare skin.
“God—” Adrian pants. His hair is a mess, and it gets worse with his hands pulling at it.
I sink down on the carpet and lean forward on all fours, licking the pre-come spilling from him. Electricity shoots down my spine. I’m drenched tasting his salt.
Adrian whimpers, and his hands come down and flex in my hair. There’s no pressure to take him deeper or stay there. Still, he begs. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“I don’t know. I—can’t think.”
My mouth curves as I alternate between slow and fast pulls up and down his cock. Every muscle in his body is strained. He’s exhaling heavily through his nose, blue eyes pinned to and hypnotized at where we meet, where I’m sucking him.
I can tell he’s getting close. His hips lift, involuntarily with a kind of raw instinct that he can’t fight anymore. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Baby, I have to make you stop. Just—don’t—”
I hear the truth in voice, enough that it stills my mouth. “Do you really not want to come?”
The color in his cheeks spreads. “I absolutely fucking want to come.”
“So why?” I ask.
“I want…us…together…”
He can barely finish the sentence, but I get it. Completely.
“Let’s sixty-nine.”