Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“You know what’s not simple?” I think out loud, as requested, as we step into the laundry room. My waterworks have slowed from a raging river to a gentle stream. “Doing laundry together. That’s a serious commitment.”
Adam chuckles. My pulse races at the sheer intimacy of this moment, the quiet, how his laugh bounces back at me from every corner of this closet. The only light filters in from the kitchen above the sink, and even that flickers. It gives the miniscule laundry room a dampened sense of warmth.
As do his hands on my hips, lifting me. By the time I gasp, I’ve already come to rest atop the dryer, my knees on either side of him. A fresh tear escapes from impact alone.
He closes the hallway door closest to Lovie’s bedroom.
I’ve got a few inches on him now, and it feels indecent. So do his hands, which slide down the entirety of my legs, over the fabric of my sweatpants. It’s like I’m not wearing anything at all. His index fingers hook into the heels of my socks and whip them off. Goose bumps appear on my arms. I’m cold and hot.
He opens the washer lid and my socks join whatever else is already inside, then he reaches for the hem of his scrub top. And lifts it.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. The more skin he reveals, the wider my eyes get, the lower my mouth hangs.
He finishes peeling off the fabric and presents it to me. “Here.”
I stare at him. “What am I supposed to do with that?” What am I supposed to do with anything, ever again, with him standing in front of me shirtless?
Adam’s head tilts to the side, the jut of his chin more pronounced now that his face is off-center. It’s like a rock formation, or a mountain range. If you look out the window to your right, folks, you’ll see Mount Nurse Adam.
That even sounds dirty in my head.
“Dry your eyes. Blow your nose. Whatever. I’ll throw it in after you’re done.”
My mind’s still back on Mount Nurse Adam. It operates as two distinct parts of speech, which I appreciate. I could, technically, theoretically, mount Nurse Adam (verb and subject) on Mount Nurse Adam (proper noun).
Trust me, it’s easier for me to focus on this than the issue at hand. Which is that he—nothing theoretical about it—gave me the shirt off his back so I could dry my tears.
I am unable to convert these thoughts into sounds that make sense, and Adam chuckles. He reaches up, thumb wrapped in the cotton sleeve, and wipes gently at my face. I wonder what he sees: the captain of the Hot Mess Express, or the strong persona I give off to the rest of the world, the Elle who likes troll comments and doesn’t let anyone behind the curtain.
He brings the fabric to my nose. “Blow.”
I’m back to Obscenity Overlook. The detour was nice while it lasted.
As instructed, I blow my nose on his scrub top, and he manages to hold in his laughter even though I sound like an elephant.
“Good?”
I nod. “You have a tattoo,” I note. My eyes are drawn to the patch of dark ink among the weeds of his chest hair. He’s toned but not flashy, cut but not chiseled. Call me Goldilocks. He is just right .
“Do you have any?” Adam drops his shirt into the washer and hooks his fingers in the waistband of his matching bottoms.
I shake my head. “Always wanted one, though. Just can’t decide what.”
Then he just—shoves his pants down. Is he stripping for me? This isn’t the first time a guy’s tried to cheer me up by getting naked, but it’s the first time it’s going to work. My eyes aren’t wet anymore, but other parts of me are picking up the slack. He does a great job of pretending like I’m not ogling him as his pants descend his thighs, revealing more dark hair and navy boxer briefs.
A tsk pulls my focus upward. He’s smirking at me. “Take a guy to dinner first.”
“Sure thing.” I nod fervently. “Do you like McDonald’s? There’s one five minutes away.”
After the pants join the top—because “It’s annoying if the set gets separated in the wash”—he adds detergent, and I’m riveted like I’ve never seen anyone do laundry before. He closes the lid softly, cognizant of our proximity to Lovie, and I enjoy the silence for a change.
“So.” He leans an elbow next to my thigh on the machine, which brings him even farther into my vicinity. “How are you feeling? Freaked out yet?” His thumb touches the side of my leg, and if it was an accident, he owns it well.
“Slightly, maybe.” I chew my lip. “How did you know I like to stress clean?”
Adam runs his palm down to my calf and up again. “The days the episodes go live, the house smells like lavender and lemons. Fresh towels in the bathroom. You don’t respond to comments until later that night, after the floors are swept and the toilet is scrubbed. But Lovie’s things, my things, are exactly where we left them.” He grins, leaning closer conspiratorially. “Plus you mentioned it on an old Instagram post.”
I let out a husky laugh and lean into him, his hand, which is now back on my knee, tracing that scar through my pants. “Are you admitting to stalking me on social media?”
His nose bumps my cheek. “What if I was? What would you say?”
I can smell him more now than when his shirt was under my nose. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?”
He surprises me when he picks up my hand and rests it atop his tattoo. It tickles my palm. His heart races fast and wild beneath me. “I don’t feel this way about my enemies, Elle.”
“What way?” My eyes flutter.
A soft groan floats from his lips, and he shakes his head in disbelief. “Like I’ll go crazy if I’m not near them. If I don’t kiss them, touch them.”
“Kiss me,” I say. “Touch me.”
Instead of kissing my mouth, his lips land on the hinge of my jaw with a sharp inhale, where just a few days ago a red handprint lingered. It’s the lightest pressure, a butterfly’s kiss. Those butterflies migrate to my chest, my gut, as I run my thumb across the raised patch of ink on his chest.
His mouth takes a leisurely exploration of me. The curve of my neck, the space behind my ear, the point of my chin and the hollow of my throat. His teeth scrape and his tongue drags. His hands do the same to my knees, my thighs, my waist. I thought substantial friction was required to start a fire, but it turns out light touches do the same.
“Adam.” The noise that escapes with his name doesn’t sound like it comes from me. It’s heavier, begging and wanton. I don’t know how I managed to squeeze so much emotion into so few syllables.
His lips come over mine like a crash of waves on rock—you can prepare all you want, but the impact will still be hard and fast. His hands cup my face, wrap around the back of my head to give him a better angle for plundering. And plunder he does. His tongue meets mine in persistent, steady strokes that leave me content to die from lack of oxygen. Breathing’s not necessary.
I pull him between my legs, his arm winding around my back to scoot me to the edge of the dryer. Even when I’m where he wants me, it’s not close enough. I gasp when his hand closes in a fist around my mess of unbrushed hair.
My hips move of their own accord, seeking relief for the pressure his mouth has brought on so suddenly. I’m desperate for him, for more. For everything.
“Adam,” I rasp again, into his mouth. I cant my hips into the growing hardness.
He separates with a groan, resting his forehead on mine. “Can I make you come?”
I manage to wrangle my squeal of excitement into a dry half laugh. “I sure hope so.”
He captures my mouth in another passionate kiss; it lasts nowhere near long enough before he backs off with one last tug of my bottom lip with his teeth. It pops away. “That won’t be a problem. I know I can . And I will , right now, if that’s what you want.”
The current list of things I want more than Adam is very short. I don’t even know if world peace is on there, which makes me a horrible human and feminist and about a dozen other things.
I know I just got done crying over spilled milk. I know some people might not want to be touched right now, especially not by a person who saw them at their most vulnerable. That’s where I’m different. Adam saw me that way and reacted exactly how I’d want someone to. He listened to what I had to say, didn’t make me feel silly or tell me to stop crying. He saw me instead of my open wounds.
I nod. “I want.”
His face stretches in a grin, and my pants get ripped down my legs. My underwear is next, and it doesn’t need to be well lit in this closet for me to see the way Adam’s eyes brighten at the sight of me. It’s been over six weeks since my last wax, and for all my discomfort, Adam doesn’t seem to mind one bit.
“Elle,” he chokes, lowering to his knees in front of the dryer. “Thank you.”
“For wh—”
The rest of my words are lost to my pleasure.
He moves surely, confident enough in his movements that I don’t doubt what he said. He can and will get this done. As his mouth works, his hands caress me. He has a way of making each touch and stroke and taste deliberate. When he strokes my thigh, it’s an intentional thing. I see this piece of you , he says. I see this and I want this.
My head falls back and bangs on the overhead cabinet, but I’m too far surrendered to care. The only pain I feel is pleasured zings from Adam, the fine line between too much and not enough as he teases and coaxes me.
He brings my leg around his shoulder, and my heel digs into his back. My butt’s hanging off the edge. One jerk too far and I’ll fall on top of him. How’s that for mounting Nurse Adam?
The washer cycle starts abruptly, and my hips breach the lip of the dryer. He catches me, his grip focused on the place where my thighs meet my butt. He makes the save smooth, natural. Like all he wanted was to hold my ass in the first place. Purposeful. Direct.
Adam.
The flicks of his tongue pick up speed, severity. “Yes,” I breathe, clutching his hair with one hand and the dryer’s edge with the other.
He’s not in a hurry to set me down, even though he’s got most of my weight. That thought alone, what we must look like in aerial view, has my legs quivering.
“Come here,” he gruffs. “I’ve got you.”
As promised, he has me. He holds me better now, has access to more of me. He abuses the privilege in the best way. Every inch of me is sparking and electric, to the point I’m half convinced the dryer has short-circuited at my back. A loud moan escapes my lips, and my eyes fly to the hallway door, where Lovie sleeps between thin layers of drywall.
Adam’s laugh hums against me, adding to my pleasure tenfold. “Shh,” he murmurs, takes a light nip at my thighs, then starts again. Doubles down. He groans.
I bite down on my bottom lip hard to try and calm my noises, the racing of my heart, but it’s no use. I’m a goner. It’s hard to say who or what makes the noises in this closet, whether the vibration is from the washer or my throat or Adam’s. It’s definitely me who murmurs yes and more and harder . And it’s Adam who contributes that’s right and come for me . Maybe it’s the stern tone he uses that makes me so apt to comply. Not that it matters.
“Good girl,” he says, using his entire mouth to enunciate so he doesn’t have to pull away when I’m already starting to tumble.
And tumble I do. The fall is long but weightless. Adam holds me the whole way down, guides me through the descent by lightening his pressure, slowing his pace.
He pulls away with parting kisses to my center, the insides of my thighs, and I didn’t know it was possible to sigh so heavily. He places my feet on the floor but doesn’t let go until I have my knees under me. Which, admittedly, takes a minute.
Speaking of long and heavy …
“Do you want me to return the favor now or later?”
Adam grabs my pants, holding them out for me like he did earlier today. Was it really only this morning when Dakota and Liss were here? “Orgasms aren’t favors. They’re gifts.”
I stare at him, each of us holding a leg of my pants. “What planet are you from?”
He arches a brow, a challenge. “What men have you been with?”
“None, apparently.”
There’s no hiding his smile now, even in the dim light. “Will you tell me about them?”
He can’t be serious. I busy myself with righting my underwear and stepping into them. “You want me to tell you about my exes?”
“I told you.” He shrugs. “I want your messy parts too.”
My brain is too sated to fully comprehend this conversation. It could use a spin in the dryer with a few ice cubes. I must’ve glitched the matrix somewhere. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and be in some weird Groundhog Day time loop. Adam will be shaking me awake and telling me Liss and Dakota are here, seeing me pantsless again. I’ll have to remember to hide my vibrator when I leave the bathroom after dinner.
Or maybe not.
“Well then, Nurse Adam, would you like to have a sleepover?”