11. Lachlan #2
There's a pair of black lace panties at the top of the stack.
My hand moves before I can stop it, reaching out to touch the delicate fabric, and the moment my fingers make contact, something in me snaps.
I pick them up, and I can't stop myself from imagining her wearing them, can't stop the flood of images that crashes through my mind.
Adriana in nothing but these panties, Adriana beneath me, Adriana's body arching as I slide them down her legs, Adriana's voice saying my name the way she used to, breathless and desperate and full of need.
My erection is straining now, leaking pre-cum like I didn't just jack off in my office a couple of hours ago.
I know this is wrong. Taking her panties is a violation of her privacy and her trust, and I'm crossing a line I shouldn't cross.
But I can't seem to make myself stop. I fold the panties and slip them into my pocket, something stolen that I have no right to keep.
Like her?
The thought is abruptly cut off by the sharp sound of Adriana behind me.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Her voice cuts through the room like a knife, and I spin around to find her standing in the doorway, her hair damp from the shower, wearing a robe that's belted tightly at her waist. Her eyes are on my hand in the pocket where I just slipped her panties, and I can see the moment she understands what I've done.
I see the shock and anger and hurt flash across her face.
"Give them back." Her voice is dangerous, and she takes a step into the room, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Right now, Lachlan. Give them back."
I should do what she's asking. I should pull the panties out of my pocket and hand them over, then apologize for being a fucking creep who can't control himself. But instead, I find myself meeting her eyes.
"No."
She stares at me, and I can see her trying to understand why I would refuse such a simple request. "You're sick," she snaps. "You're fucking sick, Lachlan. What are you going to do with them? Jerk off into them while you think about me? Is that what this is?"
"Yes." I take a step toward her, watching as she instinctively backs up, watching as her eyes widen with shock at my honesty.
"That's exactly what I'm going to do, Adriana.
Because you won't let me near you, won't let me touch you, won't even look at me without fear and anger in your eyes, and I'm going fucking insane wanting you.
So yes, I'm going to take these back to my room, and I'm going to wrap them around my cock—which is so fucking hard right now it hurts, by the way—and I'm going to imagine it's your hand instead, your mouth, your perfect fucking pussy.
I'm going to come thinking about you the way I've been doing for ten years, except this time I'll have something of yours to soak with my cum when I get off imagining you. "
She's backed up against the wall, and I can see her chest rising and falling rapidly, a flush spreading across her cheeks and down her neck.
Despite her disgust, her body is responding to my words.
Her pupils are dilated, her lips slightly parted, and there's a tension in her body that I can tell is arousal, not fear.
I know this woman. I know her body. And she can't hide from me, no matter how much she might want to.
"This is fucked up," she whispers, but there's no conviction in her voice. I can see the conflict in her eyes as she fights against something she doesn't want to feel.
"I know." I take another step closer, and she doesn't move away this time or try to escape.
She just stands there pressed against the wall, watching me approach.
" I know I'm fucked up and obsessed. But I can't stop wanting you, Adriana.
I've tried. God knows I've tried. But you're in my head, in my blood, in every fucking thought I have, and I can't make it stop. "
I'm right in front of her now, looking down at her.
She hasn't moved an inch. I can smell the warmth of her skin, the lavender scent of her shampoo coming from her wet hair, and my whole body is aching, throbbing with the need to touch her.
She's looking up at me, her green eyes wide and uncertain, and I can see her pulse fluttering in her throat.
"Lachlan—" She starts to say something, but I don't let her finish.
I kiss her.
I can't stop myself. I look down at her parted lips, and I bend without touching her with anything but my mouth, my lips crashing against hers.
The kiss is desperate and hungry, full of ten years of wanting, and I pour everything into it—all my need, all my desire, all the love and obsession and desperate, aching longing that's been consuming me since the moment I saw her again.
I draw her lower lip into my mouth, my tongue sliding along the seam of her lips, and I feel the moment she starts to kiss me back.
It's like a dam breaking, like something in her finally giving way. Suddenly her hands are in my hair, pulling me closer, and her mouth is opening under mine, and she makes a small, desperate sound that goes straight to my cock and makes me want to devour her.
I'm so hard. I've never been this hard in my fucking life, not when I was a teenager making out with her for the first time, not right before the first time I slid inside of her, not all these years that I've been dreaming of touching her again.
I'm harder than I thought was possible. My cock strains against my fly, but I force myself not to push it up against her, not to touch her at all except with my hungry mouth.
Her tongue slides against my lips, tangles with mine, and I groan like I'm in pain.
I can't get enough. I can't stop kissing her, and I finally give in to the need to touch her more, surging against her and pressing her to the wall as I brace one hand against it and reach up to cup her jaw with the other.
She gasps, her head tilting up and her mouth opening completely as she feels my rock-hard cock digging into her thigh.
I haven't so much as come up for air since I started kissing her.
I can't let my lips leave hers for even a moment.
The kiss goes on and on, deep and consuming, and I can feel her body responding to mine.
She's arching into me, and her breathing has gone ragged and desperate.
She clutches at my shirt, and my hand slides from her face down to her waist, feeling the curve of her body through the thin fabric of her robe.
I'm so hard it hurts, so desperate for her that I can barely think straight.
I need more.
I need to touch her, need to feel her skin, need to make her come apart in my arms the way she used to.
My hand slides lower, finding the hem of her robe, and I start to push it up, my fingers brushing against the bare skin of her thigh.
She's so soft, and God, any second now I'm going to reach between her thighs and feel how wet she is for me.
I'm going to come when I do, I know it… I won't even need to touch myself.
I'll feel her slick pussy against my fingers and I'll fucking come…
She goes rigid in my arms, her entire body tensing, and then she's pushing at my chest, her hands frantic and desperate instead of wanting. She tears her mouth away from mine with a gasp that sounds more like panic than pleasure.
"No." The word is sharp and final, and she shoves at me harder, putting space between us. I can see the visceral fear in her eyes, completely at odds with the way she was kissing me just seconds ago. "No, stop. I can't—I can't do this."
I step back immediately, my hands dropping to my sides. I'm trying to catch my breath and understand what just happened, reconcile the woman who was just kissing me like she was drowning with the woman who's now looking at me like I'm a threat.
"Adriana—"
"That part of our life is over." Her voice is shaking, and she pulls her robe tighter around herself, her arms wrapped across her chest like armor.
"It's been over for ten years, Lachlan. We can't just...
we can't go back to that. We can't pretend like nothing happened, like we're still those kids in the garden who thought love was enough. "
"We're not pretending." I try to keep my voice calm and not let her hear the desperation that's clawing at my chest. "We're not kids anymore, and I'm not asking you to pretend. I'm asking you to give us a chance, to see if we can—"
"No." She cuts me off. There are tears in her eyes now, bright and angry and full of pain.
"I want you to leave. I want you to get out of my room and leave me alone, and stop trying to make this into something it's not.
We're not a love story, Lachlan. We're a tragedy.
And I'm too tired to keep living through it. "
I feel myself physically recoil, hope dying in my chest. "It doesn't have to be a tragedy.
" I hate how my voice sounds, desperate and pleading and pathetic.
"I came for you as soon as I could, as soon as I was strong enough to protect you.
I know it took ten years. I know that's too long, but I'm here now. I'm trying to make this right."
"You can't make this right." She looks so broken, so exhausted, and completely done with everything that I feel like I'm watching her shatter in front of me.
"You can't fix what's broken, Lachlan. You can't save me from something that's already destroyed me.
So please, just... just go. Leave me alone. "
I want to argue and tell her that she's wrong, that we can fix this, that love is enough if we just try hard enough. But I can see in her eyes that she doesn't believe it. I've already crossed too many lines today, and crossing another one might break something between us that can't be repaired.
So I leave.