6. Lisa #2
Then he gets to fucking work . His tongue finds a spot.
The exact spot. The spot no one ever bothered to find in all my years, and which I have not been able to find for myself.
His tongue finds it on the first pass and stays there.
Right fucking there. He flattens his tongue against it and circles , slow, deliberate, with the same focused intensity he’s used from the first second we met.
The man does not improvise. The man goddamn commits .
I make a sound I cannot identify, drop the hem of my dress from between my teeth because my lips need to be parted for the noises that are coming out of me. I clap a hand over my mouth because Jasmine is down the hall and Jasmine cannot hear this. If Jasmine hears this, I will freaking die .
Adam reaches up without taking his mouth off me and pulls my hand off my mouth. He laces his fingers through mine, presses my hand flat on the wall again and holds it there , and the message is clear: I wanna hear you, lass.
I bite my bottom lip until it stings. And he keeps working me, sliding one of his long callused fingers inside me, slow, slow, fuck , the curl of it, the thickness of it, hooking up against a spot in me that has, also, been unfound forever, and I’m fucking gone.
I come against his mouth, his hand and the wall in less than five minutes, and it’s loud, humiliatingly so.
It’s the best five minutes of my entire life.
My hand is still trapped in his; my thigh is shaking on his massive shoulder.
He hums against me, low, pleased, proud , working me through it.
Every aftershock. Each wave. The man does not let up.
He stays on me until I am fucking whimpering, my hips jerking away from his mouth, until I am babbling.
“Adam…Adam… Adam …please…”
“Mm.” Soft. Against my thigh now. He has finally moved his mouth and is kissing the inside of my leg, tenderly, almost lazily. “Aye, love. That’s me.”
He sits back on his heels and looks up at me.
His mouth is wet; his beard is soaked . His eyes are blown black, his lips swollen, and he is looking at me like I have never… never …in thirty-five years been looked at.
I am going to cry. I think I am crying. He sees it. Of course, he sees it. Bastard sees everything. His face softens for a second, then he is on his feet and he is picking me up .
Just like that. With one arm under my knees, the other around my back.
My dress falls back into place, my panties still around my knees, my face pressed against the soft cotton of his henley, which smells like him and now smells like me .
I’m wrecked, a rag. Soft, ruined, sobbing in his arms, and he is carrying me like I weigh fucking nothing.
Adam sets me down on the bed, kneels on the mattress next to me, pulls my panties the rest of the way off, slow, careful, and tucks them into his pocket. I should say something about that. But I don’t. My brain barely registers what’s happening. What just happened…
He pulls my dress down over my thighs, covering my bare legs, and runs his knuckles down my cheek.
“Stay right there, love.”
Then he stands next to the bed and starts taking things off his body.
First, his watch comes off and goes on the nightstand.
Then he reaches under the back of his shirt and pulls out a folding knife in a leather sheath that was apparently sitting against his lower back the entire time.
The whole time. The whole time his mouth was between my legs, there was a knife at his back.
He sets it on the nightstand. Within reach…
Then the henley comes over his head. And Jeezus!
The tattoos are freaking everywhere. Running across his chest, down his arms, up the sides of his ribs, dipping below the waistband of the jeans.
A wolf’s head on his right pectoral. Some kind of mountain range across his collarbones.
Lettering down his ribs in a language I cannot read. The dark hair between his pecs…
His chest is heaving. Like he is having to slow himself down.
He sits on the edge of the bed, unzips the heavy black boots, and sets them on the floor. From the inside of the right one, he removes a small knife. From the inside of the left one, a tiny handgun. Both go on the nightstand. His phone comes out of his pocket. Then, a second folding knife.
He stands, unbuckles his belt, unbuttons the jeans. And I swallow hard as his eyes meet mine, sexy mouth smirking. He shoves his pants down and steps out of them. They go on the floor, and the holster at the small of his back comes off with the jeans, the handgun in it going on the nightstand too.
I make a strangled sound.
He looks at me. Smiles. Just a little. Tired, filthy, pleased.
“Aye, love. I’m finished.”
He is wearing black boxer briefs. Tight.
The shape of him under them is… no, Lisa, stop, you cannot, the man just ate you against a wall, you cannot also stare …
his rings stay on, but the rest of him is bare , every line of inked skin and muscle and thick veins.
He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life, and he is standing in my house .
He climbs into the bed, behind me, on his side, and pulls me into him.
Back to chest. His body is warm. His beard tickles the back of my neck through the thin cotton of my dress.
One arm comes around me, heavy, the weight of it grounding.
His other arm slides under my pillow. I feel the shape of his hand close around something under the pillow that wasn’t there a minute ago, and I realize, with a small shiver, that one of the guns went there .
His mouth comes down on the back of my neck for a soft kiss.
“Rest, lass.”
I open my mouth to tell him…what. Thank you for the orgasm ? I’m not your lass ? Don’t go to sleep before I do because I am not ready to be alone with this ?
I do not get to say any of it.
His breathing changes within thirty seconds.
It does not become deep, exactly. Or slow.
It just evens . The breath of a man who has spent a long day on his feet and is, for the first time in he does not know how many hours, finally resting .
His arm does not loosen. His hand under the pillow does not move.
But he is asleep , or as close to it as a man like him gets, and the steady rhythm of his breath at the back of my neck is the most peaceful sound I have ever heard.
I lie in his arms in the bed I shared with Ray for a little while before his abuse, indifference, cheating, then complete neglect drove me to lock myself elsewhere every night. I stare at the nightstand and the small armory stacked on it…and I don’t fall asleep.
I don’t sleep because I don’t want to miss this.
I do not sleep because this man has just put his mouth on me and his arm around me and his sleep in my bed and I have done none of the things I was supposed to do, said none of the things I was supposed to say, refused none of the things I was supposed to refuse.
I’ve come undone against a wall, now I’m in his arms, and I have not even given him anything, and he is asleep behind me with his face in my hair, peaceful, like he came home.
God. My eyes well up in the dark. God, what are You doing to me?
I close my eyes. I don’t sleep. But I rest. Mind and body warm, soft, and at peace for the first time in a long, long while…