Chapter Twenty-Four Touchy Feely
Adelina
I grab harsh fistfuls of his shirt, though I can’t tell if I’m clinging to him for balance or control.
It’s hard to think straight with the solid press of his chest beneath my palms and the heat of his strong arms wrapped around me.
West looks like he wants to take a bite out of me, and at the rate things are escalating, I just might let him.
“All this teasing—and for what?” I ask him, proud when my voice doesn’t come across as shaky as I feel. “I don’t like being toyed with, West. Either put up or shut up—”
Our lips collide with dizzying force, sending a spike of adrenaline through my body.
West corrals me up against the nearest wall, swiftly lifting my arms to pin my wrists above my head.
He presses the full weight of his body against me as he deepens the kiss, greedy and ravenous and desperate.
I’m overwhelmed by the way his free hand slides down to hook my thigh, hiking my leg up over his hip.
His tongue sweeps past my own, commanding and firm in a way I didn’t think he was capable of.
West leaves me no time to breathe, each kiss followed up with another and then another.
Little white dots begin to speckle my vision.
When he rolls his hips against me, an embarrassingly squeaky moan escapes from my lungs.
He chuckles when he hears me, the low vibration of his voice resonating in my very bones.
“Mon tournesol, je vais te faire chanter toute la nuit.”
“What does that mean?” I rasp, too lightheaded to do anything other than trust him to hold me steady.
“Want me to teach you?” he asks with an all-too-pleased grin. His chest rises and falls quickly, his cheeks a light dusting of pink. It’s nice to know that although he sounds calm, he is just as affected as I am.
I manage a nod. The surrounding room is little more than a pleasant haze.
He releases my wrist, bringing his hand down to stroke the pad of his thumb along the line of my jaw, stopping to caress the tattoo behind my ear.
He dips down to press a long, almost reverent kiss to the decade-old ink.
“Mon tournesol,” he whispers against my ear.
“My sunflower.” West then releases his grip on my wrists and takes one of my hands to press firmly against his chest. “Je vais,” he continues the lesson. “I am going to.”
My breath hitches. “You’re going to what?”
He breaks into a devilish grin, tracing a line up the front of my throat. “Te faire chanter,” he finishes. “Make you sing.”
I am suddenly putty in his hands. Nobody has ever spoken to me this way before.
Between his heated gaze and the low rumble of his voice, West has me thoroughly hypnotized, ready to fall apart the moment he so much as snaps his fingers.
I’ve forgotten myself, unable to move or speak or focus on anything other than the solid weight of his body blanketing mine.
“Toute la nuit,” he says. I’ve never heard his voice so dark and gruff. “All night long.”
“Go on, then,” I urge. “What are you waiting for?”
In one fell swoop, West kisses me again—just as hungry and deliciously rough—while lifting me up off the floor.
With my arms wrapped around his neck and my legs securely around his hips, West carries me toward his bed.
He sets me down on the mattress with ease, kissing me like it’s the only thing he knows how to do.
My fingers crave to explore, slipping beneath the fabric of his shirt to begin their expeditious climb up toward his hard chest. When he gently bites on my bottom lip, a low laugh escapes me.
“What?” he asks.
“I knew you were a biter.”
He spoils me with his brilliant, blinding smile. “How far can I take this?” he asks after a particularly spellbinding kiss, his hot breath tickling my skin. “I don’t have any protection, but I can make you feel good in other ways.”
A delightful shiver courses through me. “Whatever you want,” I murmur.
“No,” he says, gently sliding a hand over my belly, past my hip and down to dig his fingers into the meat of my thigh. “Whatever you want, Adelina. Let me please you.”
For a moment, I forget how to form a proper thought.
West is a lot of things. Frustrating to no end, irritatingly handsome, and a generous lover to top it all off?
There’s no way a guy like this is real. Maybe I was riding up the elevator to my apartment and the cables snapped, and this whole escapade in the south of France has been little more than a hyperrealistic coma dream.
“Adelina?” West murmurs against my cheek. “Are you alright?”
“Y-yes, I just…”
He pulls away slightly, the faintest trace of a notch between his brows. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not comfortable.”
“No, that’s…It’s been a really long time for me, that’s all.”
His shoulders relax. “How long?”
“You’ll laugh.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” There’s a mischievous glint in his eye, but I tell him anyway.
“About nine years.”
West’s jaw drops. “No way. What, uh…What happened there?”
I take a deep breath, hating the way my face feels like a stove burner set to high.
“It was my second year of college. I’d been seeing this guy on and off.
He was nice, I guess. We eventually got to a point where we wanted to take things to the next level.
When I told him I was a virgin, he said he’d take good care of me.
That he was going to ‘rock my world.’ Let’s just say it was over really quickly. ”
I laugh. “But I guess it was my fault. I built it up too much in my head, you know? I expected some mind-boggling experience, only to end up with that. He pretty much ghosted me after. Saw him with someone else a week later. I figured, why put up with it? Why trust someone to take care of me when I can just take care of myself? Next thing I know, I’m twenty-eight and so wrapped up in my work that even if I did want to get back out there, I wouldn’t know how. ”
West sits up, and I honestly can’t blame him. I’m more than aware that I’ve ruined the mood. Leave it to me to take us from hot and heavy to pathetic and sad.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll just go back to my room—”
Before I have the chance to stand, West pulls me onto his lap so that I straddle him between my thighs. He wraps me up in a tight hug.
“He was a boy, not a man,” he says against my ear. “A real man would have taken care of you in every sense of the word.”
“Like you?” I tease, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach.
“Yes,” he answers firmly. West drags his hand down the front of my shirt, curving around my breast before moving down to my navel. His fingers hover just above the band of my jeans, waiting. “Will you let me prove it?” he whispers into my hair.
I’m just about to tell him yes. Yes, I want him to show me all the ways I can lose my mind. Let me forget how we ended up here, thousands of miles away from home, about to take on one of the most dangerous marks I’ve ever had the misfortune of crossing.
But then his phone rings. Someone is video calling. We both glance over to his bedside table and peer at the screen.
“It’s Jack,” I read aloud for him.
West’s posture shifts, suddenly tense as a springboard. I stand up, mildly amused at the way he reaches for the nearest pillow and places it to cover his lap. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I need to get this.”
“Don’t apologize, it’s totally fine.” I hover awkwardly, my gaze meandering over to the bathroom. “Is it still okay if I borrow your shower?”
“Of course, feel free.”
After hastily recovering my towel and change of clothes (which I’d apparently abandoned on the floor at some point), I retreat into the bathroom and seal the door shut behind me, setting my phone down on the small counter.
I’m frankly thankful for the privacy, because I can feel myself teetering on the edge of a major freak-out session.
Am I hurtling toward a terrible mistake if West and I take this any further?
Why can’t I stop thinking about his searing touch and that ravenous look in his eyes?
Is it a good idea to involve myself with someone who I know next to nothing about?
And why, despite my better judgment, do I want to crawl back onto his lap all over again?
My skin is pruney by the time I’m finished, having stayed under the spray for twice my usual length of time.
I’m not sure if I’m trying to be considerate and give West enough time to talk to his niece, or if I’m trying to avoid any possible awkwardness that might arise from having literally confessed to suffering from the world’s longest dry spell.
As I run a towel over my head, I approach the bathroom door to hear the low murmur of West’s voice, followed by a little girl’s high-pitched giggle.
“Marley made me flapjacks with blueberry smiley faces on them,” she says.
“Flapjacks for my Flapjack. Were they any good?”
“The blueberries got too squishy.”
“That’s supposed to happen, sweetie.”
“Why?”
“When blueberries get hot, their sugars break down. That’s what causes them to get squishy.”
“Why?”
West chuckles. “You know what? I’m not too sure. We’ll have to find a scientist to help us. Maybe they can answer your question.”
I feel a little bad interrupting their conversation, but I don’t know how much longer I can stand here, breathing in the steam of the bathroom.
I jostle the doorknob a little, creating something of a commotion to give West a heads-up.
Maybe it’s a courtesy thing. I’m sure West doesn’t want to entertain questions from his niece about who I am.
I crack the door open, but I don’t step out completely, clinging tightly to the doorframe.
“My patch is itchy,” Jack says.
“Don’t scratch at it, honey. Ask Marley to help you change it, okay?”
“When are you coming home?”
West pauses. “Soon, sweetie.”
“How soon?” She pouts.
“Once I’m done with work, I’ll be on the first plane back.”
“But I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” West says softly.
“Can’t you come back now?”
My heart twists just listening to her. The poor girl sounds like she’s about to cry.
“I’m going to be home before you know it, Flapjack,” West replies. “And when I am, we’ll spend the whole day at the park. How does that sound?”
“Fine,” she mumbles, even though she doesn’t sound enthused about the idea at all. “I love you, Uncle West.”
“I love you too.”
Only when I hear the call end do I leave the confines of the bathroom.
West is seated where I left him on the bed, running a hand through his hair as he exhales deeply.
There’s a heavy sag to his shoulders, an exhaustion that seems bone-deep.
It occurs to me then that I did this to him.
If I’d chosen some other account to steal from, he might never have been forced into this position.
Guilt stabs me in the gut. This plan to go after Berruci may be his idea, but I’m the one who inadvertently set off this chain of dominos.
“Flapjack’s a cute nickname,” I say gently, sitting down beside him on the edge of the bed.
“I know.” West grins, but it’s not as sunny as it usually is. He must really be tired. He’s good at pretending otherwise, but I’m getting better at reading him. “Should we pick up where we left off?”
I shake my head. As much as the thought of fooling around excites me, I can tell he has a lot on his mind. “It’s been a long day. Maybe another time. Although…is that movie-marathon offer still on the table?”
A thrill rushes through me when his smile returns in full, dazzling force. “Always,” he says. “Want to make a pillow fort too?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
“If we end up cuddling, I’ll let you be the big spoon. You give off that energy.”
I roll my eyes and toss him the TV remote. “Fucking right I do. Now pick a movie and make sure it has subtitles.”
West laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”