Chapter 11 ADAM #2
“So yes,” I say, forehead resting against hers, her vanilla cupcake scent ensuring I’ll never pass Sweet Nuttings Bakery, or any other bakery in the universe, without a hard-on.
“I’m kind. But kind doesn’t mean I forgot how you said you wanted to be touched.
Like in those romance novels I read to you.
” My hand finds hers again because if she keeps on touching me, I might explode.
I pull her flush against me. Just heat, and the truth between us.
No more screens. No more space. “Kind means I never forgot a single fucking thing.”
I let my lips brush below her ear. “I remember how you bit your lip trying not to wake Claire up in the other room. How your eyes squeezed shut before you came until I told you I wanted to see.”
Her pulse jumps beneath my mouth as I trace the path I’ve imagined a thousand times.
“I remember how you wanted to be kissed like you’re the air I need to breathe.
” My fingers trace the skin between her pajama pieces.
I notice how she shifts, avoiding pressure on her left hip.
Something I catch from years reading animals’ body language.
“Touched like every inch deserved to be mapped,” I murmur, adjusting to better support her.
“Fucked like we were writing our own damn romance novel.”
She trembles, her analytical composure fracturing as her hips press against mine.
“Adam,” she whispers, a mix of surrender and challenge.
Then, almost to herself, “Elevated heart rate, vasodilation, pupillary response…” She’s cataloging her own symptoms, because science is still the steadiest ground she trusts.
It might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.
“I remember how you laughed when I said I’d make you forget every medical term you ever learned.”
Her lips part. “That would take a lot. Dissertations are hard. Like rock-hard. Adam-hard,” she manages, blushing in a way that takes me back to our first video chat. “I know over four thousand medical terms.”
“Challenge accepted.” I smile against her neck, teeth grazing skin. “I’ve always been thorough with important research.”
She shivers, hands sliding under my shirt, tracing the muscles of my back. “Adequate sample size is essential for valid conclusions,” she murmurs, and fuck me, even her nerdy talk is sexy.
“So... sex,” she whispers, almost to herself, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest that are making it really fucking hard to think straight. Each touch sends heat straight through me, especially when she unconsciously follows the path of my muscles like she’s writing a new chapter in our story.
“Let’s… I mean, clearly, we both want...
but I should probably warn you I have the flexibility of a stressed-out Great Dane.
My ex was big on showcasing positions like we were auditioning for some sort of sexual circus and—” She catches herself, that familiar mix of humor and vulnerability in her voice.
“My therapist would say I’m deflecting with humor right now because I got really good at pretending I was fine with being told I wasn’t enough and—”
I catch her wrist, stop her. “Eve.” My voice is rougher than I meant it to be.
She doesn’t look at me right away. Her fingers twitch against my chest, like she’s bracing for words she doesn’t want to hear.
I slide my hand under the hem of her pajama top and press my palm against her stomach, firm, warm, holding. Not to fix anything, but because I want to. Because there’s no other possibility.
“You sure?” I ask, searching her eyes.
“Yes,” she breathes. “I—”
She hesitates. Her whole body tenses.
I pull back. “What?”
She shakes her head once. “Nothing.”
“Eve.”
She tries to move away. “It’s stupid.”
“Stop.”
Her arms fold across her chest, and suddenly she looks more fragile.
“My ex used to get annoyed,” she says finally. “When I wasn’t magically ready. If it took a while, he’d act like I was broken. Like I wasn’t trying hard enough.”
My chest splits fucking open.
“Is that what you think I’m going to do?” I take a slow breath, not because I need air but because I need restraint.
“You can expect this,” I murmur, and then I kiss her hard.
No more holding back. Just mouth and teeth and years of wanting crashing together. She grinds against me and I groan, control slipping.
“Don’t be careful,” she whispers. Not a request but a permission.
“I won’t,” I breathe against her jaw. “I’m going to be exact.”
We’re already sinking—lower, messier. I ease her back onto the blanket, knees on either side of her thighs, hands braced beside her head. I duck down and bite gently at her lower lip.
But then, I still.
“One second.”
I push up off the floor and walk toward the bedroom, to the night table where everything we need is there, and as I grab both the condom and moisturizer, I nudge the bedroom door with my foot.
Click.
Locked.
Because Blanche, Dorothy, and LoverBoy have already claimed the bed, and we’re not doing this with a Great Dane snoring two feet away.
But when I turn back and open the door again with the lube in hand, she’s sitting up and her smile’s gone. Shoulders tight. Shirt tugged down like armor.
“Hey,” I say, kneeling back down fast, setting the stuff down beside us. “What happened?”
She shrugs. But I see her jaw tighten. “Nothing.”
“Eve.”
“I, uhm…” she exhales, eyes not meeting mine. “It felt like maybe that was enough. Like maybe that kiss was a pity kiss? Or maybe just to get it out of your system. And maybe it wasn’t even good.”
My stomach clenches. Not with anger. With grief. For what she’s been through. For every time someone made her question whether she was worth wanting.
I crawl forward, real slow, and cup her jaw in my hand.
“You think this,” I murmur, dragging my other hand over my cock, still hard enough to hurt, “is a pity kiss or me getting you out of my system?”
Her eyes snap to mine.
“I locked the door because they—” I nod to the door hiding the dogs—”don’t get to watch what happens next.” I lean down, lips brushing hers, soft for one second. “You haven’t even come for me yet.”
She exhales. That sound… part disbelief, part arousal. It lights me on fire.
“Also, your PJs say ‘lick me,’ and I’m all for complying.” And I slide back down between her legs. I kiss her again. Hard. Deep. Her fingers fly into my hair like she’s anchoring herself to the moment.
A giggle escapes her and the sound has me on the top of the fucking world.
When I slide her pajama bottoms down, she lifts her hips without hesitation.
Thud. A wet nose presses against my shoulder. LoverBoy stands beside us. Tongue out, tail wagging, unapologetically thrilled.
Eve groans, covering her face. “I’m being supervised by a chihuahua.”
“Maybe he’s checking on your orgasm progress for the others.”
“Adam!”
I gently redirect him, returning him to the bed where Blanche and Dorothy have claimed the real estate. “Not now, buddy.”
And I close the door again, holding her gaze.
“Privacy. Secured.”
I cross the room like I own it. Because she’s looking at me like I’m the only man in the world.
I kneel again. Ease her thighs apart. And look.
Fuck.
Beautiful.
“This okay?” I murmur, fingers brushing her, already pulsing with need.
She nods. “Yes.”
And now it’s my turn to grin.
I duck down between her thighs and speak into her skin like I’m recording an entirely NSFW Audible sample.
“And after seven long years…” I begin, dragging my thumb gently over her clit, “…he’s finally going to taste her by the Christmas tree.”
And then, I do.
One long, thorough lick that has her legs snapping around my shoulders.
She chokes on a gasp.
“And she tastes so sweet… his cock is throbbing. He’s never been that hard.”
“Are you—oh my god—are you narrating?”
I glance up, smug as hell.
“VoiceGasm, at your service.”
She laughs, then moans, raw and real, when I suck gently on her clit. Her hips roll into me and I drop the narration (for now).
I use my mouth like I’ve trained for this, because I have. For years. Every video call. Every fantasy. Every memory of her gasping through a screen while whispering my name.
Now it’s real.
And I want to wreck her for every second we missed. For every second she doubted herself. For every second I dreamed of her.
Her thighs start to tremble. I can taste her. Taste how much she’s enjoying this. I flatten my tongue and grind upward, my fingers digging into her hips enough to hold her steady.
“Adam—fuck, Adam—”
“That’s it,” I growl, barely lifting my mouth. “Say it again. Loud enough for LoverBoy to process in therapy.”
She lets out a giggle as she shatters.
Coming hard against my tongue, back arching, hand in my hair.
And when she finally collapses back, breathless and still smiling, I crawl up her body and kiss her.
“Now... are you ready for round two?”
She laughs again and the sound settles itself right behind my ribs. “Yes.”
“Good.” I grin, reaching for the condom, the moisturizer still beside it. “That was the dedication page. Chapter 1 starts now.”