Episode 7 #2
My fingers curl into his arm, dragging him closer, and his body comes up solid against mine, no space left. The wall at my back is cool and unyielding, which only makes every place he’s touching me burn hotter.
His hands are everywhere—my jaw, my shoulders, my hips—like he can’t decide where to hold me first. I feel the scrape of his teeth against my lip, and I gasp, and he swallows the sound like it belongs to him.
The kiss deepens until there’s no air, no thought, just heat and pressure and the pounding need to get closer. I can feel him breathing hard against my cheek, hear the low noise he makes when my fingers slip under the hem of his shirt to the warm skin beneath.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, voice ragged.
“Can’t,” I manage, because it’s true, I can’t even think about stopping, not when his heartbeat is hammering as wildly as mine, not when his mouth finds the corner of my jaw and traces lower.
His lips skim my throat, and my head tips back against the wall of its own accord. My hand drags up his spine, nails catching lightly, and he shudders.
Everything’s unraveling too fast, like a fuse burning down.
His mouth crashes back to mine, harder now, the kind of kiss you can’t walk away from. He palms the back of my head, holding me in place, while his other hand slides low, fingers digging into my hip through denim.
I hook an arm around his neck, pulling him flush against me. There’s no mistaking the heat between us now, no room for denial when I feel him hard and insistent through the thin barrier of our clothes.
“Bed,” I rasp against his lips.
“Can’t wait,” he mutters, and his hands are already under my shirt, rough palms skating over my ribs, dragging the fabric upward. The wall bites into my shoulders when he peels it off, and the cool air barely has time to hit my skin before his mouth is on me, tracing a line down my chest.
I fumble with his belt, frustrated at how my fingers shake, and he laughs low against my sternum, until I get it loose, and then his breath hitches.
The sound undoes me. I push his pants down just enough, shove mine out of the way, and we’re pressed together, skin to skin, heat sparking every nerve.
“God, you feel—” He breaks off, head tipping back as I wrap a hand around both of us, stroking slow and deliberate. His hips jerk helplessly, and he bites his lip like he’s trying to hold it together.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t hold back.”
His response is a growl, half-laugh, half-desperate sound, and then he’s got my wrist pinned above my head, his mouth devouring mine, his other hand gripping my hip as he grinds into me with raw, perfect friction.
The rhythm’s messy, frantic, more about sensation than precision. I’m gasping against his mouth, lost in the feel of his chest sliding against mine, the heat curling low in my stomach.
We’re both too far gone to last. I come first, sharp and shuddering, and he follows a heartbeat later, his forehead pressed to mine, breath ragged and uneven.
For a long moment, neither of us moves, still tangled together, hearts racing. Then he lets out a shaky laugh, kisses me softer this time, like he’s surprised and a little wrecked.
“Guess we’re past pretending,” he murmurs.
The room smells like sweat and cum, and something faint and expensive clinging to his collarbone. Whatever he’d been wearing before I’d pressed him flat into the mattress. The sheets are twisted low around our hips, sticky patches cooling on my chest. Neither of us seems in any hurry to move.
I drag a lazy fingertip down the ridge of his spine. “Are you always this generous with your room keys?” My voice comes out rough, like I’ve been shouting, which I guess I kind of was.
He laughs against my shoulder, quiet and warm. “Only when someone makes it worth the risk.” He shifts up, elbow propped, watching me with that sharp grin. “Figured you’d either show up or you wouldn’t. And if you did… I wanted the night to feel easy.”
“Easy, huh?” I smirk, but my pulse is still a drumline under my skin. He wasn’t just a good lay. Something about him hooked me in deep, sharp enough to hurt if I let it.
The grin softens. He studies me as if I’m some puzzle worth solving. “Name’s Adam.”
I roll it over in my head, slow. Adam. It tastes good in my mouth. “I’ll try to remember, in case I ever need to shout it again.”
His smile tilts wickedly. “You’ll definitely need to.”
The clock on the nightstand glows past three. I should go, shower off, grab a cab, pretend this was just a one-night thing. No strings. Clean break.
I sit up, hunt around for my jeans on the floor, but Adam’s arm snakes across my stomach, holding me down with an ease that feels practiced. “You’re not running out already,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep and something else.
“Wasn’t planning to run.” I find my shirt half-crumpled under his heel, try to pull it free without waking him more. “Just… walk at a reasonable pace.”
He props himself on one elbow, hair a mess, grin lazy and dangerous. “Luca.” The way he says my name, like he already owns it, makes my pulse kick. “Stay.”
I shake my head, but he doesn’t let go. His hand traces idle patterns across my ribs, like he’s memorizing them. “You think you’re gonna disappear and I won’t notice?” he asks. “Not a chance.”
“Pretty sure that’s how disappearing works,” I mutter, but it comes out softer than I mean. He slides closer, lips brushing my shoulder, and every excuse I’ve lined up falls apart in the heat of that touch.
“Morning’s only a few hours away,” he says, low and persuasive. “If you leave now, I’ll spend the whole day wondering why you’re so eager to run.”
I glance at the door, then back at him. This was supposed to be easy. But Adram isn’t letting me keep it easy.
I huff out something between a laugh and a sigh. “Wouldn’t blame you.”
“Funny,” he says, lips brushing the back of my neck. “I was thinking I’d chain you to the bed.”
It’s a joke, but the way his hand slides over my hip isn’t. I freeze, not because I want to get away—God knows I don’t—but because I can feel myself caving.
“Adam…” I start, and it’s supposed to sound firm. It doesn’t.
“Stay,” he murmurs again, kissing that spot just under my jaw, slow and deliberate. “Just until morning.”
I should move. I should finish getting dressed. Instead, I’m standing here half in, half out of my jeans, with his mouth tracing every reason I had to leave into something fragile and unconvincing.
“Thought you didn’t like making things complicated,” I say, though my voice comes out low, almost unsteady.
“Oh, I love complicated,” he says, grinning against my skin. “Especially when you make it look this good.”
And just like that, my shirt hits the floor again.
I should be gone by now. But Adam leans against the headboard like sin itself, hair mussed, one arm folded behind his head, watching me with that sharp, amused smile that makes it impossible to breathe right.
“You were really walking out on this?” he asks, voice still rough from sleep and something else we didn’t waste time naming.
“I should,” I mutter, though it sounds like I’m trying to convince myself more than him. I manage one step toward the door before he says, “Luca,” slow and deliberate, like he’s been holding my name in his mouth all night and doesn’t plan on letting it go.
I stop. Damn it, I stop.
“Come here,” he says. Not loud. Not demanding. Just a quiet hook in the center of my chest.
I turn around. He doesn’t move, but his eyes rake over me like he’s ready to go again. The morning light hits him sideways, painting gold across his collarbone, and I swear my pulse trips over itself and I’m back at the edge of the bed, caught in his gravity.
He reaches for my wrist, fingers warm, a silent question I don’t bother answering because I’m already climbing back in. His laugh is low when I straddle his hips, his hands finding my waist like they were waiting there all night.
“Good,” he murmurs, lips grazing my jaw. “I wasn’t done with you anyway.”
And maybe I wasn’t done with him, either.