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And why were we laughing so much? What was so funny?
I’d have contemplated the ever-loving, overthinking hell out of these questions just two days ago. Right now, though? All I could think about was how nice it felt when Adrien’s fingers sunk into my hair. I purred against his mouth, my knees almost caving when he started to massage my scalp.
God, that felt good.
He chuckled at my reaction, pulling away so he could peer down at me.
“What did you do? Dump a bunch of shampoo on your hair and immediately step out of the shower?”
“Mmnmunm,” I answered, crossing my eyes euphorically.
“Don’t be cute.”
“Don’t be wet!” I demanded of the water raining down on us.
It wasn’t funny. I was delirious and high on a plethora of sex hormones. But he laughed anyway, like he found my malfunctioning brain delightfully amusing.
I couldn’t make sense of when, how, or why the switch had flipped for him. A small voice in the corner of my head kept trying to flag the abruptness as a warning, but Adrien’s fingers massaged it into blubbery incoherence. I was a giddy pile of putty, barely able to keep my body upright without clinging to him for support.
We giggled and played, splashing each other with water and soap, unable to keep our mouths separate for longer than a few laughing seconds. And once we'd managed to stumble out of the shower, he carried me right back to bed.
“What time is it?” I breathed as his hot mouth moved down to my neck. I felt drunk.
He answered by slipping his fingers down to my center, teasing my opening. I whimpered, my thighs widening under his weight.
“Adrien, my flight.”
He pulled away just enough to glare down at me, right before he rolled my swollen clit between his index and middle fingers. I had to turn my face into the duvet to muffle the cry that escaped.
“What about it?” he demanded to know, rolling, rolling, rolling.
“I don't wanna miss it,” I muttered, my hips grinding against his touch.
He chuckled darkly. “What part of hostage situation are you not understanding, Sanchez?”
My breathy laugh quickly turned into another moan as he inserted a finger, then two. His palm moved to knead my button as his fingers fell into a maddeningly perfect rhythm. I was already tingling.
“God, that feels so good.” After this, I was going to get on my knees and lick him all the way to the high heavens. I’d blow his mind through his dick, then run off into the sunset, never to be seen again.
That sounded like a great plan.
“Should I keep going?” he murmured.
“Yes,” I pleaded.
Which was precisely when he stopped.
“What the hell?” I breathed, frowning up at him.
He brought his glistening fingers to his mouth and proceeded to suck them clean. “You taste like a fucking wet dream, Sanchez.”
“Again,what the hell?”
“Again, what part ofhostage situationare you not understanding?” he imitated lightheartedly.
My jaw fell slack. “You're holding myorgasmhostage?”
That evil dimpled grin told me everything I needed to know. “Here's the deal. The last direct flight from Victoria to Toronto is at 9 p.m. If you're still here by then, we'll finish the game.”
