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-Text from Adam to Amelia
Adam
The night had been long.
The early morning even longer.
And by the time that I finally got off of my shift—four hours late—the last thing I wanted to do was deal with anybody.
But, as I pulled up at my house and saw an unfamiliar car there, I realized that I would have to.
Getting out, I made my way to the front porch, uncertain what to expect—or who, for that matter.
But the moment that I was close enough, I realized that the woman sitting on my porch swing was welcome.
Quite welcome.
“I used my other car,” she said.
“Your car?” I found myself saying. “You didn’t steal it?”
She snorted. “I’ve already had my foray with the police today,” she said. “I don’t need a reason for another one.”
I grunted and took a seat on the porch swing next to her. “Is this your car, or is the one that you drove to the shoot yours?”
I could hear the laughter in her voice when she said, “They’re both mine. I just don’t leave my other baby in strip club parking lots for hours on end. The Chevelle is a weekend driver, or a weekday driver when I’m not working at a strip joint. That baby draws attention—men’s attention—I don’t want that, nor need that, when I’m walking out to my car alone.”
I felt a sudden surge of anger and protectiveness at the thought of her leaving her place of business by herself—at any time of the day or night.
“Don’t do that anymore,” I murmured softly. “The idea of you walking to your car by yourself isn’t sitting well with me.”
She looked up at me as if to say, ‘aren’t you just too sweet.’
“I’m serious,” I said. “Don’t do that anymore. Especially after the shit that went down today.”
She sighed. “Did you know the man I punched was some big ass movie star?”
I grinned. “Actually, yeah. I recognized him the moment that he came in the door. He’s played in a lot of superhero movies lately, and, let me just say, I’m kind of disappointed that he’s a dick.”
Her face turned up toward mine. “You think he’s a dick?”
I shrugged. “Baby, I was with you for hours the other day and managed not to get your fist in my face. And I wasn’t very nice.”
She laughed, then stood up, and straddled me.
A couple of seconds floated by as I thought about the warm, willing woman in my arms, then I decided ‘fuck it.’ I kissed her.
By the time she pulled away, panting and breathless, I was already standing up and making my way to my front door.
“I love that you think he’s a dick,” she said. “I love even more that you think he’s a dick because I wouldn’t punch someone unless they were.”
I got the door open, walked into the living room, and closed the door behind me before replying.
“You wouldn’t do something unless the asshole deserved it,” I said. “I was pretty dirty with you the other day. You could’ve been a lot stingier than you were. I’m sure you can take a lot of shit, but you know where to draw the line.”
She leaned forward and drew my bottom lip between her lips.
I moaned and squeezed her ass, pulling her to me tighter.
She hissed and let out a breath, pulling back and looking down as she said, “That’s not your dick.”
She poked my gun with her finger, and I pulled it out of its holster and set it nicely on the couch arm before propping her up beside it.
“We doing this?” I asked, my belly tight with anticipation.
God, I hoped she said yes.
“I’ve been wanting to do this since I walked in the room for our photoshoot,” she whispered, her eyes hot and filled with need. “I can’t stop thinking about you. When I’m at work. At school. At home in bed. It doesn’t matter where I’m at, I just can’t let this go. I have to see where it leads.”
I moved forward until my face was close to hers, then said, “It took everything I had not to rip my sweatpants down that day, pull out my cock, and rip those tiny fucking shorts at the crotch and drive inside of you.”
She licked her lips, which in turn brought her tongue out to lick mine.
I growled and moved backward.
“Follow me to my room.”
But before she did, she was up, out of my arms, and running toward the front door.
I watched her with a sense of unease.
Was she leaving?
But she’d left the door open, and before I could take a step toward the door to follow her, she came back with something in her arms.
“You have a jar of pickles on your porch,” she said softly, holding up the glass jar.
I grinned and took it from her.
“My mom bought some at Sam’s today. She dropped them off for me.” I looked down at her. “You tried to eat some, didn’t you?”
