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“Who cares. Who cares.”
My fingers are in his hair and when I tug, he swirls his tongue across my nipple. I like the give and take. Maybe he does too.
“I’ll make you come again,” he promises with a heavy breath. “But I need to be inside you.”
I nod because of course he needs to be inside me; this night was never going to end any other way. When he showed up outside my office with sunflowers, he could have just taken me right then against the brick building.
His jeans are unzipped and barely pulled down, just enough for him to position himself beneath me. I push up onto my knees and he brushes across my wetness. A shiver runs down my spine from the sensation and he does it again, and again, coating himself until he’s slick.
My nails are digging into his shoulders. “Adam, stop. You’re killing me.”
He doesn’t stop. He hits my clit and my stomach quivers. I’m going to come again, and he’s not inside me. No! I want to feel myself come around him, so I reach down and position him right beneath me. Before he moves, I sink down. He’s only barely inside, stretching me slowly, but my thighs are burning and my eyes are pinched closed. I can’t focus—I’ve lost track of every sense except for touch. I think I’m begging him for something, but I barely hear my words and I don’t hear his reply. He holds me up, teasing me inch by inch. I don’t think I can wait any longer. Pleasure is already ripping through me and behind my closed lids, I see stars.
“Madeleine?” he asks.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding and the stars lose their shimmer.
“Yeah?”
“Look at me.”
His hands prop up my chin, waiting for me to blink my eyes open. I can’t. Once those light green irises meet mine, he’ll see it all. This is the first date and I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be straddling his lap, digging my fingers into his shoulders, slowly losing my mind.
He leans forward and presses a kiss to my cheek. It’s so romantic and soft. I want to capture it in a mason jar and preserve it for later, for a month from now when Adam and I have dissolved into nothing. I could pry it open every now and then for old times’ sake and feel just like I do in this exact moment. He’s buried all the way inside me and I’m shaking and finally, our gazes meet and there’s no going back. He moves in me, grinding and rolling his hips in such a deliciously erotic rhythm. I think there are tears brimming in my eyes, but I refuse to acknowledge them. Maybe he sees them too because he pulls my face forward and presses his mouth to mine.
In this position, he saves me the trouble of trying to stay composed. My moans disappear on his lips. My body shatters and he holds me together, whispering against my cheek.
Later, when I’ve safely settled back into the passenger side seat and am trying in vain to straighten my clothes, fix my hair, wipe my mouth, he reaches over and grips my thigh. It’s subtle and reassuring.
“Still hungry?” he asks with a lazy little smirk.
It’s the smirk of a man who’s just successfully seduced a woman, the smirk that will keep me up later tonight as I lie in bed, wide awake and buzzing from the best night of my life.CHAPTER TWENTY-ONEMADELEINE“You had sex.”
I drop my muffin. It hits the floor and rolls beneath the table beside ours.
I toss up my hands and glare at Daisy. “You made me lose my muffin.”
“I think you lost something else too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You had sex and you aren’t telling me about it.”
A few seconds pass as I run through the pros and cons of retrieving my muffin. Pros: I wouldn’t lose the $2.70 it cost me, I’d get to eat it, and I could avoid looking at Daisy for another few seconds. Cons: the table is occupied, the muffin is definitely covered in dust and dirt by now, and I would only get to avoid Daisy for a few seconds—not nearly long enough.
“Can we talk about something else?” I ask, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms.
Daisy breaks off half her muffin and slides it over to me on a napkin. It’s a peace offering, and I take it.
“All right, fine. Your brother and I have been having a lot of sex.”
I want to let my forehead fall and hit the table, preferably hard enough to cause some short-term memory loss. “How about we skip over the topic of sex altogether?”
“What? It’s all I think about. Fertility this, fertility that.”
I feel bad for snapping at her. “How’s it going?”
