“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Wanna see you come for me again.”
It’s become glaringly obvious that Adam is the type of man who gets off on seeing his partner get off. I’m already growing hopelessly addicted. Already know that when I go back to LA I’ll lie awake in my bed, craving the weight ofhis body on top of mine, feeling empty without him filling me up.
My eyes close and I focus on the pleasure, building and building but still out of reach.
“Look at me,” he says in a low growl.
I force my eyes back open, willing to do whatever he asks as long as he doesn’t stop, never stops. I’m pinned beneath the hunger and intensity of his stare as I start to unravel.
“I’m so close,” I manage. “I’m—”
Firmer pressure from his fingers, another fluid roll of his hips, and I can’t keep my eyes open anymore as one of the most intense climaxes of my life crests over me. I cry out, nails digging into his skin hard enough to leave marks.
“Eleanor,” he grinds out. “Fuck—”
The rest becomes white noise, drowned out by the blood rushing in my ears. I feel his rhythm falter, his hips stutter as he finishes. His hand shifts to grip my hip, hard.
Our bodies rock together, both of us trembling as the aftershocks course through us, until gradually we both grow still.
I lick my lips and finally let go of Adam to run a hand through my own hair, pushing it off my feverish brow. He pulls out carefully and rolls onto his back beside me.
That was a far cry from the hate fuck Tyler was talking about. And somehow even better than I’d let myself imagine it could be.
“Holy shit,” he says, almost to himself. We lie there panting at the ceiling for a few moments. Adam is the first to move.
He pushes himself out of bed and pads to the bathroom, where he takes care of the condom and quickly washes up atthe sink. I know I should get up, too—to pee, if nothing else—but my limbs are lead and the bed is a cloud and moving is simply not feasible right now.
Adam walks into the room again and pulls on his boxer briefs, and I swallow hard as he crawls back onto the bed. Sweat is cooling on my skin, drawing me out of my post-orgasm trance. I shiver, and Adam grabs the duvet and tugs it over us both.
We lie on our sides, facing each other, heads a few inches apart on our pillow. I bite the inside of my cheek, but I know he can tell I’m smiling. He crooks a grin at me and rolls onto his back, arm out in an invitation. I don’t hesitate to snuggle into the nook of his shoulder. His arm curves around my back and he lets out a satisfied hum, eyes drifting closed. My nose nuzzles the base of his throat. He smells like sunscreen and sweat and something woodsy and masculine that may be his cologne, or may simply be Adam. I run fingertips over the stubble on his neck and jaw, then across his cheekbone, avoiding the bruised area around his eye. His skin is baby-soft.
“Do you moisturize?” I ask, almost accusingly.
“?’Course,” Adam murmurs, his eyes still shut.
I consider for a moment. His complexion isreallynice. “What brand do you use?”
He opens his eyes and tilts his chin down to look at me. “For a.m. or p.m.?”
“… You have more than one?”
“Well, yeah. Morning one has SPF in it. And for night I actually have a couple, one for when I use retinol—what?”
A slow smile has spread across my face. “No, nothing. You use retinol?”
“Yes.” He’s getting defensive. It’s precious. “Do you not?”
“No, I do,” I tell him. “I just don’t know a lot of guys with a whole skin-care routine.”
He smirks and relaxes back onto his pillow. “Five steps. I’ll send you links if you want.”
I bite down on a smile. “Sure.”
The temptation is strong to stay right here, with Adam’s heartbeat under my ear and his thumb tracing a soothing pattern over my hip. But if I do that, it’s entirely possible I’ll fall asleep. Which would be bad. Because I really don’t want a UTI, and also, we have a concert to get to.
“It’s almost seven,” I say, a bit wistfully. “Doors open soon.”
Adam nods. Neither of us gets up.
