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“Whoa,” I breathe into his mouth. “Whoa.” I set a hand on his chest, and it’s all solid and muscly. It doesn’t even feel like a real human chest. There is no give there at all.
“Whoa?” He pauses, his lips pressed up against mine. “You’re drunk, I’m sorry. This was wrong.”
“No!” I grip the back of his head. I kiss him frantically, so the crazy wild heat starts ripping through my veins again. I reluctantly pull away to try to explain what I’m thinking. “No. I just, if you’re trying to make sense of the past and put your life in order, this is hardly the way to do it. I’m pretty sure this is exactly the way to make a mess out of a lot of things, mostly right now and the future. And when that comes around, this will be the past, and there will be all this room for regret.”
Adam’s hand sweeps up my bare arm, and a shit pile of goosebumps accompanies the burning touch. I lean in, melting against him. His lips move against mine tenderly, softly, drawing me in, sipping me, and drinking me like I’m an actual beverage.
“You’re really sweet,” I gasp into his mouth. “You shouldn’t say those things about yourself. You shouldn’t even think of them. All those things…I hate how you hurt yourself like that. You’re kind of perfect. And I wish you knew that.”
“Just kind of?”
“Just kind of.”
He deepens the kiss, and I angle my head to let him. I tangle my fingers in his hair—hair that is so freaking soft. I know exactly where he gets it cut because I book the appointments, and I know what product he uses because I order it. I just had no idea it was this soft before. It’s like some really expensive form of exotic silk. Not that I’d know what that feels like. It’s like closing my eyes and running my hands through paradise. Yeah, that’s more apt.
“You know,” I pant, dropping my face so I can pepper his jaw with kisses. There’s some stubble there, just a bit, and it burns my lips in the most tantalizing way. I flip my tongue out and lick him, and yes, it burns too. It makes other things burn, other places, namely my secret places. Damn it, it makes my hoo-ha burn, and I’m not sure that’s good, considering who I’m kissing.
“I know what?” Adam asks huskily right next to my ear. His warm breath makes me shiver.
“You know that being all manly with all those manly skills is overrated. I think you have all the skills that count.”
“You mean putting my tongue in your mouth?”
“I mean how much you care,” I state flatly. I nip the edge of his jawline. “How you’re a decent human being in a sea of overall shittiness.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re not this or that or blah, blah, blah. Well, you don’t have to be that, or this, or anything. I’m sure you’ve had a ton of pressure to succeed in a ton of different ways, but believe me, I think you’re there. Who gives a shit about the rest?”
“Have you ever heard that money doesn’t make you happy?” Adam’s hand grips my waist, and I whimper at his touch. It’s just my hip, but he could go places with that hand, and I’m already ready. Oh my god, am I ready.
“That’s a lie.” I lick at the base of his throat and kiss it tenderly while his hand sweeps up, over the top of my shirt. He stops just shy of my breast. They might not be that big, but they do have lots of sensation, and my nipples, which are hard as freaking rocks, kind of wish he’d continue on with the path he’s plotting out over my body. “I know for a fact that money buys a lot of really enjoyable things.”
“You know what makes me happy?”
I squirm under his touch, trying to angle my breast into his palm. The desperate pounding between my thighs turns into audible thunder. But wait, I think that’s real thunder out there. Either that or my va-jay is very rumbly and loud with her demands. Loud enough for the entire campground to hear.
“What?” I gather my bravery and run my hand up Adam’s arm. It’s not an erotic spot to touch, but heck yeah, it sure feels like it. I love the way his muscles bunch under his skin, the feel of his raised veins, the smooth man hairs, and the satin of his skin covering all the complicated perfection below.
“This. You.” I hear that, and I melt into him a little more. Utter bonelessness is happening. How can it not? That’s a really sweet thing to say. He keeps it going, his voice like velvet, wrapping me up and flowing through me until it feels like I’m going to float away. “The fact that you can talk like this while we’re doing this. That you’re always decidedly you, and you don’t apologize for it.”
“Deep down, I’m insecure, too, you know.” I reach for his shoulder and let my fingers sink into his soft, organic t-shirt. It’s a blend of hemp and bamboo, which I know because I happened to purchase it for him at this little boutique downtown. I was out doing some other errands, and the place looked cool. I saw it and thought he’d like it.
“Deep down, I want you to touch me.”
I choke, but then laughter bubbles up in my throat. I try and hold it back, but of course, it’s impossible. It escapes as a hysterical, giddy kind of giggle. Once it’s out, it’s echoed by a clap of thunder above. This one sounds closer, louder. It echoes through me just like Adam’s words, reverberating straight down to my center.
Is there a storm going to happen out there? I seriously hope not. I don’t think a tent is a great place to be in a storm. What about the storm going on in here? What about Adam’s hand finally cupping my breast or how my body automatically reacts, thrusting itself into his palm. Now it’s not laughter escaping. It’s a low moan of pleasure. Adam finds my nipple and gently circles it with his index finger and plies it with his thumb. How pathetic am I that even through the material of my shirt and bra, I feel like I’m going to die from just that touch alone.
Jesus, it’s been a while.
“Are you hers, or are you yours?” I gasp out. I nuzzle Adam’s cheek with my cheek right after, as a half-apology for blurting something like that out. He’s right. I really don’t have a filter. Or apparently, any common sense. I wouldn’t be surprised if he left right now.
He doesn’t leave, but he does tense. His hand stills on my breast, and his body becomes rigid. Even his breath stops against my cheek. But then he whispers something right next to my ear. “I’m mine.”
I desperately want to ask if he’ll be mine, just for tonight. Or maybe, just for another few minutes because my body is entirely and pathetically, needy and wanton, and since it’s been so long, it will probably take me all of two seconds, one glance, one word, and one touch—not necessarily in that order—to get there.
For once, I swallow back the wor
