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Longer.
Shorter.
Up and down.
Left and right.
Slow circles.
Her hips buck against me.
There. That's it.
I try another slow circle.
"Adam." Her thighs fight my hands. "Please."
I scrape my nails against her thighs.
She lets out a soft groan.
I try a little slower, a little faster. Faster. There.
She lets out a low, deep groan.
I want to tease her forever. To keep her in sweet anticipation, in this place where I'm the only thing she wants.
But it's been too long.
I need to be inside her.
I dig my nails into her thighs as I work her with those soft circles. Again and again.
Until she's bucking against my lips.
"Adam."
Another circle.
Another.
Another.
"Fuck." She pulses against me as she comes. She groans my name like it's a curse.
I lick her through her orgasm, then I stand, turn her over, pull her to the edge of the bed.
Her fingers dig into her palms.
Her wrists fight her restraints.
She groans as the fabric digs into her skin.
Being bound turns her on. And she's so fucking beautiful, wracked with pleasure.
I bring my hands to her hips. Hold her in place as I tease her.
She groans as my cock brushes her cunt.
Again.
Again.
With one steady stroke, I drive into her.
Her warmth overwhelms me. It's been a long time. Too long.
My body threatens to take over. Use her for its satisfaction.
That might be what she wants.
But I need to make her come again.
I need to feel her pulsing around me.
She groans as I drive into her again.
A little harder.
Then softer.
Slower.
Then faster.
I test different rhythms until I find the one she needs, then I hold her in place and drive into her with steady strokes.
Her nails dig into her palms. Her toes curl. Her hips buck against me.
She groans as I pin her to the bed.
"Come for me, angel." I slip my hand between her thighs. Hold my thumb against her clit.
Her head falls to one side. Her hair goes with it. She nods into the sheets as she rocks her hips.
Slow circles that drive me out of my fucking mind.
"Adam." My name falls off her lips. "Fuck, Adam." Another slow circle. Then she's pulsing around me, groaning my name as she comes.
Her body pulls me closer.
Deeper.
Pleasure overtakes me.
I rake my nails over her thighs as I come. I work through my orgasm, filling her with every fucking drop.
She's mine.
Maybe not anywhere else. Maybe not any other time.
But here and now.
And the entire fucking world makes sense.
Even as I untangle our bodies and help her clean up.
For a moment, I savor the feeling of her body in front of mine. The long line of her back. The soft curves of her ass.
She sighs as I unbind her.
She reaches back, trying to find a grasp of my skin. I grab her wrist too hard, but that only makes her gasp.
"Not yet." It's the only thing I can say that won't steal the magic.
"One day?"
The thought threatens to overwhelm me. I want her hands on my skin. I want her looking at me the way she does now, like she sees the best in every broken part of me.
But she won't.
She'll see the monster I've become.
And I can't lose this. Not yet.
"One day." When I have to release her.
"Can I sleep with you?" she asks. "Here. In this bed?"
"Yes." The word falls off my lips without passing through my brain. It's not smart. She'll get the wrong idea. Believe I'm capable of loving her.
Her lips curl into a smile. "I'm wiped. I should shower. Can I use this one?"
"Go for it."
She motions to her blindfold.
Of course. "I'll use the bathroom in the hall."
She pulls the blindfold over her head, but she keeps her back to me. "Good night, Adam."
"Good night." I brush her hair behind her ear and press my lips to her neck.
She lets out a soft moan as she leans into the gesture.
Then she releases me. Moves into the bathroom without looking back.
Because she respects my wishes?
Or because she can't bear to look at a monster?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Danielle
Adam's bathroom is as modern and sleek as the rest of the apartment.
It's easy to imagine him here. Stripping out of his suit after a long day of work, savoring the warm water and its perfect pressure, running his hands over his skin as he soaps and shampoos.
It's easy to imagine the two of us here together, his hard, warm body against mine. The streaming water between us. Every inch of his skin on display for me.
Is the blindfold a kink?
Something to enhance my experience?
Or because he's afraid to reveal himself to me?
He's shy about his scars. But I can't tell if it's the circumstance—he got them in the accident that killed his brother—or the scars themselves.
Has he seen mine?
Does he find them equally disgusting?
I run my fingers over the scars on my left forearm. They're faded now. Barely raised. Barely visible.
Did Adam notice?
I hide the newer ones under my watch. Those are impossible to miss. Big, red lines. Raised and angry.
