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He brushes his fingers over me there, so softly that it feels like an erotic caress, rather than something filthy. I moan, shivering with pleasure, and when Adrik pulls back to look into my eyes the expression in them is so primal that I forget where we are for a moment. He kisses my lips again, as he continues to brush over me, and I feel like I can’t breathe.
His forehead presses into mine, and he watches as I experience everything I never had the chance to feel until now. It’s incredible, addictive. I want more of it, and I want it now– want him now.
I press my hands against his chest, grabbing at him, and he tangles a hand in my hair, whispering into my mouth, “Breathe. Just breathe.” I let out a laugh that is more like a breath, and he grins, kissing my lips again with more persistence.
My legs are shaking, and I can barely stand as the pleasure rises higher, his fingers gathering my wetness, sliding it over my clit, sending bursts of pleasure through me. It’s as if I’ve gone senseless to everything but his touch. He speeds up his pace when I curl my neck back, pressing the back of my head to the mirror. I let out a moan in the heat of my climax— in the throes of my pleasure— and he’s grinning, watching me like this is giving him as much pleasure as it is me.I’ve never come like this before, not from my own hand, not from the toy Olive gave me as a private birthday joke. His fingers are better than all of it, rubbing, sliding, circling, and the orgasm feels like it’s melting every bone in my body, like I’d fall down if he wasn’t holding me up.
When I come down, winded and satisfied, he stops, using both his hands to pull my face close to him, then he gently kisses my lips and I can’t stop blinking in disbelief. Because with the come down— my body easing into a desire to be held and his meeting that desire by pulling me into his arms— I realize what we’ve just done.
He takes my hand and presses it to the hard line of his cock in his track pants, laughing breathlessly, and I straighten up, pulling away just a bit.
“What’s wrong? Was it not good?” He nears me again, not allowing more than an inch between us as he searches my expression.
My brows rise sharply, and I can’t hide the smugness I feel, causing me to temporarily forget my woes. “The great player Adrik is self-conscious about his performance?”
“What? Who told you I was a player?”
“Oh you’re not?” I sarcastically ask and he shrugs with a grin.
“Yeah, I guess I am. But, I don’t really care about that right now.”
“Whatdoyou really care about, Adrik?” I sit down on the bench, still pant-less and in my bra. I think I catch him swallowing nervously as he sits down next to me.
“I dunno.”
“You don’t care about anything?”
“I like winning.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Well, I don’t know how to answer your question, Espie.”
“Espie…” I repeat, and he has a twitch of a smile, but his eyes are sad. Why are they sad?
“I don’t have an answer for you. Not one you want anyway.”
“And what one do you think I want?”
“Something other than the answers I have.”
“Hm.” I don’t know what he means by this because all I meant was what affects him. And if he lost that, would his world never be the same.
“You should take a bath.” He nudges his head towards the tub that’s automatically shut off after filling to the brim.
“We should get back to Olive and Barth before…” I replay the events in my head of what just transpired, and he presses his lips, so the corners dig into his cheeks.
“Okay. As long as you’re not freezing.” He shrugs and I look over at the bulge in his track pants. Did he want me to do something about that? Most of what I’ve been taught by my tutors on mafia marriage is that the man should always come first. If he asks for pleasure, you should be a good little mafia wife and administer that. Now I feel bad, a sickness churning in my stomach as I stand to my feet in a daze.
He pushes himself up from the tub, taking my thong and stuffing it in his pocket. “I’ll take care of this myself,” he says with a wink, leaving the room as I stare after him in shock, imagining exactly what he might be talking about.
An image of him with my wet, silky thong wrapped around his cock, stroking it as he thinks of me and the way I came on his fingers, rockets through my brain and makes me flush all over again with renewed arousal.
What the actual hell is wrong with me?
17
ADRIK
