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I kissed him.
Well, he kissed me, but I kissed him back. Then we got into his car, and then…black.
I stare at myself under the duvet, and I’m mortified to find that I’m in only my leotard and its snaps are open, revealing my aching pussy. My clothes are scattered by the side of the bed.
Pulling the cover to my chin, I fight the heat in my cheeks as my gaze flits back to him.
Adrian. The devil who found his way into my apartment.
He remains calm—nonchalant, even—as if he didn’t just witness me in that state or watch me orgasm.
I pause, my heart thundering.
Wait.
He watched me orgasm? That was also a dream—it must’ve been. There’s no way in hell I orgasmed in front of him.
Right?
“You were here all along?” I ask cautiously, almost fearfully.
“Correct.”
“How did you get in?”
“You told me the code.”
Why can’t I remember that? And why the hell did I get drunk in the first place? I already know why—to loosen up, but was it worth this price?
“Did something else happen?”
He raises a brow. “Such as?”
“Like… Like…”
“Asking me to fuck you and touching yourself to orgasm when I didn’t?”
I can feel the color drain from my face, and I wish I could become one with the floor.
Adrian rises to his feet and my head snaps up when he stands beside me. “Now that you’re not drunk, I can oblige.”
“I didn’t mean it,” I blurt.
“Didn’t mean it?”
“Yes, those words were meaningless.”
“Do you often touch yourself and orgasm to meaningless words, Lia?” He takes my hand in his, the same one that was between my legs, and lifts it to his face.
Shame heats my cheeks when he inhales my scent deeply into his lungs. “Isn’t that the ultimate contradiction?”
I pull my hand from his, fast and rushed, as if I’m saving it from catching fire.
His arm falls to his side with infinite carelessness, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t leave. He remains there, watching,looming.
My feelings disperse all over the place; my heart is still buzzing, thundering, with nothing to anchor it in its ribcage.
“I don’t want this,” I mutter.
