Chapter 7
This…is not what I expected. She isn’t what I expected. Sweet, responsive, eager. She’s a tough girl, independent, closed off. But once she gave in to wanting this with me, she transformed. Just utterly….changed. Morphed into a voracious, insatiable, erotic woman.
I want more of her; it’s dangerous.
Questions boil inside me, and I know if I ask even one, she’ll freak out and bolt.
So I hold her and keep my questions to myself. My hand skims in circles on her back, and her breathing goes even, her body nestled against mine goes limp. Her hand is on my chest, the fingers curled slightly. I examine her hand. It’s a delicate, feminine hand, but her nails are cut short and filed into perfect curves. Well kept, but not long, and not painted.
My fingertips stutter across her back, between her shoulder blades where I know the tattoo to be. There are bumps where I know the ink is, long raised welts. Scar tissue. I crane my neck and peer at her back. Trace the letters of the text inked onto her skin, and find the scars beneath. The tattoo covers something. The text is large, each letter at least half an inch tall. The scars are significant. I can’t quite figure out what kind of scars they are, though.
And then I notice another tattoo. On her ribs, high on her left side. Even wearing a tank top or strapless dress, the tattoo would go largely unnoticed unless you were looking for it:
…The safe place…
My fingertips skim the inked letters running on a slight diagonal from just beneath her armpit toward her back. And yes, beneath this tattoo as well is more scar tissue. The same as on her back, raised welts, rough, ridged lines of an old scar of some kind.
Jesus. What has this girl endured?
She makes a sound low in her throat, a sleepy murmur, and rolls away from me. And as she does so, I see two more tattoos done in the same neat but simple script. One is on the opposite side of her body as the one under her armpit, on her right side low by her hip, again running on a diagonal from just above the hip upward and toward her back:
…Where we can go as we are…
And yes, beneath that as well is more scar tissue.
My throat seizes, my heart clenches. I need to know.
The last tattoo is on her left leg, on the outer side of her thigh, high up, almost tucked under the swell of her buttock. The scar tissue here is thicker, harder. The text yet again runs on an angle, from the outside of her thigh to the inside, slanted high to low:
…And not be questioned.
Des rolls again, and I see a fifth tattoo on her right leg, on the front of her upper thigh where it’d be hidden by all but the shortest skirt or shorts. It’s the smallest, and it wraps from the front of her thigh around to the side, and this one is straight, not angled like the others:
~ Maya Angelou
I snag my phone off the side table and bring up a Google search bar, type in the beginning of the quote, and it auto-fills the rest. I click the first link and read the quote in its entirety: “The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” —Maya Angelou.
The ache for home.
The scars are all on her back and legs, angled in such a way as to suggest that whatever was striking her to create the scars was coming from above, and she was turtled to protect herself from it.
I can’t help tracing the text on her thigh, the ridged tissue beneath the ink, and she stirs, blinks, sees where my fingers touch, and I feel her tense.
Her eyes go wide, the rest of her expression carefully blank. “Adam, I—the tattoos are—”
I touch her lips with a finger, stopping her. “Des, I told you I wouldn’t ask. I’m not asking. All I’m going to say is, I would be honored to know more about you. If you feel like sharing, I will listen and I promise you I won’t judge.”
She blinks hard. “Fuck. Adam, it’s not that simple. I can’t just…share. It’s nothing like that. It’s too much to…even know where to start.” She sits up, holds the sheet against her chest, and I feel her withdrawing emotionally. “And besides, you’re leaving…what, tomorrow? Monday?”
I sigh. “Tomorrow.”
She glances at the clock, which reads 12:15 a.m. “And guess what? It’s tomorrow. So there’s no point in getting into it.”
I nod, although something in me rebels against the idea of just letting this go so easily. “I get it.”
“And it’s not like you’ve told me much about yourself either. That’s not what this was, Adam. It’s not what it’s ever going to be. I know that. I’m fine with that.” She scoots toward the edge of the bed. “I should go.”
I grab her wrist, stop her. “Don’t leave. Just stay here for tonight.”
She neither pulls away nor returns. “Why?”
I release her wrist and slide my palm up her forearm, crawling across the bed toward her, and then bring my hand from her bicep to her shoulder to the back of her neck. “Because I’m not done with you.”
She leans toward me, by accident maybe, automatically. “You’re not?”
I kiss the base of her neck, bury my fingers in her thick black hair and tug her head back to bare her throat, kissing her there. “Nope. I haven’t had my fill of you yet.”
What I don’t say is that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get my fill. I trail a line of small feathery kisses up her throat until I reach her chin, and then her mouth, and then I’ve got her tongue between my teeth and my palm on her inner thigh, reaching in and around. She gasps into my mouth as I find her wetness and heat with my fingers. Another gasp, and then her hand skates across my stomach and finds my cock.
Her eyes flick open, and I see her gaze flit around the room, seeing the extra condom I tossed onto the bedside table. She pushes me down to the mattress, slides astride me and reaches for the square packet. She rips it open with her fingers, pulls free the circle, tosses the empty packet aside. Sitting on my thighs, she toys with the condom, rolling it one way and then the other until she determines which way it opens. Taking my cock in one hand, she fits the circle around the tip and rolls it down one-handed, then uses her other hand to push it down the rest of the way.
I rest my hands on her hips, deciding to let her do what she wants, for now. She leans forward, and her tits slide across my chest, soft and warm against my skin, and her weight presses me down against the mattress. Her lips touch my shoulder, my chin, my jaw, the corner of my mouth, and then we’re kissing and my breath is gone. Her kiss is sweet, slow and deep. One hand supports her weight, a palm in the mattress beside my ribs, another smoothing over my chest as we kiss. She inches forward a bit more, and her free hand sneaks between our bodies. She doesn’t break the kiss as she guides my cock to her entrance, no, she deepens it, opening her mouth to mine and demanding my tongue. I feel her labia part and accept the head of my cock, and then she pauses. Breaks the kiss, sighing quietly, and then her forehead touches my chest and she’s watching our bodies join as she flexes her hips downward, taking me deeper oh so slowly, centimeter by centimeter, and with each increment she takes short shallow breaths in and out, and she’s watching, watching my cock enter her.
“I don’t know how you fit, but you do,” she whispers.
“Does it hurt?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. Well, yeah, a little, but it’s good. Oh god, yeah, it’s good.” She’s fully impaled on me now, her ass nestled against my hips.
Both of her hands go to my chest, supporting her weight on me, and I use my own hands to caress her lush tan skin everywhere I can reach, hips, thighs, ass, back, and then I cup her heavy tits as they sway above me, and she gasps when my fingers find her nipples and pinch and roll and twist. She rolls her hips, keeping me deep. Slow, driving, grinding sweeps of her hips, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide and fraught on mine, her hair a thick black curtain over one shoulder.
Her head hangs, then, and she finally lifts up off me, and her teeth catch at the corner of her lower lip. God, I love that, the
way she bites that one corner of her lip, like she wants to say something but is too overwhelmed to form words. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, her pussy is tight, so tight, so incredibly tight, squeezing me like a vise, so hot and slick and perfect that I can’t take it, can only growl and groan as she plunges her hips down now and I’m pushed deep inside her and we both cry out loud.
“Shit, Adam. Jesus, it feels so good.”
“Des. Don’t stop. Let me feel you come, just like this.”
She’s finding a rhythm now, rising and sinking, and I’m tensed and tautened, holding it back. I’m not close yet, but I can feel it rising and she’s just now finding her rhythm, gasping with each plunge downward. And now she’s moving a little faster, and I’m gritting my teeth and moving with her, thrusting up as she sinks down on me, and I can’t look away from her. Her tits are bouncing and swaying, her nipples hard and thick, and her hips are soft and generously padded with sweet silky flesh, and her ass is slapping against me and her lips are stuttering across mine, sloppy kisses exchanged as she begins to lose control.
I hold back, because I want to watch her come apart, want to see every expression, read every emotion, glean whatever I can from the way she comes for me.
“Adam, oh my god, Adam, I’m coming!” She frantic now, her face pressed into the crook of my shoulder, her fingers clawed into my pectoral muscle, and her hips are driving relentlessly, hard and fast and wild. “Oh god! Oh fuck, oh…”
“Look at me when you come, Des,” I order, taking one hand from her hip to tilt her chin up. She resists, burying her face deeper in my neck, so I grab a handful of hair near her scalp and tug gently but insistently as she shrieks wordlessly. “Look at me, babe, let me see those big brown eyes while you come.”
She brings her head up, and she can barely keep her eyes open, but she fixes them on me and her mouth is wide and her fingers dig almost painfully into my chest, and she’s grinding on me, her pussy sliding wet and slick up and down on my cock, which throbs with the need to come, but I hold it. I hold it.
And she comes. Lifts up, almost losing my cock in the process, and then slams down. Gasps. Lifts up, hesitates, and slams down again, and this time she actually screams, a loud, rasping sound of release.
I use that moment to flip her off me, levering her onto her back, and then guiding her onto her stomach. I settle behind her, lift her up by the hips, and she moves with me, bringing that big fine round ass of hers to face me, baring it for me, presenting it to me. I palm it, taking a second to appreciate it, and then I move to my knees, reach between her thighs to find her opening and guide my cock in. I’m throbbing painfully, aching, thick and fighting the urge to come right then. She rests on her shins and elbows, and sucks in a sharp breath as I slide fully into her in one smooth thrust.
She lets the breath out slowly and shakily as I pull back slowly and push in even more gradually. I want to take my time with this. Make it last. Savor it. I hold her ass in both hands, caressing each cheek with my palms. I can’t hold back any longer, then. It feels too good. She pushes back against me as I thrust slowly, rhythmically. Again, and again. And now I feel the come boiling in my balls, feeling desperation welling up inside me, and I’m moving faster.
Des is moaning too, now, and the sound of her voice, the vocal evidence of her enjoyment of this has me driving harder, deeper, and that only makes her louder, and I’m close to losing it. She stretches out her hands in front of herself, grips the sheet in both fists, and then snakes one hand between her legs.
“Yes, Des, touch yourself. Touch your clit while I fuck you.”
“Are you gonna come soon?”
“Yeah, babe, I’m close…I’m right there.”
I take the crook of her hips in my hands and pull her back into my thrusts, and now the room is filled with my grunts of exertion and the sound of my thighs slapping against hers, my hips and stomach smacking against her ass as my cock fills her. I feel her fingers moving, and now she’s whimpering in time with me, her hips meeting mine thrust after thrust.
“Now, Adam, come now. I’m coming again too. Oh god, oh my fucking god…” Her voice goes hoarse and she presses her torso to the mattress, and I slide even deeper.
“Oh fuck, Des. So good. I’m coming so hard.” I grunt the words, bite them out, and then I can’t form words because I’m exploding and she’s pushing back hard and fast into me.
My entire body seizes and it feels like fire pours through my veins and coalesces in my gut, shooting out of me, emptying me. Her orgasm has her shaking and growling and grinding her ass against me, and I feel the walls of her pussy clamp down around my cock, and I’m still coming, unable to control or temper the driving slam of my hips. She takes it, takes every hard crash of my body into hers, and moans in pleasure for more.
God, she’s heaven, she’s shaped perfectly to take all I’ve got and she loves it, needs it, wants it. That’s what I feel coming from her, in that moment, and I wonder if I’ll think differently when the moment is gone, when our heat is spent.
She falls forward and I let her, pull out and take a moment to rest before stripping the condom off and cleaning myself. When I get back to the bed, she’s lying on her back and watching me, her eyes going to the bounce and sway of my softening dick, then to my eyes.
Neither of us speaks as I cradle her against me. She settles in easily, naturally, fitting into the sheltering nook of my arms and we are like two pieces of a puzzle fitting together.
She falls asleep quickly, and I’m not far behind.
* * *
I’m panicking. God, am I panicking. Adam is up and about already, even though we were up till after one this morning and it’s barely eight. He’s ordered breakfast and he doesn’t know I’m awake.
I don’t want to go home. I don’t want him to go back to L.A. I’m watching him through slitted eyes, and my heart squeezes. Last night he was so attentive, so gentle, so sweet. Until the end, when he started to lose it, and then he was powerful and primal, and that was honestly the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced, the way he flipped me over and positioned me the way he wanted, and just…took me.
I wouldn’t mind letting him have his way with me more often. I would play games with him, play hard to get and make him take me. I’d push him around and take him for myself, when I wanted.
But that won’t happen.
He’s leaving, and in a week I’ll be headed back to Detroit for morning classes and late-night classroom cleaning. And we’ll never meet again. This is all I’ll have with him, so I’m trying to absorb it all. Soak up the hard lines and angles of his body, the heavy planes of muscles, the slabs of masculine strength. The intelligent pastel green of his eyes, the gentle power of his hands.
The way he kisses me, like he’s trying to devour me, and drown in me, and subsume me in his essence all at once.
The way he moves into me, slow and careful until he can’t hold back and loses control and turns into a huge hard and hungry beast, a beast that is sexy and dominant and exotic and headily addictive.
I’m so fucking sore. Or…sore from fucking. My thighs ache, the muscles burning from exertion. My sex is what hurts the worst, though. It’s a sensation I can’t really describe, even to myself. It’s a soreness, a stretched-out feeling, a post-fullness burn…and I love it. It’s an incredible sensation.
I’m not a virgin any longer.
I want to squeal and kick my feet, especially when my eyes land on the extreme hotness that is Adam Trenton, shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts low on his hips. There’s the V of abdominal muscles leading down to his cock, and god, I want that again. See it. Feel it.
Maybe even taste it.
My heart flips and flops and my stomach goes weightless and my mind whirls. I can’t believe the past two days have been real. That I’m really here, naked, in Adam Trenton’s bed. That we just had mind-blowing sex…
Mind-blowing for me, at least.
Which makes me wonder what he thinks
about all this. If this is par for the course for him, or if this was as expectation-shattering for him as it was for me. I mean, I know I’ll never be the same again.
My heart squeezes, and I force myself to keep calm, to breathe slowly and push the glut of emotions away. It was just sex. For him, and for me.
Just sex. Don’t get attached. You know nothing about him, or he about you. He owes you nothing. You owe him nothing.
My entire being rebels against that line of thought, though. I want it to be more. I want him to want it to be more.
A knock at the door has me shutting my eyes and feigning sleep. Adam answers the door, speaking in low tones. The door shuts again, and I hear his weight on the steps leading up to the bedroom.
“You can get up now, Des.” His voice comes from beside the bed.
I sit up slowly, bringing the sheet with me, clutching it to my chest. His eyes are all over me, taking in my hair—which must be a rumpled rat’s nest—and my eyes and my shoulders. “Hey,” I say.
He has a mug of coffee in each hand, one black, one creamed to a medium khaki color. “How do you like your coffee?”
I grab the one with cream. “This have any sugar in it?”
He shakes his head. “No, you want some?”
I take it and sip. “No, thanks. This is perfect.”
He sits, drinks his coffee, and watches me drink and watch him. It’s a very meta moment. “Wasn’t sure what you like for breakfast, so I got a little of everything. Bagel, an omelet, French toast, scrambled eggs and bacon, some rye toast.”
I grin at him. “French toast and bacon.”
He sets his mug down on the bedside table, goes down to the foyer and picks through the metal lid-covered plates, transfers bacon from one plate to another, the toast and the omelet to a second, and carries both plates up to the bed. He arranges them on the foot of the bed, and then returns for silverware, butter, syrup, and the carafe of coffee. He settles on the bed next to me, reaches for the plate with French toast and bacon on it and hands it to me, along with a fork and knife, and then he takes his plate.
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