by Ember Cole
“I built that.”
“Really?” I gape at him. “Wow, you’re really talented.”
“Thanks.” There’s something oddly shy in his expression, and I wonder if I should stop this line of questioning or press for more. I’m wildly curious about what makes Adam Black tick.
“How about you?” he asks. “What are you studying?”
“Business administration.”
He squeezes my thigh. “Why doesn’t it surprise me you want to be the boss?”
I smile, even though I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult. He must read my mind, because his palm curls tighter around my thigh. “That’s sexy,” he says. “Beauty, brains, and ambition?” He whistles low and gives me a smile that sends shivers up my arms. “Like I wasn’t already half in love with you.”
He’s totally kidding, I can tell from his tone. Still, the words make my insides feel a little gooey. I fumble around in my lust-addled brain for some neutral topic of conversation. Something besides how badly I want to kiss him right now.
“What did you want to ask me earlier?” I try. “You said you had a personal question?”
He laughs. “Glad you remembered. I’m easily distractible.” His hand skims my thigh, fingertips drifting into the space between them, and I shiver. “I was just wondering what the hell you’re doing on Tinder. I’m not judging. It’s cool if you’re just looking for hookups, but it seems like maybe that’s not all you’re after?”
I lift my eyes to his, and my heart melts at the earnestness of his expression. “I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “Hookups are fun, I’ll be honest—”
“No argument here.” The flash of heat in those brown eyes shoots straight to the junction of my legs. His palm shifts on my thigh, and I will him to inch higher.
“But yeah,” I admit, “I wouldn’t mind finding a real connection.”
Adam smiles, and my breath catches in my throat. Is it dumb to admit that right now, this moment, is the most connected I’ve felt to anyone in a long time? I’d never say it out loud, but I feel it. Does he?
“Obviously, I’m not looking to get serious right now,” I blurt, then want to kick myself. I’m on a roll, though. “It’s been, what? Two hours since I broke up with CJ. The last thing I need is to go jumping into some new relationship before I sort out my shit.”
God, Bekka, shut up.
He probably thinks I’m nuts or that I’m a conceited bitch for thinking he’d read anything into what happened. I can’t tell from the look in his eyes what’s going in his head, but the smile he offers seems genuine.
“I hear you,” he says.
“Okay.”
The silence stretches out.
“Do you have brothers or sisters?” My question leaps out without forethought, a glaring reminder of how uncomfortable I am with silence.
He looks at me like he knows that’s not the real question I want to ask. That he hears the warring voices in my head screaming, Find out what makes him tick, and Just fuck him senseless.
“No brothers and sisters,” he says. “Just me. Me and my father.”
“No mom in the picture?” It’s a nosy question, but the intimacy of this space—not to mention the fact that he’s gone down on me—makes me feel like it might be okay to ask.
“No mom in the picture,” he repeats. He glances away, and I half expect him to start messing with the elevator controls again.
But he stays seated and keeps his hand on my bare leg. “My mom left when I was in first grade. I get a Christmas card once a year, but I haven’t seen her since I was ten.”
“Wow. That must be hard.”
“It was when I was a kid,” he admits. “I grew up on military bases where a lot of the other kids had stay-at-home moms who came to school plays and baked pies and shit. I had a dad who was more comfortable barking orders at a platoon than praising my finger paintings.”
I’m not sure what to say to that. “Being a single dad had to have been rough.”
“For sure. I’m not knocking my old man. He did the best he could, you know?”
I nod, glad to hear him say that. If I thought Kymber was dating a jerk, I’d have to step in. But Daniel’s never been anything but good to her. I’m glad I don’t have to worry.
“I can’t imagine being without my mom,” I admit.
“You’re close to yours?”
I nod and lift a hand, hesitating before I run a finger from the tip of his long middle finger to the outside of his wrist. I’m trying for casual-cool, but he probably knows I just want to touch him. “I talk on the phone with my mom almost every day,” I tell him.
“Every day? What do you talk about?”
I shrug, trying to think of something specific. “Everything. School. Work. Dates. That sort of thing.”
“Everything?” He lifts an eyebrow, and I find myself stifling a laugh.
“Okay, not everything. I might gloss over some details.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I’ll probably tell her I got stuck in an elevator today, and maybe that the super’s son helped get me out.” The smile I slip him is deliberately flirty. “But I probably won’t mention you also got me off.”
Adam grins back, sending sparks of electricity crackling between us. “Fair enough.”
“My parents live upstate,” I tell him.
“They’re still married?”
“Yep. My dad’s a little stoic and not really big on phone conversations, so it’s my mom I talk to the most.”
“That’s really cool.” He smiles, and I can tell he means it. “I always wonder what my mom is like.”
“You don’t remember her?”
“Not well. I was six when she left, so too little to have a lot of clear memories. The visits petered out after that, and then nothing since I was ten.” He studies the back of his hand, looking a little lost. “I might not remember her at all if I didn’t have pictures.”
“Do you look more like her or your dad?”
“A little of both.” He shrugs and rubs his palm in a circle on my thigh, like he’s stroking a cat. “My dad says I remind him of her.”
I can’t tell from the tone of his voice if that makes him sad or happy. “Is that a good thing or—?” I trail off there, not sure that’s a sentence I should finish.
Adam shrugs. “I’m not sure, actually. I know I’m not the easiest guy to deal with.”
“You?” I blink at him. “You’re quite possibly the nicest, most easygoing guy I’ve met. Your dad is a little scary, but everyone in the building I’ve talked to loves you.”
God, it sounds like I’m laying it on thick. I’ve known him all of, what, forty minutes? Still, he’s one of the sincerest guys I’ve met in years. That probably says something about my previous taste in men, but it’s true. Adam doesn’t have to be sitting here making small talk with me. He could have bolted by now, just slipped out the top of the elevator and left me to wait it out alone. There’s nothing requiring him to open up about his childhood or listen to stories about my family, and the fact that he’s doing it says a lot about his character.
“I’m not sure about the easygoing thing,” he says. “I can be a little high-strung.”
I stick out my hand, and Adam takes it without question. “Nice to meet you,” I say. “I’m the queen of high-strung. Maybe that’s why we’re clicking?”
He laughs and squeezes my hand, making me flush unexpectedly. I remember where those fingers were just a few minutes ago. Adam doesn’t let go of my hand right away.
“I guess I’m the king, then,” he says. “Together we’re royally intense.”
“We’re passionate,” I tell him, conscious of the fact that his hand is still wrapped around mine. “Zealous. Exciting.”
He laces his fingers through mine and grins. “I like the positive spin. And the vocab. Did I mention smart girls are hot?”
His words are flirty, but there’s still a hint of vulnerability in his eyes.
Not a lot, but enough that I glimpse the insecure little boy he must have been. How shitty would it be to have a mother walk out without a second thought? That has to do a number on a kid, and my heart aches for him.
An electric current chatters up my arm, and I’m conscious of the fact that our fingers are still intertwined. Conscious of how badly I want to hug him and fuck him all at the same time. It’s a strange sensation, and I’m not sure what to do with it.
So I go for the middle ground.
I lean closer, cupping the side of his face with my hand. I give him a chance to draw back, and when he doesn’t, I kiss him.
He stiffens at first, and when he drops my hand, I think he might bolt. But no, he brings both hands to the sides of my face, deepening the kiss with an intensity that sends my heart pounding. It’s nothing like our frenzied kisses earlier. This one’s soft and gentle, quivering with an unexpected tenderness.
He pulls me onto his lap and slides his fingers through my hair. My skirt hikes up around my hips again as I bring my other hand to his left cheek, my palms skimming the rough stubble on his face.
The sweetness abruptly turns urgent. The kisses get deeper; the whimper in the back of my throat turns into a moan. I grind against him, not sure how a gentle kiss could become something this intense in the space of a few heartbeats. It’s like someone lit a match and tossed it on a puddle of gasoline.
I press my body against his, and he’s hard in an instant. I rock against his erection, panties still damp from our earlier encounter, moaning as the friction sends bolts of pleasure straight through my core.
Holy God, this feels good.
His hand skims down my back to cup my ass, pressing me against his cock. It thrills me knowing we’re on the same page, that he wants me as much as I want him. That we can both go from zero to fuck me in three-point-six seconds.
“God, Bekka,” he growls as he tears his mouth from mine. His eyes flash with the same heat I’m feeling. “What is it about you that drives me fucking insane?”
I laugh and circle my hips again, earning a low groan of pleasure. “I feel the same way,” I murmur. “I want you so damn much.”
“Take whatever you need,” he says. “Anything.”
“Anything?”
He nods, still holding my gaze. “Use me however you want.”
He lunges for my mouth again, a return to our fierce brand of kissing. I tip my head back and he trails a long, languid row of kisses down my throat, setting a thousand tiny nerve endings on fire. His hair smells like cedar shavings and mint, and I swear to God I’ve never been with anyone who can work such magic with his mouth. It’s like he’s everywhere at once, kissing my earlobe, my throat, the edge of my collarbone.
I drop my hands from his face and find the hem of his shirt. Is there any way to yank it off without breaking the kiss? Deciding not to risk it, I grab for his fly instead, desperate to feel him inside me.
I know he wants it, too. I can tell from the way his finger finds the edge of my panties, slipping inside the damp lace. I work his cock free from his fly, desperate to get my hands on all that hardness. To get these jeans off him.
I draw back and meet his eyes, then wonder if I look as lust-dazed as he does. “Condom,” I breathe. “There’s one in my purse.”
He doesn’t hesitate. Just snatches my black leather clutch and yanks open the zipper, spilling the contents onto the carpet. My heart thuds in my ears, and the pulse between my legs reminds me how urgently I want him.
His hand comes up with the foil-wrapped ring and I swear to God I almost weep with relief. He yanks his fingers from between my legs and grabs the wrapper to tear it open.
I suck in a breath. This is going to happen. It’s really going to happen.
Clang-clang-clang!
I gasp and clutch the front of his shirt as the elevator jerks. The condom falls to the floor, and Adam grips my shoulders to keep me from tipping off his lap.
I look up to see the control panel blinking like a malfunctioning Christmas tree, and suddenly we’re surging down. Not falling, just moving like a normal elevator.
It’s my stomach that’s dropping.
“Oh,” I manage. “I—uh—I guess we’re moving.”
His jaw goes rigid, and he glances at the door. “I could break it again.”
Jesus, that’s tempting. We were so close. Just millimeters from mind-numbing pleasure for both of us.
But no, my head is clearing. It’s still filled with a spicy soup of lust, but it’s sinking in that I came this close to using this hot, selfless man for rebound sex.
You’re no better than the assholes on your app.
A voice in the back of my head whispers that it wouldn’t have been using him at all, but that can’t possibly be right.
I scramble off of his lap, but Adam makes it to his feet first. Catching me by the hand, he pulls me up beside him and looks into my eyes. “You okay?”
I can’t do anything but nod numbly. He starts fastening his jeans, and I realize my clothes are totally disheveled. I make a hasty production of smoothing my skirt and shifting my panties back into place. Then I yank the elastic from my hair and redo my ponytail so I don’t look like someone who just got fucked in an elevator.
Almost got fucked. You were this close.
I look at Adam, still trying to wrap my head around what just happened. What almost happened. It would be wrong. It would be a mistake.
Right?
I’m honestly not sure, and I can’t tell from how he’s looking at me whether he’s feeling the same sort of conflict.
But we’re spared from awkward conversation when the elevator doors swish open. I blink, surprised to see we’re at the lobby. There’s that desk, the desk I love so much, made by the hands that were groping me ten seconds ago.
My head goes hazy again, and I return my gaze to Adam’s. What is he thinking?
“Well,” he says slowly. “That was an adventure.”
Does he mean the sex stuff or getting stuck in the elevator? Does he regret what happened, or does he want to pick up where we left off?
What do I want?
I force myself to nod, even though I’ve already forgotten what he said. “Thank you,” I manage. “For—uh—”
For keeping me company? For rocking my world?
The rest of that sentence takes absurd forms in my mind, so I clamp my mouth shut and settle for leaving the rest unspoken.
“We should probably get off,” he says softly.
“Um—”
“Off the elevator,” he clarifies, probably realizing the direction my lust-pickled brain just veered.
“Right.” I clear my throat. “We totally should.”
Neither of us moves.
My heart is pounding, but it has nothing to do with my near-death experience. Nothing to do with the thrill of being rescued or the relief of being free to go after an hour of entrapment.
Adam is the first to speak. “Come on,” he says, holding out an arm. “Let me walk you to your apartment.”
6
ADAM
I say a silent prayer of thanks that my hard-on vanishes fast as I shake hands with the elevator repair guy in the lobby. “I appreciate the quick work,” I tell him, not appreciating it much at all.
If he’d stalled just a little longer, I’d be balls-deep in Bekka right now.
“No problem,” he says. “It’s gonna be a couple more hours before we finish up here. Better keep it closed down for now.”
“Can do.”
I pull open the top drawer on the desk, relieved to see it’s still stocked with the paper and pens I stuck there when I hauled it down to the lobby. I uncap a Sharpie and scrawl a few quick words:
Closed for maintenance. Please use stairs.
“There’s tape in here.” Bekka bends down to rummage through the middle drawer, and I watch the elevator guy’s mouth fall open. He stares like he’s never seen a perfect ass before while Bekka continues chattering abou
t office supplies. “I stuck it in here when I was working on a project last week.”
She ducks even lower to dig through the bottom drawer. Elevator guy’s eyeballs nearly fall out of his head as Bekka’s short skirt rides up the back of her thighs. I shoot him a death glare, then step into his line of sight. He looks at me for a second, then nods. That’s more like it.
Bekka straightens, oblivious to the machismo bullshit that just went down behind her. She slaps a roll of Scotch tape into my hand and smiles. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
I tack the sign to the door and press it into place, then turn back to the repair guy. He has the good sense to keep his eyes off Bekka this time.
“Want me to throw the bill in the mail or bring it up?” he asks.
“Mail’s fine. Thanks.”
I turn back to Bekka and offer my arm again. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s get you home.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” She shakes her head and gives me an incredulous smile. “You’re really walking me to my apartment. I thought you were joking.”
“Why would I be joking?”
“I don’t know. It’s daylight, I guess. Seems pretty safe.”
I shrug and look down into those bright green eyes. “You look a little shaky. I want to be sure you get home okay.”
“God,” she says, looping her arm through mine and giving a soft squeeze. “I can’t remember the last time a guy walked me to my apartment. Is this what it’s like hanging out with an actual gentleman?”
I snort, feeling a faint stab of guilt that she’s giving me more credit than I deserve. Truth be told, I’d gouge out my right eyeball to spend five more minutes with her. She pats the desk like she’s saying goodbye to it.
“This is amazing,” she says. “I had no idea you built it. I sit here all the time doing homework.”
“Glad it’s getting some use,” I say. “I thought it would just be a dust magnet when I brought it down.”
“I use it constantly.” Her cheeks flush, and I wonder what that’s about.
Then I remember my words in the elevator.
Use me however you want.
