“It feel good, baby?”
“Mhm, yeah.”
“Yeah?”
She moved her fingers faster, my name disappearing into the air after each breath she took.
“Adelaide?” I became desperate for her touch. To feel her skin on me instead of the taunt of it, the mockery of it. I needed to fucking feel her before she killed me by looking like the fucking goddess she was. Adelaide was too good to me and for me.
I’ll kill every man who's seen her like this.
“Yeah,” she rolled her head back.
“Touch me,” I grunted. “Please.”
She shook her head, despite the marks of red scarring her thighs.
“Tell me then,” she whimpered.
“Anything.”
“Why do you have—oh my god—my birthmark over your heart?”
Low grunts of ecstasy pulled out of my throat, my body shaking as she dragged every bit of pleasure out of me.
Fuck.
Adelaide grounded herself against me faster, harder, arching her whole body until she hit a spot and screamed loud enough to wake up the other side of the world.
She fell forward, her head on my chest.
Wetness coated my lips with the same fingers that were in her pussy. My tongue darted out for a taste.
She tastes so fucking good.
She raised her head, staring up at me with a fully satiated gaze.
Bringing fingers to her lips, she sucked the very place my tongue was.
Fucking hell.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she pulled her finger out with a loud pop.
I couldn’t tell her that the reason I tattooed her birthmark over my heart was because in this life, she’d never be mine. But me? I was unwholly yet completely hers. Always had been.
Her birthmark was the imprint of the kind of love I would have deserved if I was a good man. It meant that if love existed for someone like me, then I’d erase its original definition and replace it withAdelaide.
No one loved as hard as her.
No one cared as much as her.
No one made me feel human as much as she did.
Adelaide was my heart, all the incessant beats in my chest were always hers.
There was absolutely no way I was telling her all that.
Instead, I said, “Unless you plan on fucking me, I suggest you get off.”
