Adam
Istare at the woman who blew my fucking mind last night—not once but four times. I seriously don’t think we slept but an hour. I replay several moments as my jeans grow tight. Holy hell, shower sex with the blue-eyed goddess this morning topped my list of things I want to do again and again. Fuck. I’m ready to blow breakfast and screw her again in the shower. Something about the feel of water cascading down our bodies while I pump inside her makes me as hard as the steel tabletop separating us.
She peeks over her menu, her eyes alight with pleasure. “Stop staring.” I can’t see her mouth, but I know she’s smiling, and it’s a beautiful picture. I love seeing her sober, happy, laughing, and being herself. I worry though that her new lease on life will be pulled out from underneath her.
It’s only been a week since I rescued her from that creep who I’m praying like a motherfucker we can take down. Still, not a minute goes by when I’m not thinking about her, hoping she’s dealing with her shit without the need to indulge in Molly or any other drugs.
She places the menu on the table, her cheeks a rosy pink.
Man, how did I get so lucky?
“Are you blushing?” I tease.
Not tearing her gaze away from me, she slides down in the booth just a tad before dragging her foot up my leg.
My brows lift. “Be careful, Em. I’m not opposed to taking you right here.” I’m not one to do something as brazen as sex in a hotel diner, but this girl is doing things to me that send delicious shock waves throughout my body and she’s shredding my self-control.
I swear, if my body wasn’t so big, I would get under the table and taste her for breakfast until she was screaming my name.
Fuck. That thought makes my dick harder than it already is.
She searches the empty diner slyly, holding her bottom lip hostage between her teeth.
Except for two waitresses who have been watching us since we walked in, only a handful of patrons are paying us any attention. Most are just enjoying their food.
As soon as her cute foot finds my cock, I’m holding in a groan that would shake the damn windows. My breathing ramps up as I grab her foot, tilting my head, wondering if she’s ticklish. She tenses, and I have my answer.
Before I can follow through, the brunette waitress shows up, snapping her gum, studying Emily then me.
Emily doesn’t move but giggles. Her laugh is infectious, and suddenly, I’m laughing with her. The act is freeing, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not worrying about money or football or even Mom and my sister.
“Are you two lovebirds ready to order?” the waitress asks without batting an eye. I’m sure she’s seen all kinds of things working at a hotel diner.
Emily sits up, regarding the waitress, casually moving her strawberry-blonde locks over one shoulder. “I’ll have two eggs over easy and bacon.”
Chewing that gum like a cow gnawing on cud, the waitress turns her attention to me. “Sir.” Her eyes roam down my chest.
I want to laugh because the woman—who I would guess is in her thirties—is trying to gauge the package in my jeans. Thankfully, my boner is now gone. “Three eggs cooked hard, bacon, sausage, and pancakes. Oh, and a tall orange juice.”
The waitress snags the menus. “Coming right up.”
“You’re going to eat all that?” Emily asks, shock leaping off her.
I sit back. “I worked outa lotlast night.” I give her a cheeky grin. “Growing boy too.”
A wicked glint appears in her eye. “We could work out again.” Her tone is seductive.
I swear I’m in puberty again. I can’t seem to control my fucking erections since she got into my truck to come up to Charlotte.Hell, who am I kidding?I’ve had a constant hard-on since I met her outside the warehouse at that rave.
I lean forward, reaching over to take her hand. “Not to sour the mood, but how are you doing? Any cravings since you showed up at my dorm last week?”
She blows out a breath as if she’s trying not to think of getting high. “I’m not going to lie. It’s been hard. But I’ve managed to keep busy with the English paper I had due and my tutoring job. Not to mention, my mom hasn’t been home all that much.”
I relax against the vinyl booth, seething inside with hatred for the way her mother treats her. When she told me her mother didn’t want her, my heart broke into a million pieces. No wonder Emily turned to drugs. I would too if Mom didn’t want me. I knew my old man didn’t want Phoebe or me, but he took off, and I didn’t have to hear him berate or shatter my self-esteem every day. Yet people handle problems differently. For me, anger always lies under the surface when I think of my old man, and thank God for football. The field is a safe haven for releasing my rage.
She sips on her coffee. “You told me at Carter’s that you hadn’t sold drugs in years. How old were you when you started?”
I glance out the window, thinking back to the first time I’d met Donnie, which seems like a thousand years ago. I swing my attention from a hotel guest loading up his car to Emily, who is eager to hear my story. “I was in the ninth grade. I met Donnie outside my new school. We’d just moved from a big two-story house to a one-bedroom apartment. We were on our last ten dollars.” I suck in a breath.
