“Touch yourself.”
My throat dries, pulse picking up speed. But I can’t deny him.
My hands tremble as I slowly lift them off the rim of the tub and brush over my hardened nipples.
He presses his fingers into my thighs, tracing slow, maddening circles. Every time he comes close to where I want him the most, he starts higher again.
The bathroom echoes with the sound of the water sloshing against porcelain and my rapid breaths as I squirm.
“I am a hopeless idiot who still wants you. But you already know that.” He sounds so sad. Like it brings him pain. Like he doesn’t want it.
I have no idea what goes on inside his head. My heart stutters. I want to tell him it doesn’t have to be like that, but the ache is too loud. I’m tired of pretending I don’t need him.
I’m selfish, I want him. All I can do now is beg for his touch.
“Please,” I moan, incoherent. I can’t take the teasing anymore.
He hums, like he’s finally content with the state of desperation he’s put me in. He takes my hands and pulls me out, retrieving one of the large, fluffy towels.
Adam takes his time to dry me, tenderly patting every part of my body.
Then, in a swift motion, he picks me up and places me on the marble counter of the vanity, framed by a gilded three-way mirror.
We’re surrounded by the image of us, me completely naked, him still fully dressed. The contrast, the way I’m revealed to him, fuels the fire burning beneath my skin.
In the silent room, the sound of his zipper echoes, and the anticipation adds to the arousal.
I want to touch him, to feel his hard warmth in my palm, but he holds my wrist.
“Hands on the counter, baby.” He leans in and kisses me. Deeply. His hands trail over my knees, spreading me wider. “You’re going to take what I’ll give you.”
He pulls me closer to the edge, and I feel him. His length slides over my pulsing center, slicking himself. Growing harder with each stroke.
I’m at his mercy, head back, every touch pulling at the tension building within me.
His lips drag along my jaw, and when they finally land on my mouth again, he fills me up in a swift move. It’s so intense that my eyes roll in the back of my head and I latch on to him, nails digging into his shoulders.
One hand anchors my ass, while the other is firm in my hair as he thrusts in an even rhythm, not fast enough, not deep enough, but I can’t protest as he devours all the sounds I pant out with a relentless kiss.
When he touches me like this, it’s the closest thing I’ve felt to forgiveness.
It’s intense, and it pulls at a wire strung too tight. But he won’t let it snap.
I bite his lower lip, and he jerks back.
“I need you to go faster,” I plead.
“We’re not rushing this,” he says, as he drags himself in and out so slowly it makes me want to claw at my skin.
“I thought I didn’t deserve sweet.”
He shakes his head, then drops his forehead onto my shoulder.
“You deserve everything.” It’s muffled, but I still catch the strange inflection in his voice. “Let me show you.”
That breaks something in me. The tender way he treats me makes my heart ache. Tears sting the back of my lids.
I want to cry. I want to kiss him until he believes I want to give him everything, too.
