Page 63 of Racing Hearts

His hand travels lower, this time sliding into the waistband of my pants. Everything is on fire in the wake of his touch. My hips roll against him, but he refuses to dip lower.

“A couch,” I insist. “Adrian. Maybe the couch?”

His fingers find the edge of my underwear. Gently, slowly—far too slowly—he pulls the fabric aside and slides his finger underneath. I let out a moan. That single touch—that mere breath of contact—it’s enough to loosen my spine. I sink into his arms like I’m boneless, my head pressing into his bare shoulder.

“Kath,” he says gently. “Let me show you the things I can’t do to you on a bed or a couch.”

“Okay,” I manage.

“Yes?” he asks gently, finger running up and down just below my underwear so lightly it’s like I’m being tortured from the inside. “I need an enthusiastic yes.”

“Yes,” I say. “Enthusiastically.”

Adrian smiles and it’s so eager and hungry that my heart stammers again. He presses one hand to my back to lift me from the counter and draws my pants free. Goose bumps rise instantly on every inch of my now exposed skin. He slides down my body and drapes each of my knees over his shoulders.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say again.

Then he grabs me from behind and hitches my hips forward until I’m nearly slipping off the edge of the counter, but I can’t because my legs are anchored to his wide shoulders. He smooths a hand just below my navel, tugging upward and pulling the skin taut. Then he finds me with his mouth.

His nose nudges while his tongue swirls. My hips buck against his face and he presses a palm to my stomach, anchoring me down, so all I can do is writhe against it.

“Adrian,” I whine. I’m whining? I don’t whine. Not like this.

He laughs, and the tip of his nose dances against my nerve endings, and all I can think is that I’ve never had an orgasm with a man’s mouth on me like this. It’s never even felt good like this. It’s always felt like something else on a checklist—one of the bases I’m supposed to cover at certain points, like making sure I get enough fiber in my breakfast. Never like I’m vibrating from the inside.

Just when I think it can’t feel any better—like this is good, but not orgasm good—Adrian hooks a finger inside me. My head falls back and a moan rips out of my chest. I dig my hands into his hair as he keeps moving, alternating short and shallow with long, devastating strokes that draw tingles across my skin. I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff, about to rip apart at the seams. Adrian keeps pumping his finger and tongue—shit, that tongue—holding me right on the edge, like he’s found every single one of my lines and he knows exactly how to keep me on his side of ecstasy. My knees curl against him. Gasps escape between my pants. I haven’t breathed this hard since the last time I was on the erg.

Adrian’s other hand travels higher, hitching my hips into his mouth. My head falls back, spine arching. My gasps turn to moans even as my body blooms with heat and vibration.

I’m close—so close—and Adrian knows it because his finger glides faster now, tongue rolling and swirling in escalating rhythm. I’m cresting like a wave, force and pressure building up in the arch of my back. He adds a second digit. I contract around him—a sudden and completely involuntary seizing that leaves me shaking. Adrian doesn’t back down. It’s like he can sense this crack, this splinter, and he’s wresting me fully open.

His rhythm intensifies, fingers picking up their pace, and tongue moving still faster. I clench again and almost twist away, but his arm around my back tightens, keeping me pressed close. And there’s so much pleasure and vibration and movement and rhythm and—

The wave crashes.

Everything explodes. Lightning bursts in my mind, splitting apart in raining shards of glass. My vision spots and blurs even as pleasure racks through me in glittering confetti. My fingers pull at Adrian’s hair but he keeps moving until I shudder, then murmur out a sigh. Only then does he let me go.

I’m panting and Jell-O and so utterly wrung out that I think my insides might be made of nothing but fizzing bubbles.

Adrian runs his nose across the skin of my thigh and I can feel his smile. “Worth all the sanitizing I’ll need to do tomorrow?”

My brain is still making its way back from somewhere around the ceiling, so for a long moment I’m not even sure I know my name, let alone what needs to be sanitized.

I struggle up to a real seat and Adrian releases my legs. I’m so lightheaded that I nearly lose my balance. He catches me with an arm around my torso.

“I said I wouldn’t let you fall,” he tells me as I slump against his wide frame. “So maybe it’s time for that bed, after all.”

And even though I’m still boneless and wrung out, his words send another lick of heat up my middle. I pull back so I can look him in the eye. “The bed?”

Adrian smiles and kisses me softly. “For sleeping,” he says. “For resting.”

“But…you.”

“Kath.” His fingers flutter against the edge of my face, drawing down to my chin. He kisses the divot of skin between the swell of my cheek and the ridge of my nose. “I’m fine.”

“But,” I say again. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. These aren’t the steps.