I closed my eyes and pushed against his hold. His grip tightened in response and my pulse leapt. I ached for him everywhere. “Please, Adam. I want you inside me.”
His hand returned to rest atop my underwear and he began a firm but languorous stroke. My gaze flew to his and he had that calculating stare that had taught me to be wary. “You want this?” he asked, sinking his mouth to my nipple, taking it between his lips, his teeth.
I gasped, throwing my head back, arching myself into him. “Yes. Now. I want you now.”
He tore his mouth away almost violently, eliciting another cry from me. The pressure of his hand on my sex increased. “What about tomorrow? Do you want me tomorrow, too?”
I froze and looked away. Now I understood him. If I was using sex as avoidance, he was using sex to force the conversation. His hand stilled, then slipped inside my underwear. His touch was light but I shivered everywhere, needing more. “Don’t talk about tomorrow,” I whispered, my eyes closing tight.
His fingers slid inside me and stopped again. “I want to talk about tomorrow. And the next day. And the one after that—”
I struggled against his grip on my hands. My eyes shot open and I fixed him with a ferocious stare. “No.”
He moved his fingers again, stroking in and out, and my eyes rolled back, an intoxicating dizziness overtaking me. Trying to concentrate on anything else was like downing three shots of whiskey in quick succession and then walking a tightrope.
“Fuck me,” I whispered.
His hand didn’t stop its tortuous slide inside me. The tension tightened in my belly. I moaned.
“I don’t want to,” he said, his posture stiffening. “Not if I can’t have you tomorrow, too. And the day after. Not if this would be the last time.”
Despite my aggravation with him, his hands were working a spell on me. I was so close, and he knew it. He withdrew his hand, then rolled his hips on top of mine, pinning me down. “Will this be the last time, Emilia?” he asked, his voice husky. His erection pressed against my sex.
Here was my moment of leverage. I’d dictate my terms. He’d have no choice but to abide by them. I couldn’t have planned it better. “I’ll have sex with you again.” I gasped when he moved over me, fitting himself between my legs. “I can be your fuck buddy.”
He thrust against me again, his hand still clamped around my wrists. “But I don’t want a fuck buddy.”
I hesitated, frowning. Wouldn’t most guys be overjoyed about that type of arrangement? He seemed more annoyed than anything else. Confusion swirled inside me. It threatened to rise up and drown out these other, more pleasant feelings. “We could hook up—”
His expression went blank, his voice flat and even. “I want more than a cheap, quick fuck.”
My jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, irritation contending with arousal, threatening to supplant it. “Then you can fucking buy me dinner once in a while,” I ground out between clenched teeth.
Our gazes collided in silent struggle. He released my wrists and I immediately put my hands on his solid shoulders and shoved. He didn’t budge.
“I know what I want,” he said in that firm, charged voice that held an angry undercurrent. “And when I put my mind to something I tend to get it.”
Heat flushed my face and I looked away from his dark, penetrating stare. “I hate to disappoint you, but in this case, you aren’t going to,” I replied.
He studied me for a long moment and I couldn’t take his scrutiny a minute longer. I pushed on his shoulders again and he slid off, unburdening me of his weight. I sat up and ran a hand through my hair while he rolled on his side and watched me.
“What are you afraid of?”
I clenched my teeth. “Who said I was afraid?”
“I’m saying it.”
Stiffening, I bent to snatch up my T-shirt and pull it over my head, turning my back to him in the process. “There are two of us talking here and only one of us is a proven liar. I’d stop talking if I were you.”
I jerked to my feet and began pacing in front of the bed. Adam watched me with enigmatic eyes the color of midnight. “Actually there’s only one of us really talking. Me.”
I smirked, gesturing at him sharply. “The proven liar. That’s just great.”
He shrugged. The movement was stiff, like he was faking it. “You’re the one who’s lying now.”
I halted, turning to him with arms crossed over my chest. “Oh? And what am I lying about?”
“Your feelings. About the fact that this doesn’t bother you. You don’t want to talk because you’re afraid of what this is going to start.”