He's on another level. His tongue laps at me like I'm an oasis in the desert, a series of soft, muffled noises accompanying the slow undulation of his hips as I find my rhythm. I've completely forgotten to be self-conscious, and every caress rockets through my heart like an electric shock. I've never felt anything like this. The angle gives him access to every hidden sweet spot that I never knew existed.
With a jolt, I realize I'm going to come.
Fuck, fuck yes, fuck yes. Oh, my God, Adrian …
That's what runs through my head, but with his cock nudging my throat all that comes out is a string of unintelligible noises. Clawing at the sheets, my legs shaking, I come and I come, and I come, longer and harder than I ever have in my life.
He pushes me off while my body's still twitching, and for a moment I wonder if I started accidentally suffocating him. But no, that's not right. I've landed in a heap, more or less on my stomach, and I look at him over my shoulder to see a man possessed. His face is covered in my wetness, his eyes blazing. With a soft grunt, he grabs my hips and lifts me up.
I know what's coming, and I'm beyond ready for him, but I still howl when he spears into me. He feels huge, and considering the baseline, that's saying something. Hard and fast, he fucks me, igniting little aftershocks that spark through every nerve in my body. Now that my mouth is free, I can scream his name. And I do.
He drives deep inside, and stops, letting out a deep groan. The sound breaks at the end as he devolves into pants and curses, and I fucking love it. I fucking love him.
My heart's rabbiting in my chest when I realize I won't be able to stop myself from saying it. Not now. I can't swallow it down. No matter how badly I want to, no matter how badly I know this could go.
Adrian strokes my hair, leans over me so he can kiss the back of my neck. "You're amazing, baby." His voice is just a soft rumble against my back. "I'm so proud of you."
I never thought I'd hear him say that.
Years and years of bitterness rise up in the back of my mind, threatening to poison this perfect moment. Fuck. Fuck. No. A sudden, unexpected sob well up in my chest, and I let out a little sound involuntarily.
"Meg?" Adrian slides out of me, and I whimper at the loss, grateful my face is buried in pillows so he can't see that I'm starting to cry. God damn it. I will not be the woman who cries after sex with her ex-boss. That's just terrible.
"Meg, Meg, look at me." He's coaxing me onto my side, but when he sees my face screwed up with the effort to hold back my tears, he doesn't immediately recoil. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"
I'm shaking my head. Of course that's not strictly true, but he means physically. Right now. That would be a legitimate reason for crying. Not this bullshit.
He brushes my hair back from my face, getting a look at me, like he's trying to satisfy himself that I'm not lying. Then he folds me into his arms, pillowing my head on his chest. "You did so good," he murmurs. "You're perfect."
How can I possibly explain that it's his sweet words that are making me feel this way? The awful conflict inside, the fear that he'll become who he used to, the anger that he treated me so carelessly for so long. I shake my head, vigorously.
"No? What's wrong?" His voice is gentle and coaxing.
"Nothing," I mutter. "Stop talking."
Thank God, for once, he listens.
I give in to it. Huge sobs wrack my body and he just strokes my back, saying nothing, not even making a sound.
He's been silent for a long time, so when he finally speaks up again, I can forgive him for that. "You know what scares me?"
I shake my head, having now devolved into sniffles and the occasional hiccup.
"It scares me, thinking I'll never be able to convince you that I've always cared. That it's not just about sex. I know how it looks, and I know I kicked you around for years because I was a confused and scared little boy who'd never been in love before. But to you, it looks like you get affection for putting out. I can see that, Meg. I'm not stupid."
He sighs, and through the storm of emotions in my chest, one thing pounds loud and clear to the rhythm of my heartbeat.
In love. In love. In love.
He said in love.
"You should run the fuck away from me, and you did, and I was glad. You know that? I hated myself in that moment, hated everything, hated you a little bit, because that's just the compassionate kinda guy I am." He's smirking but there's no joke in it. "But you came back and I couldn't send you away again. I'm not strong enough. I can't resist you, and I never could, and that's why I did my best to keep you at arm's length. Usually when I want a woman, she doesn't see that side of me until much later. When things get ugly. I thought I could show you the ugly side first and you'd stay away. You have to admit, it almost worked."
His breathing is soft and steady, lulling me into a trance with his words.
"I knew if you liked me, even a little bit, if you gave me that look, those eyes, I'd be lost. So I told myself it was all for you, for your own good, instead of just admitting what it really was. I was fucking scared."
His voice gets a little softer, a little lower.
"The idea of never having you? Horrible. But the idea of losing you? Fuck. I couldn't. I'm a spoiled brat, I can't deal with rejection. I had to control it on my terms. And I knew - I knew I was hurting you, I tried to tell myself I didn't, but I did. When I couldn't deny it anymore, I reminded myself I was doing it for you. To protect you. When really I was just trying to protect myself."
He looks at me, and I look at him. My face is streaked with tears and I think about all those times he pushed me to this point at work, when I'd go to great lengths to hide my crying in the bathroom so he wouldn't know. I didn't want to let him win.
Now, there's nothing left to win. He's laid all of his cards on the table and I have to decide what to do with them.
"I'm scared now," he says, quietly. I can almost hear the the quiver in his voice, or maybe that's wishful thinking. "Terrified, in fact. You could walk out on me. You should walk out on me. And I don't know if telling you all this is making that more or less likely. But it doesn't matter, 'cause now you know." He strokes my hair, and he swallows hard, his eyes locked with mine. "I'm sorry, Meghan. I know that's hollow, and it's cheap, and it's too little too late. But I've never meant anything more in my life."
I stare at him for a moment.
"Did you say you'd never been in love before?"
That's the worst possible thing to say, at this moment, but I can't let it go.
"Yeah," he says, softly, warily. He doesn't like that I'm fixated, he wants me to hear what he's saying. And I do. But there's one more thing I need to hear.
"Before what?" I whisper.
He gives me a look. "Don't."
"I'm not playing games," I insist, my hand drifting to the side of his face, more or less without my permission. "I heard every word you said, Adrian. But you glossed over the most important part."
"That doesn't make it better," he says, roughly. "If anything, it makes it worse. Don't let that be the reason why you … "
"It's not," I tell him, stroking his cheek, feeling the beginnings of stubble in the smooth areas scratching against my palm. "God damn, you're almost as stubborn as I am."
He lets out a little almost-laugh. "Maybe that's why we get along so well."
"I like that you challenge me," I said, softly. "The way you do it is pretty fucked-up, sometimes, but I'm better for it now. Once I got some distance, I could see that."
He shakes his head, that little worried stitch appearing between his eyebrows. "I messed you up, Meg. You already told me that."
"I was messed up long before we met." I half-smile. "You've talked to my parents. There's no hope for me to be normal and well-adjusted. I stuck with you because it was exactly the kind of fucked-up I needed in my life. I have a new boss now, you know. He's nice. He's really nice and reasonable and I'm crawling out of my skin in that fucking job. I miss you."
An eyebrow goes up. "A new boss?" he asks, suspiciously.
I giggle softly. "He's sixty-five years old, happily married, with three kids."
"I don't trust him," Adrian growls. "He's got eyeballs, doesn't he?"
Sighing, I scoot in close again. "Focus. Did you hear me? I said I miss you."
"I heard you." He holds onto me tightly, silently, for a moment.
"I don't want you to be an asshole," I tell him. "That's not what I need from you. But I do want you in my life. I want you to push me and challenge me, as long as you let me push back. You need somebody to call you on your shit. I won't be your conscience, because that's fucked-up and condescending and I deserve better than that. But I will stand by your side. And when you tell me to, I'll kneel at your feet. Because I want to. Because I like the way it feels when you look at me that way. Like I'm the only thing in the world that matters."