He stiffens in my arms and gently extricates himself from my embrace.
“No.” He opens his door, steps inside, and pushes it until there’s only a crack of space open. “Well, okay then. That was fun. Have a great evening. I’ll catch you later.”
And the door closes—right in my face.
Fucker.
I count to three, crack my knuckles, and reach for the knob.
I push through the door. “No. I will not have a great evening. I wasn’t finished talking, you rude asshat.”
Adam whips around, his eyes hardening. “But I am.”
I plop into the only piece of furniture in the room, his recliner. I flip the lever and prop my feet up, lacing my fingers over my belly. “Fine then. I’ll simply hang out for a while until you’re ready to fess up.”
He threads his fingers through his hair. Then he reverses direction, up his neck, over his head, and down his face, smoothing his beard as he goes. “What the ever loving fuck? Why should I tell you anything? I hardly know you.”
I toss one leg over the arm of his chair. Hopefully, he’s getting a really nice view of the bare goods under the tennis skirt I threw on earlier before I ran out for the leash. “Because you’ve seen all of me, up close and real personal-like. And you know me well enough to have made out with my girly parts, so you owe me the same opportunity to see all of you, or at least an explanation as to why I’m not getting said opportunity.”
“Maybe I don’t like my cock sucked.” He crosses his arms.
A laugh skips out of my mouth, followed by a whoop. “Wow. Really? You want to go with that?”
He looks to the ceiling, thin-lipped.
I try to keep my features neutral.
He casts me glances as he paces the room. “You’re unreasonable.”
“I am not. What if—what if you’re hiding some kind of disease? Or worse. If you want to put that thing up against me, I have the right to see it.”
“Disease?” He stops in his tracks. “I—I don’t have any fucking diseases.”
I shrug. “Okay. So what’s the deal?”
He pulls at his hair. “Fuck. Fine. You want me to tell you the deal? You want me to tell you that my cock was almost decapitated in a little village somewhere in the Middle East when an IED went off at an inopportune moment? You want me to tell you that even though the docs did a bang up job sewing me together and were convinced they’d fixed me right up, there’s still a certain amount of…there’s some—fuck—there’s still some dysfunction? That what you want to know?”
My heartbeat is the only sound for the longest time as Adam stares at me. Our gazes lock, and I hold my breath, not sure what to do or say or how to apologize for being such a nosy bitch.
Finally, he moves when he yanks his fly down and shoves his pants open. “See? There it is. You happy?”
I clench my fists. My stomach sinks like a thirty-pound bowling ball in a vat of rotten pudding. I’d give anything to turn back time ten minutes. I could walk away from the door and let him have his peace as I should have done all along.
I swallow, unable to look away from his hazel eyes, even though they’re killing me with their anguish.
He steps closer. “Well, look, damn it. You had to see it, so fucking look at it.”
I close my eyes, but only for a second as I steel myself.
Don’t flinch. Don’t frown. Don’t do anything that will hurt him more. Good Lord, I’m such a raging cunt.
I crack my lids and let my gaze fall to his dick.
Damn.
He’s long. And big. Like huge. Even now, when he’s not quite fully aroused.
A large, jagged scar runs just above his groin from where his left thigh connects diagonally, almost to his right hipbone. Other than that, he looks—it looks fairly normal, other than its enormous size.
I pull my legs together and push down the recliner’s footrest. I scoot to the edge of the seat as I lean forward.
He props his hands at his waist, his gaze darting away.
Curiosity gets the best of me, and I take his cock in my hand.
He sucks in a quick breath as it springs toward me. Like an emergency life raft that’s had its cord pulled, it fills my palm so much that I grab hold with my other hand too, and still, I can’t cover his length.
“It doesn’t look wrong.” I run my hands over his hard heat.
He lets out a huff. “It doesn’t look right.”
I lift it and run the tip of my finger along the thin scar that circles his shaft. A bit of puckered skin sits almost center of the upper side, about two inches from its root.
I skim my finger over the knot. “Ribbed for her pleasure?”
He looks down at me with a dry chuckle. “Cute.”