Running a hand over my face, I whispered, “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? Who says I shouldn’t be here?”
“Me. The world.”
“I care about the first. Don’t give a shit about the latter.”
When I stared at him, at his masculine beauty, my heart and something else began to throb.
Fuck.
Just, fuck.
Then, after the initial surge, I could feel my heart start to slow, like the blood in my veins was somehow clogged with desire. Christ, could passion bring on a heart attack?
I didn’t think so, but if it was at all possible, with our bad luck, it would probably happen right here. Right now.
I started gnawing on my bottom lip, nibbling hard on it, trying to hurt myself because that was the only way I could fight this.
Fight him.
I needed the reminder.
Needed to remember why this couldn’t work.
It wasn’t the first time he’d come to me like this, and I knew what he wanted, standing there like he was. Like he owned the fucking ground beneath his feet.
I wanted to turn him away, God, I knew I should, but it was like...
Why should I deny myself?
Why didn’t I deserve the pleasure only he could give me?
I shivered at the very thought of what he created in me, and he saw it.
Of course.
“I want to taste you,” he rasped.
“You have no right.”
“You’re mine,” he carried on inexorably, making me feel like he was just going to stand there, telling me why this should happen until I agreed.
I always did.
Even though I knew I shouldn’t.
Just like that, the thought of the forbidden, of how stupid, insane, this was, had my pussy burning with need.
I clenched down, tightened my thighs together, and because I only wore a pair of scarlet yoga pants and a cream, spaghetti-strap camisole, he saw it.
The bastard.
And he smirked.
Fucker.
He reached down, palmed his dick, and muttered, “You want me as much as I want you.”
This was the Adam I knew. Not the one who stood behind locked doors and whispered his feelings for me.
He took.
He claimed.
And somedays, I hated him for that.
Others, I loved him for it. Fuck, I just loved him.
He was, and always had been, mine.
Only at moments like this was I allowed to stake my claim. To forget about his wife, my curse, the rules of the game.
A game he always brought to a head.
When he reached for the zipper on his fly and tugged it down, my tongue about cleaved to the roof of my mouth. He was a presumptuous schmuck, but he’d read me right. I wanted to moan at the sight of his long, thick cock making an appearance, not knee him in the balls like he deserved. Christ, I wanted to do more than just moan at the picture before me. I wanted that beautiful dick in my hands, in my mouth. The taste of him against my tongue, the feel of him against my skin.
I wanted him inside me. Hot, burning, thick. A brand that would remind me of the bond between us.
When he jacked off a couple of times, I saw the bead of pre-cum at the tip and stated, “I’m not coming to you.”
“You’ll come for me though, won’t you?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Clever word play. So original.”
He grinned at me, looking, ironically enough, cocksure as he began to walk toward me.
He didn’t stop until we were inches apart, and with one hand on his dick, the other snapped up, and I knew what he’d do.
He always did.
He reached for me, grabbing me by the back of my neck and hauling me into him. I let him because I wanted him to do that, because I liked him to have to make the move. He knew I wouldn’t come to him, so he always took that first step, and only then did I let him take me. It was a stupid point of honor, but I had to have some dignity, didn’t I?
And hell, if this counted for dignity nowadays, the world really was fucked.
His mouth went to mine, his lips pressing gently against the soft cushion of my own. Then he flickered his tongue out, letting it touch the tender curve, tracing until I parted my lips to gasp at the nerve endings he stirred to life. He surged inside then, just like I’d thought he would, and I melted into him.
He thrust into me, rubbing his tongue against mine, stealing my breath, robbing me of every ounce of