When He's Dirty (Walker Security Adrian’s Trilogy #1) - Lisa Renee Jones Page 0,36
aside and my fingers slide into the wet, slick heat of her sex before my cock follows. And holy fuck, she feels good, hot and tight and soft in all the right places. I lift her and her arms come around my neck. I’m not doing this here, with her against the hard-ass wall. I carry her to the living room and lay her on the long lounge chair, going down with her, on top of her. And that’s all the willpower I have. I thrust into her, my hand under her backside, squeezing and lifting, arching her into my pumps and grinds. She moans and bites and kisses. She’s as wild as I am, present, accounted for, and so damn hot. But I’m present and accounted for as well. I’m aware that she’s Priscilla Miller, with intelligent blue eyes, long brown hair, a runner who smells like flowers with a stubborn, tormented personality, and a love for a white mocha. And even now, fucking her, driving into her, somehow knowing these things only makes me want her more. I don’t want that little bitch Logan to fuck her. I don’t want anyone but me fucking her. And that’s crazy, so fucking crazy, but still, I slow down and revel in that craziness. I slow us down. I slow me down.
I kiss a path down her jaw, to her neck, to her nipple—I lick it, suckle it, move to the other side, and repeat. She moans, her fingers diving in my hair, her back arching. Our bodies sway nice and easy now, and when she breathes out, “Adrian,” I smile against her neck and whisper, “At least you didn’t call me Rafael.”
“Rafael never fit you.”
I pull back and stare down at her, and it torments me, how well she once would have fit with me, the old me, the me before the Devils and I can’t bring that me back. “No,” I say.
“No?” she asks.
“No,” I say and I don’t know even know what I’m saying no to. I kiss her again and that slow and sexy thing we had going on is gone, replaced by urgency, and a pulse of something darker and harder. And so I pump harder, deeper, more furiously. And she is right there with me, arching into me, her leg at my hip, her fingers and nails digging into my back.
Too soon, and yet just in time, she gasps and then tenses. And then her body squeezes my cock, spasming around me, and I’m driving into her, my body quaking. She takes everything I am from me. I am completely lost and found right here, buried inside her. And then suddenly, it’s over, and I catch myself on my forearms and bury my face in her neck.
I inhale her sweet scent and ease back to look at her, and I read the nervous energy in her face. She doesn’t know what comes next. “If you meet my brother, call him Adrian.”
“No,” she says, a smile on her swollen lips. “He’s no Adrian.”
“You don’t know him. Maybe he’ll seem like an Adrian.”
“I know that there’s no one quite like you and that’s a good thing.”
“Considering I’m still inside you, sweetheart, that’s good to hear.” I roll us to our sides, pulling out in the process. “How about that champagne?”
“I do believe I could use a drink. We should talk, Adrian.”
“You think?”
“Yes. I do. I’m not sure what we’re doing but I’m certain it’s complicated.”
“You are correct. Which is why we should drink that champagne, order pizza, and then fuck again.”
Chapter Eighteen
PRI
I’ve barely had time to pull my blouse over my head when my cellphone buzzes on the hall table. I grab it and glance at a message from Logan, something about lunch tomorrow. I ignore him as Adrian walks out of my hall bathroom, shirtless, inked, and beautiful, and then disappears inside the kitchen. I dash down the hallway to the bathroom, use it, and while washing up, glance in the mirror to find my lipstick all over my face. Good Lord, did it look like this when Logan was here? I decide I don’t care. I don’t want to go down the rabbit hole that is Logan’s visit or the lines I’ve crossed with Adrian. Not right now. My sins with Adrian can’t be fretted over and my father taught me not to fret over spilled milk. As he says, do the clean-up and charge forward.