Love Me Broken (29 page)

He kisses me, and then pulls back to look. There’s only one small lamp in this garage, by the side of the bed, a warm light coming from its single bulb. As he looks down at me, his expression is one of worship. It makes me feel so sexy, the time he’s taking to look at me in obvious admiration. He moans slightly, and when he reaches down to touch my breasts again, I feel his hard length throb against my stomach through his thin boxers.

“I want to,” I tell him. I can’t hold back much longer, my body is so charged. “Let’s do it.”

His eyes light up, and his face looks almost pained with eagerness. He nods, his hands sliding down either side of my body, stopping at my hips, his fingers sliding into the hem of my underwear.

“We will,” he says, “but first...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, the promise lingering in the air as he starts to slide my underwear down. I lift up to allow him to pull them all the way off, and he throws them I don’t know where. Then he takes another moment to just look at me, naked and trembling beneath him. And I feel naked, in every way that you can feel naked. I have come to him with nothing, and with no expectations. I have come to him to allow him to be in control. I want him. I want him any way I can have him. And I’ve told him that. It makes me feel especially bare.

He looks down at me, then lifts my hands to his body. He presses my palms into the center of his chest, and I feel his hard pectorals. He feels so solid, yet so warm and smooth. I run my fingers along his chest to his round shoulders, and then down to his arms. As if on cue, he lifts both arms and flexes for me.

Wow. I mean, I had seen him in a t-shirt before, but I guess I didn’t realize how fit he was. I run my fingers over his hard biceps, and then look into his face with a demure awe. He grins at me, obviously proud of his physique. It’s cocky and sexy at the same time, his confidence in himself. I am letting my hands travel down to his stomach, feeling along his solid abs, when he gives me another grin. He starts to lower himself down in the bed, until his face is level with my sex. He lifts my legs into the air and looks down at me, licking his lower lip. Then, in a rush, he lowers his face onto me, and starts to run his tongue along the outside of me, with what seems like insatiable hunger. He seems even more into it now than he did at the Column, and I don’t know if it’s the better angle, the privacy, or the intensity of the night in general, but almost immediately he seems to find the right places and he makes my whole body squirm and convulse. My thighs press against his head, and I reach a hand down to run it through his hair. He is like a man possessed: he lifts me up by the waist into the air, so that my legs are now resting on his shoulders, and he presses his mouth down against me. The sensation is enough to set me ablaze, but what’s overwhelming is that when I look up, our eyes lock. We can see each other. And every time my body moves, every reaction that I have to him, I can see his excitement in return, his eyes growing more and more intense and almost needy as my pleasure builds. It’s almost too much. I gasp with pleasure and squeeze my eyes shut.

Then, suddenly, his mouth is off me. I open my eyes, and he has a devilish grin. “Not yet,” he says, and lowers me back to the bed. We are sitting up now, facing each other with legs wrapped around each other. He still has his boxers on, and there’s a considerable tent in them now. I reach forward and squeeze him through the fabric. He moans, his head leaning back and his penis throbbing in my grasp.

I’m tired of only seeing it as a bulge, through pants or underwear. I want to see it in the flesh, and I start pulling at the waistband of his boxers. He responds right away, quickly pulling them off himself and tossing them to the floor. He resettles on the bed, his legs spread, arms supporting him as he leans back, letting his hard cock rise before him like a mast.

My experience with guys is rather limited, but even I recognize that I’ve gotten lucky with this one. I wrap two hands around it and grip him. He moans, his balls tightening slightly. I put one hand on them and give them a testing squeeze. He seems to like this. Then I run my hand along his shaft, feeling its girth and warmth. I look up and notice his whole body is tensing, his stomach muscles looking like a calendar model’s and his chest rising and falling rapidly with his breath. A thin sheen of sweat has started on his body and forehead, and I realize that I’m warm too. It’s like I was never cold. Like I’ve never been cold in my life.

He’s looking at me as I hold him, and I want to make him feel good, the way he made me feel good. He’s not going to ask for it. I know Adam: tonight is about me. But right now I want to appreciate him, all of him. I lean down and give a tentative lick, from the base to the tip. Adam squirms and his whole face convulses, and I get a jolt of pleasure from this control that I have over him. I can make him feel good too. From the looks of it, I can make him feel overwhelmingly good. I lower back down and take him into my mouth, feeling him rub against my tongue, and start sucking. Adam makes some unintelligible sounds, basically just encouragement, and I see what it feels like to touch him like this, to put a hand on his penis to slide up and down as my mouth moves.

I look up to see his reaction after a moment. His mouth is open and his eyes look dazed, almost drunk. He gives a woozy smile at me.

“Damn,” he whispers. But when I move to return my mouth to him, he puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

He pushes me toward the bed, on my back, and presses his body against mine, holding me for a moment. I feel his heart beating, his lungs filling and exhaling. Then he looks at me. And even before he says anything, I know what he’s asking with this look.

“Do you want—” he starts.

“Yes,” I say immediately.

He leans down to kiss me on the mouth, then pulls himself off to rummage in something at the side of the bed. When he is back on the bed, his fingers are fiddling with a condom. I wait while he puts it on, and then he positions himself, holding up my leg with one hand while he holds the head of his penis against me with the other. He looks at me, pressing the tip against me, and watches for my reaction as he moves his hips forward slightly. I feel him inside me. Not all the way. He’s coaxing himself into me, rocking back and forth.

“It’s okay,” he says. “You can relax. All I want to do is make you feel good.”

I realize that my whole body is tense, and I will myself to relax. He slides inside deeper, and I feel the pressure building. It feels both strange and exhilarating. I think to myself, “So this is what it’s like.” Then, when he’s all the way inside, and I’m starting to think I might not like this after all, he pulls out and presses back inside in such a way that my whole body shudders, and I understand. It’s then I understand what this is all about.

And I start to relax even more, and let my body take control. I am back in the moment, and I start to feel a multitude of sensations at once: the feeling of his hard shoulder on my ankle, the electrifying slap of his waist on the insides of my thighs, the heat coming off his body, the heat coming off mine. He leans down to kiss me, and it takes a moment for our mouths to connect as he presses himself inside me. The feeling of his tongue in my mouth makes me tense with pleasure, and I feel him throb inside me in reply. I lean my head back and gasp, putting my hands over my head to find the wall. I need to anchor myself to something stable, because all at once the sensation is making me lose control and I can’t even think anymore. We are two bodies totally in sync with each other. I am not me; he is not Adam. We are lost in each other. We are one.

Adam’s thrusts increase their tempo, and I know he’s feeling this as much as I am. I heave in a warm breath and I know I can’t last much longer. Adam seems to sense this, and his pace changes ever so slightly. He adjusts his angle instinctively and presses against me in such a way that I can’t help it: I cry out with a surprised influx of pleasure. This excites Adam even more. His pace doesn’t change, but inside me he pulses so intensely, so warmly, that I know he’s close too.

I look at his face, and it’s his expression—the hooded eyes, the almost drugged look of his pleasure, but also his attention to me, his focus on my reactions—that sends me over the edge. My orgasm crashes over me in tingling waves. Through the intensity, I feel Adam’s body clench, and I come again, the second orgasm riding the first and turning my muscles into pudding, my body going slack and rigid in turns as he thrusts into me, his moans joining my soft cries. He presses against me, holding me, his arms around me tight. He kisses me, on my mouth, my neck, then my mouth again. Our bodies are shuddering. I feel his arms pulse with the aftershocks of his own orgasm. Then he lets out a deep, contented sigh and pulls out of me.

We lie there afterward on our backs, our arms around each other, breathing heavily and staring at the blank ceiling of his room. My hair is still damp, both with rain and sweat. Our naked bodies are on top of the sheets, sprawled out and pressed next to each other. I am just starting to catch my breath when Adam turns to me.

“Erica,” he says, and there’s an urgency to his voice. He looks at me, his mouth tight. “If I do nothing else in this life, I will make you understand how incredible you are.”

I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. I start to turn away in embarrassment, and he reaches for my chin and makes me face him.

“I’m serious,” he says. “Just tell me what you need.”

I blink. “Haven’t you been listening?” I ask. His eyes look scared for a minute, so I smile and say, “What I need is you.”

“Yeah, but,” he says, “you’re going to need more.”

“Yeah,” I reply. “I need more already.” I lean in to kiss him. It takes him a moment to kiss back, his thoughts obviously rebelling against the moment. But then I open my mouth, and his tongue touches mine, and suddenly we’re communicating without distraction.

I don’t want to think about the end of the summer. I don’t want to think at all. I climb on top, and we kiss again with the same tragic intensity. Then we spend the night together, making love like we’re going to die tomorrow.

I wake up with Erica in my arms. There’s a moment before my eyes open that I’m not sure what’s a dream and what’s real. I can smell her: that strawberry stuff she uses to wash her hair. And then I have flashes: the motorcycle broken in the rain; Erica dripping wet at my door; our first kiss on the pier. It’s all mixed up and I start to panic. My arm tenses—and I feel her there. I open my eyes just to make sure, and a sense of relief washes over me because I didn’t imagine the whole thing.

Then, almost as immediately, I feel regret.

What the hell did I let happen? Haven’t I tortured her enough? I sit up a little to turn on the side lamp, and she moans. It breaks my heart. She is so vulnerable, so beautiful. We’re still in our cocoon in the garage, the warm lamp the only light. We’re naked, our skin touching in a way that feels incredible and familiar at the same time.

No, I can’t ignore her. I can’t stay away. I need her too much. But I have to remember the reality of the situation: I have to leave her. And before I do, I have to make sure she will survive without me.

She reaches a hand and places it on my chest, then nuzzles into my side. My sore throat protests, but I don’t move away. I notice a pale line on her shoulder where her bra covers her from the sun. I hold her tighter, never wanting to let go, and feel the soft skin along her shoulder blades. She groans a little, a groggy sound that’s adorable and sexy at the same time. Okay, maybe the sound itself isn’t sexy. Maybe it’s just that she makes the sound while she’s naked in my bed, and I have a flashback to all the other sounds she made last night while naked in my bed. I’m getting hard.

She’s waking now, and stretches out her arms.

“Good morning,” I whisper, and then kiss her temple. She smiles at my touch.

“Morning,” she says. She blinks her eyes open and looks at me, having her own little moment of realization that we’re waking up together. “Wow,” she says softly.

“I know,” I say. “It all seems unreal.”

“Good unreal?” She’s trying to make her voice nonchalant, but she’s really asking.