Adrian Lessons (21 page)

Well, this is a lot more emotion a lot more quickly than I expected.

Should I tell him about Therese now?

But before I can make up my mind, he pops an umbrella and steps back, holding it just outside the door while he himself gets soaked. “We should get going. There’s a flash flood warning.”

I let him lead me to his car. When we get inside, I’m shivering. He looks at me. “Take off your shirt. The wet clothes keep you cold. I have a sweatshirt in the back.”

I’m chilly and he’s already seen me naked, so I obey, wriggling out of my T-shirt. He does the same, pulling his wet shirt over his head, and I try to keep the staring down to a bare minimum. He looks like he should be starring in a gym ad, not rescuing me from a rainstorm.

“Still cold?” he asks, and I nod yes, my teeth chattering a little.

He turns on the heat, and then pulls me into his lap, wrapping his strong arms around me until I’m safe in a little cove of Adrian. His skin is warm and smooth, and I hesitate for only a minute before allowing my head to settle into the nook of his shoulder. I breathe deeply. If I could bottle his scent, it would probably go for a thousand dollars a bottle at Statham.

I want to tell him I’m sorry.

I want to tell him he deserves more than me and my reservations.

But he doesn’t make me talk, and I soon find it’s easier not to. I stay curled up against his chest until I warm up, and then for a while longer.

“I guess we should leave. The flood warning and all,” I mumble when I realize it’s probably uncomfortable for him to keep me on his lap like this.

“If it were just me at risk, I’d stay,” he says into my ear. I’m tempted to take him up on that, but if he drowned because I couldn’t un-notch myself from his chest, I suppose I’d feel pretty bad. He reaches into the backseat and hands me a sweatshirt before pulling back into the rainy road.

“Adrian?” I say in a small voice. “Therese told me about your email.”

“I hoped she would.”

“And…I should be honest with you. Therese isn’t the real reason I pulled away.”

He waits, letting me gather my thoughts. I trace the path of a raindrop blowing sideways across the window with my finger.

“In the sane part of my head, I believe that you’re not using me. And I believe that you’re worth taking a chance on. But there’s a part of me that’s holding on real tightly to what happened with Eric, and that part wants me to stay far away from you.”

“Do you want to stay far away from me?” he asks, the headlights of an oncoming car darting down his face.

“No,” I whisper. “I think the reason I’m so scared is because of how badly I want to stay close.”

“Have I ever told you about my tattoo?”

I blink at the sudden topic change. “You haven’t.”

He nods at the line of Greek running down his arm. “This says ‘one who does not hurt others.’ I got it after I realized how selfish I’d been by thinking about jumping off that cliff. About all the people I would have let down. And I vowed never to let down anyone I cared about ever again.”

“It’s beautiful,” I murmur.

“You can stay far away from me if you want. I won’t stop you. But do it for the right reason. Do it because you don’t care about me. Don’t do it because you’re scared I might betray you. Because I promise you, if there’s one thing you never need to worry about, it’s that.”

I mumble something into the neck of Adrian’s sweatshirt.

“Say again?”

“I care about you,” I say in mouse volume.

His free hand slips into mine.

“I’ll tell you something about fear,” he says. “I haven’t done anything worthwhile that I wasn’t afraid of doing first.”

A smile sneaks onto my face. “Are you saying that doing you would be worthwhile?”

“I’m saying it would be fucking fantastic,” he replies bluntly.

Well, then.

We hold hands all the way home.

When we reach our apartment building, when we’re about to get into the elevator, I stop him. “I really want to invite you over tonight.”

“An intriguing proposition,” he replies.

“But I have an eighteen-page paper due tomorrow morning worth sixty percent of my grade, and I only have an outline.”

He blinks. “You’re that crunched for time and you still gave your sister a ride to the airport?”

“Well,” I admit. “She said I could have you if I gave her that ride.”

He laughs. And as the elevator doors close around us, he pulls me into a kiss. A long, slow kiss. He tastes like rain and promises. We stay locked together so long that the elevator door closes again on my floor and I have to hit the reopen button.

“Tell you what,” he chuckles. “I’ll also let you have me if you give me a ride.”

I freeze. I need this class to graduate. If I don’t write that paper, I’ll fail.

Sex with Adrian or graduation?

Sex with Adrian or graduation??

“I’m joking,” he says as I open my mouth. “You need to write that paper. And there’s no way our first time will be a quickie.”

“Right,” I nod, since I was totally going to pick graduation anyway. Definitely.

He hugs me one more time before letting me go. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

I’m still grinning like a fool when I walk into my apartment.

Marie’s asleep, so I tiptoe around piles of romance novels, feeling oddly similar to the way I did in kindergarten when miniature heartthrob Timmy Jenkins gave me a macaroni valentine at Christmas. Good to know my emotions have matured since then.

But when I get to my bedroom, I understand how much my emotions really have matured. I never felt the wild urge to dry-hump my pillow when I was six.

The pants are across the room and I’m settling into my Adrian-motivated masturbation station when my phone buzzes. I consider ignoring it, but you never know, there could be a secret random-person lottery that I won. Even better: it’s Adrian.

“I realized something the second I closed my apartment door.” His voice is husky and low. Just the sound of it gets me going, and my fingers drift downward before I can think about it.

“Is that so?”

“I should have gone inside with you and torn your clothes off. Fuck the essay.”

Oh dear sweet lord. “What if you fuck me instead?”

There’s a ragged exhalation of breath on the other line, a moment of silence, and a sharp “Own.”

“Did you fall off the bed?”

“I had to smack myself as a reminder that I’m not the kind of guy who forces a girl to fail her class just because I want her. We’re adults.”

“Adulthood sucks. Timmy Jenkins would have come upstairs.”

“Who?” I can practically hear Adrian’s eyes narrow. “Is that the name of the next person whose face I’ll be punching?”

“Nah, he’s a washed-up football player working at the 7-11 now, he’s got his own thing going on.”

“Ah.” Adrian sighs. “Well, I guess I should let you go do your essay.”

“Wait.” I’ll be spending the next ten minutes masturbating with the speed of a small helicopter anyway—I might as well do it with Adrian on the line. “…What are you wearing?”

“Isn’t that my line?” He laughs.

“True. I’ll pretend you asked.” I glance downward. “I can tell you who’s wearing my pants, anyway—my bookshelf. The windowsill is currently in possession of my panties.”

He breathes out slowly. “So I am to deduce that you are currently naked.”

I wriggle out of my T-shirt and bra. “I am now.”

“Do you want me to tell you exactly what I’d do to you if I was in your room right now?” Adrian’s voice has a dangerous, hungry lilt.

“Yes. Tell me.”

“I’d kiss my way down your stomach, past your hips. But not before spending a good few minutes marveling at how goddamn sexy you are.”

I force my hands to stop where he left off, at my hips. “Then what?”

“Are you about to touch yourself, Cleo?” His tone is a perfect balance between teasing and serious.

“No, I’m about to scrub my toilet. What do you think I’m doing?”

“Touchy, touchy.”

“How about you get touchy instead?”

“With pleasure,” he says in a low voice. “I’d spread your smooth, soft thighs and kiss every inch of them. Then I’d show you how hard you make me. Unbelievably hard, Cleo. Like no girl ever has before.”

The thought of that particular part of him forces a moan from my lips. “I turn you on, is what you’re saying.”

“I’m stroking myself to the sound of your voice.”

“Shirtless?”

“Obviously.” His voice gets even huskier. “I’d bite the inside of your thigh, just hard enough to leave a mark. And then I’d lick all around the edges of your pussy, until you’re soaking wet.”

My fingers venture lower. I’m slick and ready. “Already there.”

“Good. Now I’m going to tell you exactly what to do. And you’re going to listen to me.”

“I think I know how to masturbate, Adrian. Thanks to you, I’ve been doing it enough these past few weeks.”

I can hear him grit his teeth. “You’ve been touching yourself to me?”

“Only about every day,” I reply, flush with daring.

“You have no idea how much that turns me on.” There’s a soft grunt behind his words and I picture him lying back, abs on display, hand wrapped around his large, firm cock. Hood-boy. I start to rub myself and groan.

“Stop,” he says sharply. “You’re going to do what I say, remember?”

“You think you know my body better than I do?”

“You’d be surprised,” he says with a dark chuckle.

I force my fingers to relax. “All right. I’m listening.”

“I want you to put three fingers inside yourself and curve them. Make a motion like you’re gesturing toward your stomach.”

I do, doubting him—I’ve only ever really masturbated with my clit before—but almost immediately, I hit a sweet spot and the resulting tremor shakes my whole core.

“Good,” he says. “That’s nothing compared to what I’d do to you if I were there, though. I’d shove my tongue into your pussy and taste every inch of you. Then I’d suck your clit into my mouth and finger-fuck you until you screamed for mercy.”

I continue fingering myself as he says this, feeling the sweet warmth build up. “Oh, God…”

“I’d wait until you begged, until you were so wet you were dripping. Then I’d grind my hard cock into your clit, sliding it over the outside of your pussy, teasing you.”

“Mm,” I groan, my fingers plunging deeper. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Now I want you to squeeze your clit and roll it between your fingers, just once. Wait five seconds and then do it again. After that, make hard circles against your hood with your finger.”

I obey, rolling myself like a little cherry. The sensation is overwhelming at once, but when I let go quickly like he said, it sets off a little firework in my stomach. He really does know my body better than me.

“Then I’d push my cock inside you. Your whole body would tense, then relax as you got used to the feeling of my entering you. There’d be a second of pain, then perfection. I’d angle my hips and let all of me enter you. And then I’d fuck you so hard you’d arch your back and forget how to say your own name.”

“Yeah…Jesus,” I gasp, massaging my clit as my internal muscles grow taut and throbbing. “That’s so good.”

“I’d pump and come inside you, and we’d be coming at the exact same time, I’d grind hard against you and slam you into the wall and bury myself in you…”

“Oh, fuck, Adrian,” I cry, and then I come all over my fingers, feeling the warm gush of fluid soak my bed sheets. I know he comes too, because he lets out a harsh groan, and I wish I was there to lick it off him. For half a minute, we just breathe deeply into each other’s ears.

“Now you should be able to write your essay,” he says, and I picture that wicked grin.

“Now I’m pretty sure I could do anything,” I say after a moment. “Goodnight, Adrian.”

“Night, Cleo.”

~22~

ADRIAN

Funny thing about being famous?

It’s pretty similar to not being famous.

People have always stared at me wherever I went. Side effect of being unbelievably gorgeous, I guess. I’ve even had people ask for my autograph before. Now that White Steel has made me their golden child, it’s just my regular live upped to eleven.

And I’m surprised at how much I don’t mind it.

I’ve taken to wearing a hooded sweatshirt around campus. Right now, it’s past nine and the stragglers still outside are booking it to the library or their dorms, not paying attention to the tall guy with the hood low on his forehead, getting some air after a day of playing hide-from-the-press in his apartment.

Just then, my phone buzzes. I scowl, expecting another message from my mom listing the eight hundred and twenty ninth reason why I should model for White Steel again, but the name on the screen is much more appealing.

Cleo Reynolds:
Meet me at the athletic complex.

Intriguing.

I text back
Athletic complex’s closed, it’s past nine,
but I’m already headed in its direction.

The girl who locks up is in my psychology club. She owed me a favor.

I grin and quicken my steps.
Wanted some after-hours exercise?

The response comes in seconds.
It’s more like Marie just gave me an outline for a new scene she wants me to write.

Now I’m almost jogging.

The Hirsch Athletic Complex is across campus, but I make it there in minutes. It’s dark and closed-looking, as it always does after hours, but when I try the main door, it’s unlocked. I guess I’m not the only one who can get into closed buildings at night. I take out my phone as my footsteps echo through the dim main hallway.
Where are you?

Find me,
she texts back.

Now this is getting interesting. But she clearly underestimates me. There’s only one place here worth going after everything’s closed.

When I reach the pool, I find that it’s unlocked too. I step through, the moonlight seeping through the windows and glancing off the water to spray across the walls, and see her. She’s naked—
Jesus
—sitting on the other side, dangling her bare feet in the water with her phone in her hand.