Bent not Broken (321 page)

He reaches for the bath sponge and soaps it up while I just lie there like a slug. He runs the sponge over me leisurely. He gets real leisure-like around certain parts and that has me giggling. “Sit up,” he says.

I do and he pushes my hair aside and washes my back. He turns the water back on and reaches for the extender. Once he’s washed all the soap from me, he says, “Lean your head back.”

I push my hair back around and lean my head back as he wets it. “Hold this,” he says as he hands me the extender and reaches for the shampoo.

“I can do it,” I tell him. I have a lot of hair.

“I got it,
mimi
.”

“OK,” I can rewash it tomorrow, I think.

I hear him lather up his hands and then they dive into my hair with sureness and smoothness. “Oh my God,” I say with a gasp. “That feels amazing.” I draw the word out as far as it will go.

“Mmm hmm,” he says, and I can tell he’s smirking. “You doubted me. How could you doubt me?”

“It’s not easy to wash all this hair. My apologies, sir.”

It ends all too soon, and he rinses the soap from my hair. “Conditioner, ma’am?”

“Are you serious? Absolutely.” He repeats the process and has me humming.

“All right,” he says. “I’m washing up quick. All those sounds you were making have me hard again,” he complains.

“Are you complaining?” I ask.

“Hell no, but this water’s not gonna stay warm long enough for me to do what I want to you.”

“Oh!”

“Yeah, oh!”

I turn around and help him as quickly as possible.

Eighteen

Feel This Kiss

LIGHT STRUMMING COMING from the other side of the room wakes me from a most peaceful slumber. I put my arms over my head, stretching languidly before finally forcing my eyes open. It’s our last day together, and I can’t waste it sleeping. I pop up on my elbows and admire him without him noticing me for a few minutes. He’s wearing his faded and frayed jeans and is barefoot and bare-chested. Closing his eyes for a second, he appears deep in thought before they spring back open, and he stops his playing to jot something down. He tosses his pen down, runs his hand through his hair, and then snatches up his cup of coffee.

As he tilts his head back for a drink, his eyes meet mine and he grins around his cup. “Mornin’,” he says before taking a pull on his coffee.

“Good morning,” I reply as I reach for my glasses. “Did you sleep well?”

“No, not at all,” he admits. “I couldn’t stop staring at you.”

My mouth drops. That’s sweet. “I’m sorry.” I’m not.

“I’m not,” he says, seemingly reading my thoughts. I can’t help but laugh.

“Please tell me you have more coffee.”

“I do.”

“Oh good,” I say. “Give me just a moment.” I dash into the bathroom and brush my teeth quickly. I need something before I need my coffee.

Crossing the room quickly, I bend in front of him and kiss him deeply before snatching my coffee and crawling back up on the bed. He chuckles at me and starts his strumming back up. I drape the cover over me a little since all my silk purchases had gone to waste.

“What are you working on?” I ask.

“A new song. I’ve been working on it for a couple of weeks,” he says with a smile.

My stomach does somersaults. “What’s it about?”

“You,” he says simply.

My stomach has lodged itself in my throat. “Really?” I squeak.

“Mmm hmm.” He continues strumming. “Wanna hear it?”

“Really?” I squeak again.

He doesn’t answer just smiles and begins playing my song.

I don’t know what I’m expecting, but it certainly isn’t the ballad that he’s written for me. Each stanza is dedicated to our unique kisses. From my first tentative kiss, to his all-consuming one, to our lust-fueled one, to our one filled with promise. Though each kiss is different, the theme remains constant—pure love and adoration.

I swallow hard. “Adrian, that was...beautiful.” I stare at him at a complete loss for what to say. He starts to put his guitar down. “Wait!” He freezes. “Will you play it again for me?” He wrinkles his brow but nods. “Hold on.” I hold the sheet around me and reach for my phone. I play with it until I get to the screen I want and hit record.

He plays it for me again. Again, I melt. I hit stop and release a deep sigh. “Will you play ‘Everlong’ for me?” He grins and plays so that I can record it. And I just want to die. This song is genius already. Acoustically it’s musical nirvana. I laugh a little at that thought. I watch him for a while and then let my head drop back. I bring my knees up and stare at the ceiling while I absorb every last fading note.

After a few seconds, I hear the thunk of his guitar being set down. I feel my sheet fall to my middle and a little fingernail grazing the inside of my ankle, my calf, my knee. When it hits my knee, I look down my body and watch him. Only it’s not his fingernail but his guitar pick. The silver one with “Dog Tags” engraved on it.
Oh shit!

“This,” he says as he flicks it between his fingers to face me, “is my favorite pick.” Resuming his path on my knee, he keeps grazing until he is at the top of my thigh. He circles it around a little, making a playful pattern. Goose bumps populate my skin from the delightful little scraping. “My favorite pick wants to hang out in my favorite spot. Shall I acquaint them?” he asks with a raised brow.

I don’t know exactly what he means by that but I don’t care. I nod at him and reach to remove my glasses.

“Leave them,” he whispers and gives me a naughty grin. Without further ado, the guitar pick makes its way to my clit and plays it to perfection. I mewl as sensation after sensation rocks through me.

Leaning in, he places his fingers over the corner of my mouth before kissing me gently. He thrusts his tongue in my mouth suddenly, never losing his rhythm below. Dipping his fingers over my bottom lip, he pulls his mouth back as I suck and lick at his fingertips. Those fingers find their way inside me, and Adrian renders me senseless as he works me inside and out.

Gasping and shuddering, I enjoy what I hope is one of many orgasms to come today. My poor body hasn’t had one, let alone several in quick succession, in so long I’m sure it’s wondering what in the hell is going on.

Adrian collapses beside me and pulls me in tight. “I just thought this was my favorite before,” he says as he holds the pick above our heads and stares at it in awe. “Now, I know it’s my favorite.”

I laugh and burrow my face in his side while running my hands over him. “I believe that act would be considered misappropriation of a musical implement, sir.”

“I should mass produce these with a stamp that reads, ‘For maximum pleasure: use for purposes not intended.’” This elicits both our laughter.

“I think you may be on to something. That guitar pick knew what it was doing. It was amazing.”

“OK...now I’m getting jealous,” he says as he tosses it on the nightstand and attacks my neck.

Giggling, I give him the praise he deserves. “You can’t be jealous over an inanimate object. You’re so creative, musically and…otherwise.”

“Lately, I’ve been feeling especially inspired,” he says as he pushes the sheet down and devours my breasts like I’m his own private smorgasbord.

“Mmm…Adrian. I’m going to miss you so much. Your talent, your hands, your mouth—how did I ever manage without them?”

He nips at me, causing me to giggle, before he lies back beside me. “I’m wondering the same thing. I knew it would be good between us,” he pauses and turns my face toward his, “but this is beyond anything I’d ever imagined, ever hoped for.” He runs one fingertip down my cheek, and I tear up at his beautiful words and his gentle touch.

Leaning in, I give him a chaste kiss before I tell him simply, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Celeste. More than anything. More than everything.” He smiles against my mouth. I love the feel of him smiling, so I run my fingertips over his lips for a moment before my growling stomach vies for our attention.

He chuckles. “Am I starving my baby?”

“Apparently I need sustenance and real coffee.”

“Café Du Monde?”

“Yes! Absolutely!” The speed with which I spring from the bed mirrors my enthusiastic response. His chuckle follows me to the bathroom.

****

AFTER WAITING IN the perpetually long line at the café, we are shown to our little wrought iron table for two in the corner. Adrian pulls a seat out for me, and I sit facing the bushes, which I never do when I come here because I love to people watch. But with Adrian around, I have tunnel vision so that doesn’t even factor in.

I’m surprised and thrilled as he grabs his chair from the other side of the table to bring it close to mine. I glance up to the server and watch her expression go from interested in Adrian to impressed with Adrian. He’s gorgeous and can’t stay away from me—a winning combination.

“What can I get for y’all today?”

“I’ll have a café au lait, please, and two orders of beignets.”

“Babe, no beignets for me,” Adrian cuts in.

“Oh, no, those are for me,” I reply unabashedly.

“Hon, you know those come in orders of three,” the helpful server offers.

“Yes, I know,” I say with a smile.

“My woman has a healthy appetite. I love that,” he says, those blues never leaving me. “I’ll have a black coffee, please.”

I glance up to see the server staring shamelessly at Adrian while fanning herself with her notepad. Correction—gorgeous, addicted to me, encourages my eating—freaking slam-dunk.

“Thank you so much,” I say, taking pity on our entranced server.

“I’ll be right back,” she mutters.

“So you don’t think I should worry about my figure?” I question him.

He gives my whole body a deliciously slow once over with his eyes. “I like my woman with a little meat on her bones.”

“Really? You don’t mind my little pudge and my bubble butt?” I ask with a raised eyebrow. I know that he doesn’t. He’s proven repeatedly that he loves my body just as it is.

Turning in his seat a bit so that he faces me and the restaurant, his thigh lodges itself against mine. His hand slips up the inside of my thigh. “Babe, don’t change a single thing about the way you are—inside or out. I’m in love with you just as you are.”

Before I can respond, his fingertips slip further up and graze my bare center and his hand springs back like he’s been scorched. My eyes widen as do his. I didn’t expect him to actually touch me
there
while we’re sitting here.

“Fuck,” he grinds out under his breath. I watch fascinated as those crystal tranquil pools morph into dark stormy seas. “Please tell me that was my imagination and you are wearing panties under that tight, short fucking skirt.”

Oops! Sounds like something’s caught him off guard as well.
“Umm…”

“Celeste, what the fuck?”

“I don’t like panty lines?” I offer weakly. “I thought you knew that from the other times we’d fooled around and I wasn’t wearing any,” I grit out.

“I thought that you just slipped them off for convenience when we were making out. And that time in the laundry room, I thought you were at least wearing a thong.”

“Well, there you go.” I put my hands up as if we’ve just reached a truce. “Just pretend I’m wearing a thong. Is that acceptable?” It’s everything I can do not to laugh in his face. He’s being ridiculous.

“Babe, I cannot be over there doing what I need to do when I’m worried about your fine, naked ass traipsing all over New Orleans without me here to watch out for you. Today’s the last day you get to go without wearing panties.”

I have to admit I’m addicted to his bossy nature in the bedroom and about our rules of proximity outside of it; however, I draw the line at being openly told what to do with things that don’t even concern him. I open my mouth to argue my no panty lines motto, but the server returns with our coffee and my beignets. Shooting daggers at him with my own eyes, we make nice in front of her.

Once she leaves, he doesn’t give me the chance to counter his demand. “I’m serious, Celeste. Do not walk around this city like that. I…I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it if I think about that.” I see immediately that he’s not exaggerating; it really bothers him. His eyes read panicked. I can’t have him panicked and worrying about me when he’s got to keep himself safe.

I put my hand on his thigh and lean in to him, putting my lips against his ear, I whisper, “I’ll only
not
wear panties when you’re around, OK?” I feel the tension seep from him immediately. “I don’t want you worrying about that. I promise I will wear my undergarments. I’ll wear a corset if it makes you feel better. I can’t have you distracted or worrying about me for any reason, got it?”

“Hell no, you can’t wear a corset. That’s even hotter.” He pulls back to pin me with his gaze before nodding. “Your beignets are getting cold,” he says with a raspy voice.

I give him a quick peck before beginning to devour my first order of these melt-in-your-mouth French donuts.

After slaking my hunger, I glance up to find him watching me with a smile on his face. “What?” I mumble around the little bit of donut in my mouth.

Tilting his head, he leans in and runs his tongue across my lips once, twice, three times, licking me clean. He places a chaste kiss on my lips. “Powered sugar,” he answers.

“Mmm…but you don’t like sweets.”

His tongue darts out to lick his own lips like he can still taste me there. “I like the sweet that was under that sugar.”

My blood heats and pounds in my ears. How can I be wanting him already? We’ve just left the room. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me,” I say barely above a whisper. “All I can think about right now is how much I want you. I’ve always had a healthy libido, but this borders on nymphomania.”

“Lucky me,” he says with a grin. “And if it helps, the only thing I’ve been able to think about since I touched you is the fact that if I took you behind this building I could be inside you in about a half a second.”

I rub my thighs together with that thought, trying to alleviate the pressure that has built between them. It only makes the pain more acute. “That doesn’t help at all actually,” I admit.