Limerence: Chapter 32

Lionswood’s art teacher, Ms. Hanson, has a term for projects that’ve crossed the threshold of being salvageable.

She’d click her tongue, point out the places where the colors have become too muddled or the proportions seemingly off, and say: You’ve reached the point of no return, Poppy.

That’s exactly what this moment feels like – except, this time, I’m the thing that’s reached the point of no return. This morning’s muddled me beyond recognition.

I stare into the hotel’s bathroom mirror, and I’m not sure who’s staring back.

She’s not the moon-eyed freshman hoping to find a real home behind Lionswood’s iron gates. She’s not friendless outcast sitting alone at lunch, storing secondhand gossip in her head like it’s the answer to her math homework.

She’s someone new.

Or maybe not – maybe she’s been buried in me for years, hibernating the seasons away, surfacing only when I need her to cheat or lie or commit a sin I don’t have a stomach for.

The darkest, depraved part of me.

And now, after this morning, after what I did, after what I allowed Adrian to do, she’s all I see.

All anyone’s going to see when they look at me.

A knock sounds on the bathroom door.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” Adrian’s soft voice filters through the barrier, and my heart clenches.

Adrian’s going to see her too.

I mean, he already has. Cheater. Coward. Would-be murderer. This morning, he had a front-row seat to my darkest sins come back to haunt me.

If it weren’t for him, I’d be sitting in another interrogation room, trying to lie my way out of Ian’s injuries.

Or his death.

A shiver wracks through me, and I realize I still haven’t answered, so I call back: “I’m fine.”

Only silence answers me on the other side, and I’m temporarily surprised he’s folded so quickly.

And then the door cracks open.

I raise an eyebrow in the mirror. “A little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

I can see that, while I’ve been holed up in here, he’s freshly changed into a pair of navy slacks and a cream sweater that accentuates his broad shoulders – and even now, even the guilt-ridden mess that I am, my eyes linger.

Adrian leans against the doorframe and shrugs. “Well, you could’ve locked the door.”

“Would it have kept you out?”

“Unlikely.” His mouth quirks up, but then he gives me a once-over. “You’ve been awfully quiet since we left that budget-movie murder shack.”

I can’t even bring myself to muster a laugh. “I know. I just needed a moment to myself. That’s all.”

“You look like you’re going to be sick,” he says. “You’re very pale. Are you feeling feverish?”

He’s not wrong. My skin’s as blanched as my hair, which only pronounces the dark purplish bags shadowing my eyes. “I’m fine. It’s just…”

“Attempted murder and blackmail not sitting well on your stomach?” His tone’s teasing, but his dark eyes gleam with curiosity.

My gaze meets his reflection. “You gave him all that money. Almost a million dollars. You wrote him a check like it was…like it was nothing.”

“Because it was nothing.”

“It was almost a million dollars.”

Another shrug. “When you drop a penny in a wishing well, do you miss it?”

I huff. “I think your parents might miss it.”

And then a fresh horror dawns on me: rescuing me from a self-inflicted car crash might get Adrian in trouble with his family.

My stomach starts performing somersaults, but Adrian seems far less concerned than I am. “Are you worried about me, sweetheart?” An amused smile curves the edges of his mouth.

“Of course I am,” I snap, swiveling to face him head-on. “You had to fix something I caused, and if there’s more blowback –”

“There won’t be,” he assures me. “If my parents ask, and I doubt they will, I lost a bet to one of the guys on the swim team and had to pay out for a new yacht.” He raises an eyebrow. “And this isn’t about the money. Tell me what’s actually going through that head of yours.”

I swallow. “I don’t want to.”

“Tell me.” His onyx eyes meet mine through the mirror, not an ounce of amusement in them. “Or I’ll force it out of you.”

My breath catches, and it’s not a twinge of fear that slithers down my spine – it’s anticipation.

As if I don’t have enough of my depravity on display.

My gaze trails to the floor, to the same Italian loafers that nearly pulverized Ian’s windpipe this morning. “There’s something wrong with me,” I tell him. “A wire that got crossed too early. A moral compass that cracked somewhere along the way, but there’s this…” I scramble for the right word. “This darkness in me. This selfishness. This…hunger.”

I lean against the sink, white-knuckling the edge.

“Maybe it’s because I’ve spent my life taking scraps. Only enough to fill my belly, never enough to sate me,” I continue. “And some people – most people – they get used to scraps. They learn to make a full meal out of them in a way that I never have. But I always want more, and I’ve done awful, terrible things to get more. And I used to think Lionswood would satisfy my hunger. I thought it’d be my key to a bright future away from Mobile and my mother, and all I needed to do was ruin one life.” I shake my head. “And, sure, I’ve felt guilty about it, but my self-preservation instinct’s always been much stronger than my conscience. You know that too. I could’ve kept pursuing justice for Mickey’s death, to my own detriment, but I didn’t.

“I kept my mouth shut because I didn’t want to die, and the moment I learned why you killed him, I started keeping my mouth shut for other reasons too.”

Some part of me is dying to see if my truth has stirred as much shame in him as it has in me, but I refuse to look. Because if I do, and it has, I’m not sure I’ll be able to finish. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to put words to these feelings ever again.

“The first time we saw each other – actually saw each other – you said you liked my honesty, which, in retrospect, is only funny because I am a liar. I’ve lied to Dean Robins, I’ve lied to my mother, I’ve lied to just about everyone but you.” I take a deep breath. “And yet, I am terrified that if I let you see every dark, twisted part of me, you’ll want to flee.” My lip quivers. “Maybe after this morning, you already do.”

It’s suffocating, this silence.

I think I’d feel less vulnerable if I stripped off my clothes and paraded around naked.

“Do you remember our conversation in the gardens?”

At the question, I lift my head and lock eyes with him. His face is neutral, flat, and frustratingly unreadable.

“Of course.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “I told you I wasn’t afraid of ugliness then. Do you think my answer’s changed?”

I glance down. “Well, I wouldn’t blame you if it has.”

By the time the words are out of my mouth, he’s already striding toward me. “It hasn’t.” He tilts my chin up so that I’m forced to hold his gaze, no matter how heavy it may be. “In fact…” His voice drops melodic murmur that slips beneath my skin. “I quite like your darkness.”

My breath hitches as his thumb grazes my upper lip.

“You talk about it like a weakness or some sort of flaw,” he says, “But your darkness makes you strong. It brought you to Lionswood. And to me.” His eyes glitter with intensity. “Do you think we’d be as drawn to each other as we are if there wasn’t something broken inside you, sweetheart? You don’t hide as well as you think you do. I haven’t always known what’s broken, but I’ve known it’s there. I’ve known your darkness. More than that…” His grip on my face tightens, not to the point of pain – but to awareness. “I’m attracted to it. I’m a moth to your flame. This morning, I tasted it.” His gaze flickers down to my mouth. “And now, I want it all. I want to satisfy your hunger.’

And then he’s kissing me.

My body thrums with electricity – as if every nerve’s come alive at exactly the same time to scream: Yes. Yes. This is what I want.

I curve my hand around the back of his neck, attempting to yank him down to my level, which backfires spectacularly when his hands snake to the curve of my ass, and he lifts me onto the counter in one effortless movement, all without breaking the kiss.

His mouth’s soft and surprisingly pliant against mine, and I assume he’s letting me take the lead – only to realize a second too late that is not what’s happening.

The moment I try to use my tongue, he strikes, using my parted lips to shamelessly pry my mouth open and explore every inch. He’s ruthless about it, leaving no crevice untouched, and by the time he’s done, I realize I’m the pliant one now.

Sneaky.

Panting, I rest my head against the cool mirror as Adrian leans over me, hands caging me against the counter – and it must be a day’s worth of emotional highs and lows finally catching up to me, but I can’t help but laugh, though it comes out as more of a breathless huff than anything else. “Is this going to be our thing?” I ask. “The marble countertops in bathrooms?”

He stares at me, pupils blown wide with desire. “It could…though there’s a perfectly good bed just a few feet away. I suggest we use that instead.”

My eyes widen, my heart galloping straight into my throat.

Does he mean…

And, as if he can read the half-formed thought in my head, he answers it with a kiss to my jaw. “I told you. I want it all.”

A shiver runs through me. “Then take it.”

I feel his smile against my skin, and then he’s tucking his hands beneath my back and knees to scoop me up.

He carries me, bridal-style, over the threshold of the bedroom like a bride as I have that fleeting thought again – that I’m about to venture past the point of no return.

He sets me down gently on the edge, and then quietly asks a question I’m not expecting – but probably should’ve. “Have you ever done this before?’

I hold my breath. “No, I haven’t. I’m on birth control though. Have been since I started attending Lionswood.” And then: “Have you?”

My heart clenches in anticipation for the ‘yes.’

Of course he’s done it.

Surely, not with anyone at school – at least I hoped not – but with someone. Maybe a budding supermodel on a white sand beach, coyly asking him to apply sunscreen to her back as she slips out of her bikini top.

Or a foreign socialite’s daughter protesting a boring dinner party by sneaking up to his room. Maybe even some-one-day-to-be Countess or Duchess or –

“No,” he says. “I haven’t.”

I’m barely able to keep my jaw attached to the rest of my face. “You…haven’t?”

The shadow of an amused smile crosses his face. “Well, don’t look so surprised.”

“Well, I mean, I just assumed –” Heat colors my cheeks. “You know, curiosity and all that.”

He shakes his head. “But I’ve never been curious. Not till now.”

“But it’s sex. Everyone’s curious about sex,” I say, and then amend with: “At least on some level.”

He considers my answer. “Only academically. And I’ve used my sex appeal as a manipulation tactic on others, but…” His eyes zero in on me with startling intensity. “You’re the first person who’s ever made me want to participate in the act.”

Raw, primal satisfaction tears through me, and it’s a struggle to keep my expression neutral. “So, before me, you’ve never done…”

“Anything,” he finishes. “I’ve never had any desire to.”

The irony of this moment isn’t lost on me: just as we agree to have sex, the discussion turns to Adrian having sex with others.

But now I’m curious.

“So, you’re telling me you’ve never checked out Millie Roger’s ass? Like not even once?” I cock an eyebrow. “Or her breasts. You know, in that white dress shirt? With a little cleavage on display?”

He smirks. “It’s just an ass. And breasts.”

“And I’m different? I’m not just a pair of ass and boobs?”

His amusement fades, replaced by an emotion I can’t put a name to. “Do you remember the night of the dance? When I kissed you for the first time?”

I nod.

“I’ve never had that urge to be physically intimate with someone else. No sexual attraction, I suppose,” he explains. “To me, sex has always just been a series of chemicals. The release of dopamine and endorphins and oxytocin – all of which can be achieved in simpler ways and without the need for another person. But the night of the dance, that’s the first time I realized that it could be different than I thought. With you…” His jaw ticks, and I recognize the emotion on his face now.

It’s hunger.

“I feel the urge. There’s pleasure – and not just mine – but yours. I find myself thinking about what sorts of sounds I could pull from your body. I think about tasting you. I think about your mouth. Your lips, in particular, and how they’d feel wrapped around certain parts of me.”

My breath falters.

“Those are the tame thoughts, of course,” he continues. “I have others too. Darker, less conventional fantasies. I think about using red silk ties to truss you up in all sorts of positions, and then making a meal out of you. I think about buying you some expensive, diamond-studded choker that people will fawn all over at parties…and with no idea of all the dark, ugly bruises hiding underneath. I think about making you beg. For many things actually.”

Heat flares to life in my lower belly, the depraved parts of me singing that I’ve found a kindred soul – and want, stronger than I’ve felt, tugs at me.

I want that.

Maybe I shouldn’t.

These are dark and unconventional fantasies, but if I’ve already reached the point of no return with Adrian, than what’s holding me back from diving in completely?

My heart hammers in my chest. “I think I’d like those things,” I say hoarsely. “I think I’d like all of them. With you.”

It’s all the permission he needs.

I’m flat on my back, his body hovering over mine, as he blazes a trail of gentle kisses down my neck. He pays particular attention to the soft hollow of my pulse point, kissing and sucking and –

“Ow!” I breathe. “You nipped me.”

He smiles against my skin – all teeth. “You know, I think I have a thing for throats,” he chuckles, and his cool breath’s a pleasant tingle over the affected area. “Or maybe just yours in particular. Your entire life force is right here.” I gasp as he licks a stripe over my carotid artery. “So fragile. Look how your pulse flutters beneath my touch. Is that fear or excitement?”

My heart pounds like it’s trying to tear through my ribcage. “Excitement.”

“You’re not worried about what I might do? I could decide to suddenly cut off your blood flow here.” He suckles on my pulse like he’s trying to brand his mark onto the most delicate part of my body forever. “I could tear out your throat even.”

I inhale sharply. He could. I know that he could, and yet –

“You won’t.”

“No.” There’s one more kiss to my tender flesh, this one light as a feather. “I won’t.” He draws back, eye-to-eye with me. “I would never.”

“Not even if I tried to tear out yours?” Defenseless and sprawled beneath him, it’s probably not the smartest question to ask, but something in me is suddenly dying to know. How much leniency would he give me before I suffer the same fate as Mickey? Or anyone else who’d challenge him?

He stares down at me, smoke-colored eyes flaming with a level of passion I’ve never seen. “My life’s already yours, sweetheart,” he vows. “Just as yours is mine.”

I feel the weight of his words settle in my chest, taking root between my lungs and my heart, and the desire to touch him increases tenfold.

I reach for his sweater, and he immediately understands, shedding the material and revealing the expanse of taunt, sun-kissed skin that’s been hiding beneath thick cashmere.

“I want to draw you,” are the first words out of my mouth, which probably isn’t great dirty talk, but I can’t help myself.

He’s beautiful.

Too beautiful.

This is the sort of bare chest that Da Vinci would’ve appreciated in his quest for the perfect human form. Lean and strong, honed from years of disciplined training, and an elite pair of genetics.

As I greedily trace every sculpted ridge of his abdomen, my hands itch to grab a pencil and recreate every divot on the page. To painstakingly sketch the veins branched across his forearms like rivers on a map.

Later, I tell myself.

I could spend hours lost in the dips and valleys of his torso, but Adrian catches my hands – flat over his chest, over his heart – and shoots me a hungry smile. “Your turn, sweetheart.”

I’m almost positive my heart’s lodged in my throat, but I oblige – or try to. The second I try to discard my t-shirt, he stops me. “Allow me.”

My eyes flutter shut as he peels the material over my head.

What if he doesn’t like what he sees?

What if his curiosity starts and ends here?

After all, it’s been more than established that Adrian’s not the average eighteen-year-old boy. If he can shrug his shoulders at Millie Roger’s double-Ds, who’s to say mine will stir his interest?

There’s a sharp inhale, and I peek one eye open.

Adrian’s fallen silent, eyes fixed on my exposed chest.

I swallow, bracing for disappointment. “It’s alright if you don’t like them,” I say. “This is new to you, so if…”

“I think you may be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he mutters, and I hear it in his voice – a sense of wonder. Like someone discovering electricity or Diet coke or chocolate cake or something equally life changing for the first time.

And then he starts touching me.

He’s careful at first, kneading the flesh almost experimentally, but when his thumb grazes my nipple, it sends an unexpectedly pleasant sensation rippling through me – and I gasp.

He pauses.

He smiles.

And then he tweaks the other one.

It’s almost unfair how much of an unnaturally quick learner he is. There’s no real hesitation, no awkward fumbling to be found, and in moments, he’s figured out how to straddle the line between pleasant sensitivity and discomfort.

He rolls my nipples between his nimble fingers, chuckling when the movement elicits another soft moan. “You make the sweetest little sounds, sweetheart.” His voice pitches low, almost gravely. “Now I want to see what others you can make.”

I’m not prepared for him to use his mouth again.

He trails a line of lingering kisses down my throat, past my sternum and right –

Oh.

That feels good.

I’m not sure which sensation should command my attention. His mouth on one nipple or his fingers on the other or –

Wait?

What’s he doing with the other hand?

I’d been too distracted by what he’s been doing above my waist to realize what he’s been doing below it.

Unbuttoning my jeans.

Nervous energy thrums in my veins, the anticipation of what’s coming finally settling in.

“Adrian,” I say, though I’m not sure what I mean to say.

Please don’t stop?

Please don’t ruin me?

Whatever it is, it never makes it out of my throat.

He pulls back, his eyes as dark as I’ve ever seen them. “Lift,” he commands, and I obey, raising my hips so he can shimmy off my jeans and expose the baby blue cotton panties underneath.

Of course, today of all days, I pick these.

Not the lacy black ones I splurged on a year ago. Not the sheer red pair my mother bought me as a gag gift when I was fifteen that I stuffed in the back of my closet and promptly tried to forget about.

But these – plain cotton, zero sex appeal.

When this is over, maybe I should frame them.

These panties have seen a lot today.

First, attempted murder and now the loss of my virginity.

Fortunately, Adrian seems entirely too focused on everything that surrounds the panties to give them much thought.

He plants more open-mouthed kisses down the dip of my sternum and across both hips, and then shifts, laying flat on his stomach and parting my legs.

His hands grip my hips.

Understanding dawns.

Oh my God.

He’s going to –

“Do you know what I’ve been thinking about since the night of the dance?” He lets out a low, throaty chuckle, and I feel his breath ghost the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs.

A shiver wracks through me. “What’s that?”

“Your taste.” He presses a kiss to one thigh. “I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.” A kiss to the other thigh. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about finding some empty classroom, flipping up your skirt, and having my fill of you? Or even here, in this room, as you sketch on the chaise or drink your coffee in bed…” He fingers the edges of my panties, and slowly – painstakingly slowly – begins pulling them off.

A shot of need pulses through me. “Why didn’t you?” I don’t mean for it to sound whiny, but it does anyway. To think I could’ve had his head between my legs even a couple of hours sooner…

“Because…” My panties are almost entirely off now. “I could tell you were hiding from me.”

“I wasn’t –” He suddenly delivers a sharp slap to my ass, and I gasp.

“You were.” There’s a hard edge to his voice now. A warning. “You were scared. That’s understandable, but…” He yanks my panties all the way down. “You’re not allowed to hide from me ever again.”

His mouth is so close to my center.

So close enough that I can feel every word fan my –

“Do you understand?” His nails dig into my thighs. Another warning.

“Yes,” I rasp. “Yes, I understand.”

He answers, not with his mouth, but his tongue.

Pleasure rolls through me as he swipes it across my lips and then my clit – because, of course the boy who studies medical textbooks like it’s a recreational hobby knows exactly where the clit is.

I feel a low groan vibrate through my core. “You taste even better than I remember,” he mutters. “Fucking delectable, sweetheart.” He presses his tongue completely flat to my clit and licks.

Oh God.

He shouldn’t be so good at this.

I don’t remember handing him the cheat codes to my body, but he seems to know exactly where to lick, to kiss, how much pressure to apply.

He’s gentle at first, circling my clit and my outer lips with light, feathery strokes that send surprisingly strong waves of pleasure rippling from head to toe.

And then, just as I realize the pleasure’s beginning to build, he changes tactics. His tongue, toying with my outer lips, dips inside of me.

It’s unexpected. its unexplored territory. It’s the best goddamn thing I’ve ever felt in my life.

My entire body arches into him, seeking more, more, more, as his tongue invades me.

A moan that sounds more animal than human is ripped from my throat. “Please. That feels –” The rest of the sentence dies as his tongue curls, and my body with it.

Heat coils in my lower belly.

“Please,” I plead. I have no idea what I’m begging for.

There’s another shock of pleasure as he shifts his attention back to my clit.

My muscles tense, the coil of heat tightening inside me.

“Please.”

I’m tugging on his curls, unsure as to when I even started running my hands through it.

He is relentless, mouthing and sucking my clit as if he means to devour it, devour me – but then, he looks up, directly at me, dark eyes drowning in arousal, and if I could take a picture, if I could live in this moment, here, on the brink, with him, I would.

Instead, I come undone.

All at once, my body spasms, my legs shake, and there’s a crash of pleasure so intense that it leaves me breathless.

Still, he continues feasting, lapping up whatever my sensitive core has to give as I breathe out, “Adrian.”

He chuckles, curls tickling my inner thighs. “Oh, you don’t think we’re done, do you, sweetheart?” He purrs. “You’re the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. I haven’t had my fill of you yet.”

And then I feel it.

One of his fingers skims my entrance as he latches onto my clit, now pulsing and sensitive, and I buck my hips.

I lose myself as one of his fingers slips into me, and my body clenches around the digit. I’ve never had another person’s fingers inside me, and especially not one of his – long and nimble and well-suited for playing the guitar or piano or another instrument.

I suppose that is what he’s doing. Playing my body like it’s a string to be plucked, drawing moans from me like music.

I’m too distracted by what his mouth’s doing to realize there’s a second finger teasing my lips, but when he slides it in, there’s a noticeable twinge of discomfort with this one. “I –”

“It’s alright.” His voice’s a soothing timber against my skin. “You can take it, sweetheart.”

And maybe it’s because he’s still eliciting shocks of pleasure with his mouth, or maybe it’s because I don’t want to disappoint him, so I do.

Warmth sparks as my core slowly stretches around the second finger, building inside me like a pressure cooker.

“Look at you,” he hums. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

It’s not the first time he’s praised me, it’s not even the first time he’s used that specific praise, but my body seems especially responsive to it tonight.

Heat continues to pool in my lower belly.

His fingers feel so damn good, and his mouth feels so damn good, and I want to be good for him. I want to, I want to, I want to –

I erupt with pleasure for the second time, more sensitive than ever, more intense than ever.

Jesus fucking Christ.

By the time it’s done washing over me, my legs might as well be jelly. Adrian shifts, removing his fingers and mouth, and I’m almost positive the sight of him knocks out whatever breath’s left in my lungs.

So beautiful.

Thanks to me, his curls are a tangled mess, his lips are swollen, and the entire lower half of his face glistens with, well, me.

But he’s smiling with the satisfied gleam of a predator that’s just caught and consumed their prey – and then, as if the image’s not erotic enough, he licks his fingers clean.

Heat returns to my lower belly.

“I think I could spend my entire day between your legs, sweetheart,” he drawls.

You should, some part of me whispers, but I’m too breathless to do much of anything but whimper.

His eyes flicker to mine, to the way I’m heaving and panting, though I haven’t done a damn thing besides lay here and let him pull one orgasm after the next from me, and his smile broadens. “Maybe I will,” he muses. “Tomorrow. Tonight though…”

A thrill of anticipation slides down my spine.

He leans back on his knees, reaches for the zipper of his slacks, and fresh desire stirs.

“Wait,” I say. “Let me.”

My limbs are still shaking, but I manage to sit up, to slot my legs on either side of his. I’m not quite in his lap, but I’m close enough to lean over and undo his zipper.

Wordlessly, he slides his pants down and –

Oh.

Oh.

I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but it’s not this.

As tall as he is, the cock that springs free still looks proportionally massive – long and thin, but not too thin.

And pretty.

He has a pretty dick, which is a shame, because I don’t think it’s going to fit inside me. I’m not sure my body has a single crevice it could fit in.

Trepidation clouds some of my desire. “Uh…I’m not sure if…”

“You can take it.” Once again, his tone’s dropped to a low, soothing timber – like a siren about gently guiding me to my death.

I stare up at him, eyes wide. “I felt the stretch with two fingers, and this…”

Is definitely not more than two fingers.

“Is going to fit just fine,” he reassures me. “Do you know how I know that, sweetheart?” One of his large hands cups my cheek.

I shake my head.

“Because you’re mine.” His entire face’s softened, eyes like smoldering charcoal. “Most people would never survive the weight of my darkness. It’d consume them before they even had a chance to flee. But you…” He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine. “You take everything I give you, sweetheart. You take it all, and you never break. You never even waver. You withstand me in a way that nobody else ever could. That’s how I know you’re mine. We are made for each other.”

I quiver.

“And if you’re made for me…” He peppers kisses down my jawline. “Then you’re made for this part of me, too.” There’s a hand on my shoulder, pushing me back into the sheets. “I won’t break you, sweetheart. Not like this. And if I do…” One more kiss, this one to the corner of my mouth. “I’ll spend my entire life putting you back together again.”

Emotion swells in me – but it’s not fear.

Any fear I might’ve had evaporates at the sight of him like this, hovering over me, every inch of his powerful body on display.

For me.

Nobody’s ever seen him like this.

“I want it,” I murmur – half to myself, half to him. “I want you. All of you.”

He obliges.

I prepare myself for inevitable discomfort, but he starts slowly, the head of his cock teasing my sensitive, soaked folds.

I cup the back of his neck, eyes drawn to the way his biceps ripple with strength.

There’s a sharp inhale – from both of us – as the head of his cock nudges past my folds.

And then a little more.

A gasp – this time from me.

He is much wider than two fingers, and there’s a sting of discomfort as my body protests the initial stretch, but it’s not painful.

And then a little more.

He slowly inches into me, hyper-aware of my every inhale and exhale and anything else that might signal my discomfort. “You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart,” he praises. He kisses my forehead. “Taking me just as well as I knew you would.”

And then a little more.

I moan.

The discomfort’s starts to fade, replaced by a sting that’s almost pleasurable. As if he can read the switch on my face, Adrian inches forward and –

Fuck.

That’s got to be –

“All of it,” he breathes, completely still and sheathed inside of me, as I come to terms with this novel sensation.

It’s not like a couple of fingers or even a tongue, this is…

I’m full.

I can tell my body’s stretched to its limits, and still…

“You’re perfect.” Adrian stares down at me, wearing a cocktail of emotions I’ve never seen – wonder and awe and pleasure all rolled into one. “You’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever felt in my life.”

I open my mouth to reply, but the only thing that comes out is a string of breathless moans.

At a glacier pace, he begins moving.

My eyes roll back into my head because fuck, should it feel this good? It shouldn’t feel this good, should it?

I don’t think it should feel this good.

My hands fly to his shoulders, anchoring our bodies together while he gives my body time to adjust.

“You’re mine,” Adrian rasps, seemingly unable to take his eyes off me. “You belong to me.” A hand winds through my hair and he tugs – hard. “Say it. I need to hear you say it.”

I whimper. “I –” Pleasure overrides every other sense as he picks up the pace. “I –”

He growls, “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I manage to get the words, unintelligible as they may be.

“You’re mine,” he affirms. “There’s no going back – not anymore. This is forever. Do you understand me, sweetheart?” He rocks forward, sheathing his entire length into me at once.

I sputter out a whine that sounds vaguely like an agreement.

“It doesn’t matter if you change your mind,” he groans. “It doesn’t matter if you wake up one day and decide you hate me. I’ll never let you go.” His pace quickens, but his strokes have begun to get sloppy. “I don’t care what I have to do. Who I have to kill. I’ll break you into tiny pieces and rebuild you myself if it means I get to keep you. You’re never leaving me, sweetheart.”

“Never,” I rasp.

“You’re going to come to Harvard with me.”

My answering moan doesn’t seem to be good enough for him. “Say it,” he grinds out. “Say you’re going to come to Harvard.”

“I’ll –” There are alarm bells ringing in the back of my mind, but they’re too removed from the pleasure I’m currently experiencing for me to pay them much mind. “I’ll come to Harvard with you.”

“I’m going to give you the world,” he continues. “Anything you want. Money, status, jewelry, cars – I’m going to lay the entire world at your feet.”

For a moment, I’m not sure there is a world outside of us, outside of this moment. There can’t be. The only thing that exists right now is him and me, connected in all ways.

I cry out as he thrusts forward one more time, and then stills.

The entire world stills.

Holy shit.

I can’t say for certain how long we stay like that, breathing through our combined pleasure, but when Adrian finally blinks down at me, eyes still foggy with arousal, I know it for certain.

I’m not the only one who’s reached the point of no return.