Текст книги "Tempting"
Автор книги: Alex Lucian
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nothing felt right, nothing felt clear. Not how I felt about Adele, about the fact that she knew about Diana, that she knew my father, albeit not very well. I must have sat at my dining room table for two hours, staring at the blank wall across from me and sifting through my sluggish thoughts.
I wanted her, that I knew. Physically, definitely. Emotionally? That was murkier. I didn’t want to talk to her about Diana. I didn’t want to talk to anyone about that, so I was just keeping Adele on an equal playing field with the rest of the world’s population. If I owned a dog or a cat? I wouldn’t tell them, for fear that the animal race might suddenly evolve and gain the ability to speak. I wasn’t looking for marriage or children or any of that. It wasn’t something I needed after losing it once.
But she was smart. She was tough. And she’d trusted me enough to show me her biggest vulnerability: her relationship with her father.
I nodded my head, and grabbed my phone, where it had stayed silent on the table while I processed.
Me: Could you come over after work?
Adele: Sure. It’s not my night to close, so I’ll be there in 30.
Finally pushing myself away from the table, I moved through the kitchen in search of something resembling a meal. While I munched around some cold lo mein noodles, I researched Adele’s scholarship.
The Margaret Phillips Memorial Scholarship was awarded to a handful of girls based partly on academics. They’d have to maintain a 3.7 GPA, be working toward a major in journalism, literature or creative writing, and be unmarried. All of those checked boxes afforded Adele half of her tuition, all of her books, no room and board, which explained the small, humble apartment.
I smiled a little reading through Margaret Phillips’ bio.
Margaret arrived in Boston at the age of 18, with no family to support her. As an unmarried woman in the 1940’s, she had to work twice as hard to get through college, finally graduating with her degree in literature. She went on to become a high school teacher, and spearheaded many community efforts to support women who were pursuing their education. For years, she was vice president of the Boston chapter of the National Organization of Women. She established this scholarship in 1998.
Yes, Margaret Phillips would probably like Adele, scraping her way through school with a giant chip on her shoulder. There wasn’t much I could find that spoke to personal misconduct, and how that might affect her maintaining the financial support being given to her.
There was a soft knock on my front door. Wiping my hands on a dish towel, I looked through the peep hole and couldn’t help but grin. Adele had pulled the black hood of her sweatshirt up over her head, and with the blond strands coming out the sides, she looked exactly as young as she was. Maybe younger.
“Come on in,” I said when I opened the door. Her smile was tentative, but she attempted one anyway, looking behind her before I closed the door, the darkness of the sky cloaking her arrival. “How was work?”
She smiled, taking the hood down and running a hand through her hair. “Boring as hell. Is that why you asked me over here?”
“No,” I conceded with a wry smile and gestured to the couch.
After she’d chosen the seat closest to her, I sat far enough away that I’d have to stretch to touch her. Adele lifted a thin eyebrow briefly at that, then settled back into the cushions, turning to face me with one leg tucked underneath her.
“I didn’t realize you were here on scholarship.”
“Ahh, and the picture is becoming clearer.”
“Adele.”
“Sorry,” she said, dropping her eyes down into her lap for a few long moments. “I knew I wouldn’t get any help from home with my tuition, not if I planned on majoring in writing. And I just don’t want to be one of those people saddled with student loans until I’m thirty-five.”
Which was only one year older than me. I cleared my throat and shifted in my seat. I felt ancient, and the knowledge of our thirteen year age gap made my bones creak under my skin, like they’d suddenly adjusted to my line of thinking.
“We have to be careful, Adele.”
“Careful doing what, exactly? Last time I walked out of this door, it sounded an awful lot like a sayonara, thanks for the orgasms kind of goodbye.”
I actively chose to ignore that, probably because I couldn’t disagree with her. It had. “If we get caught, even from anything we’ve done up until this point, I don’t want you losing that scholarship.”
“Would you lose your job? If we did?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “The Easton name is pretty well-entrenched here. My father and I might not get along, but he’d never let ‘the family legacy’ get tarnished by a scandal. Trust me.”
He’d done a damn fine job of it so far.
Adele shifted, moving forward a couple inches. When she hesitated before saying anything, I just waited. If she pushed about Diana, it would clear up a lot of my questions. I wasn’t going there. Not now, maybe not ever. But she stayed quiet, and oddly enough, I found myself unable to be silent.
“I wouldn’t lose my job. But you could definitely lose your scholarship. My father wouldn’t be able to, or frankly might not want to, intercede on your behalf if we were discovered. We have to be smart here, okay?”
Adele moved one hand forward so slowly that I couldn’t look away. No doubt about it, she was giving me an opportunity to back away. To get off the couch. To tell her to stop.
I didn’t want to tell her to stop. I wanted another hit of whatever it was she was injecting into my bloodstream. When she wrapped her strong, supple fingers around my hand, I dropped my head back onto the couch.
“I don’t know what we’re doing, Adele. I don’t know how to stop, but I don’t know how to not worry that this is such a hellishly stupid idea.”
Her hand traced up my forearm, and through the cotton of my shirt, I could feel the heat of her palm. I kept my eyes closed, because everything was heightened. I could smell her next to me, coffee clinging to her, hiding her normal scent. The place that her hand smoothed up against felt like a concentrated pulse, just one large zing of electricity that I could never attempt to contain.
On the side of my neck, her breath warmed the skin. Then her lips touched the spot under my ear in the most innocent of kisses.
“You worry too much, old man,” she whispered, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “No one will know.”
“You can’t possibly know that.” Shit, my voice sounded rough.
Her tongue dragged around the shell of my ear, and my cock was seriously attempting to punch through my slacks. I kept my hands fisted at my sides, not wanting to interrupt whatever fucking amazing thing she was doing.
“We can be careful, be quiet about this.” The sharp edges of her teeth caught my jaw and my mouth turned toward her in reaction. Her responding chuckle was lazy and low. Suddenly, her weight pitched to the side, toward me, and she settled herself on my lap. “In fact, I think I should show you just how capable I am of being quiet.”
When I opened my eyes, her face was only inches from mine, her hands bracketing my head on the back of the couch. I slid my hands up her legs and her sides, curving my palms around the hard bumps of her rib cage.
“You have much more to lose than I do. Are you sure about this?”
The smile she gave me in return was so sweet, so unguarded that I smiled back. We kissed that way, not dropping the sides of our lips at first, not wanting to break those expressions of happiness.
Finally, she caved, tilting her head and opening her mouth to mine. Her tongue swept against mine in one long, wet stroke and I groaned, tightening my hands around her. I stood, and she squeaked into my mouth, but wrapped her legs tightly around my waist. Adele wound around me like a python, and we kissed all the way up the flight of stairs.
Once I cleared the top step, I hesitated, pulling my mouth away from hers.
“How about we shower that coffee smell off of you before bed?”
“We?”
I nodded, took her lower lip in between my teeth and tugged while I walked us into the bathroom.
After I’d lowered her so she could sit on the bathroom counter, neither of us spoke. I tested the water with my hand, her eyes boring into my back, as tangible as a bullet through my skin.
She’d unzipped her sweatshirt already, and I stilled her hands before she could remove the shirt underneath.
“Let me.”
And she did. Every inch of skin that I uncovered, I tasted or smelled. The thin, hard line of her collarbone felt like steel under my lips. The slope of her shoulder held some of that scent that I’d come to love so much, so I lingered there a little longer than I’d planned.
Adele let out a soft whimper when I finally slipped her shirt completely off.
“You’re supposed to be quiet,” I gently reminded her, no heat present in my tone. She nodded, dropping her forehead to my shoulder so I could reach the clasp of her bra more easily. With the shower running behind us, the air was wet and heavy, steam curling around our bodies while we curled into each other. The straps of her bra slid down her upper arms and caught when she held the cups to her breasts, the heavy skin and beaded nipples still partially hidden behind the lace.
I lifted her up so that she had no choice but to stand. Lowering myself to my knees onto the cold tile floor, I placed a slow, open-mouthed kiss on the skin just below her belly button. The room was so warm now, almost stifling in its heat, but she shivered, goosebumps pebbling her stomach.
Adele toed off her shoes, and I peeled her pants down her forever-long legs, my mouth following down the toned flesh of her thighs. Once she was uncovered, bare before me save her underwear and the almost-falling-off bra, I stood, digging my hands into her hair and tilting her face up to me.
We traded languid kisses, just moving our lips over and over. Her hands made quick work of the buttons on my shirt, only slowing their movement as she tracked down my chest, lingering over the clenching muscles of my abs. Each drag of her fingers made me want to move faster, touch harder, dig into her skin.
But I didn’t. There was some unspoken agreement we’d made coming up here together. A shift in the way our bodies wanted to move, wanted to feel and be felt.
Finally, I used one finger to pull the bra off of her completely, taking the tip of that same finger to smooth over the tight flesh of her nipple, making small, slow circles around the edge. Her hips shifted toward me and I pressed back, letting the painfully stiff length of my cock grind against where she wanted me most.
My pants were gone with two quick movements of my hands, and hers slid my boxer briefs down over my ass so I could step out of them. Adele went to take off her own underwear, but I stopped her.
“No,” I said, stopping her hands and pulling the lace back into place over her perfect, perfect ass, “leave them on for me.”
She smiled and turned to pull open the clear glass door the shower. Instead of following her, I stayed and watched while she stood under the steaming water, tilting her head back to wet her hair. The water sluicing down her body made her shine, every inch of her flesh covered now. Her eyes stayed closed, and her hands followed a light path that mirrored the one I’d taken earlier. Slowly circling a nipple with one finger, trailing down her flat stomach to the skin under belly button and dragging back up again.
I fisted my cock and tried to even my breathing, but it was impossible. No man, no mere mortal could stand where I was standing and look at her and not feel like the weak fleshly beings that we were. Just by being there, she was giving me everything I’d been missing, been deprived of for years.
I released my cock, let it bob back up, and entered the shower. Running my hands around her hips to embrace her from behind. When she relaxed into me, her hands folding over my arms, the simple comfort from her made me want to fall to my knees.
So that’s exactly what I set about doing.
Using my hands, I turned her so she faced me, not kissing her the way her upturned mouth begged me to. Instead I lightly pushed her back so her shoulders met the tile of the shower wall. She shivered again, the hard surface behind her probably still colder than the sultry air around us. When I used my hands to cup her ass and tilt her hips out from the wall, realization lit in her cat-green eyes.
Gripping the bar mounted into the tile next to her, Adele shifted down the wall a fraction at the same time that I sank down onto my knees. I leaned my forehead against her stomach, letting the hot water pound against my back. She wound the fingers from her free hand into my hair, smoothing back the strands in a gesture so sweet and so soothing that I almost wanted to weep.
I mouthed the skin along her abdomen, licking the water on her flesh into my mouth. When she angled her hips toward me, I smiled, trailing a hand up her leg, curling it into her inner thigh. I traced my hands over the wet lace of her underwear, using my hand to curve over her pussy, rubbing the fabric into her clit with my palm.
The lace felt scratchy over my tongue when I dragged it along the edge. Using my teeth, I pulled it down over one hip, then moved over and did the same on the other side. When it fell with a wet plop onto the tile next to us, I hefted one of her legs up over my shoulder, opening her up to me, and curling two fingers into her slick, hot channel.
The breaths coming out of her were heavy and deep, loud enough that I could hear her over the water. Glancing up, I saw that her head aimed down, her eyes lasered in on me. Holding her gaze, I kissed the mound of her pussy, sucking her clit into my mouth. Adele finally cracked, moaning in one long, drawn out sound.
I clutched at the skin under my hands, drew her deeper into my mouth, worked my fingers around, snaking my tongue against her flesh. Her hips moved in tiny circles, riding my face with shameless, wanton pleasure. The hair on my scalp was gripped so tightly in her hands that I pulled back.
“What the fu—”
“Be nice to my hair. I’d like to keep it on my head.”
She grinned, cheeks flushed to pink, and tightened her fingers again. I stood in a sudden movement, the leg that was around my shoulder dropping so that I held it in the crook of my elbow. The way it opened her to me made it so that my cock lined up right where my mouth had been.
“Are you going to fuck me now?”
I shook my head, placing a chaste kiss on her lips. “No. That’s absolutely not what this will be.”
I pushed into her with one long, smooth slide. We stayed pressed up against each other, so tightly wound that the water could barely make room between our bodies. Then I kept my movements so slow, so agonizingly slow, that when we both came, there was barely any sound between us.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The first thing I saw upon opening my eyes was his face, serene. His hair was mussed, his lips soft. I wanted to lean over, to see how his lips tasted first thing in the morning, but I didn’t. The worries he wore in the creases of his forehead were smoothed and I wanted him to enjoy the peace that sleep gave him a little longer.
Gently pulling the blanket back, I climbed out of bed and put my hair up into a ponytail. I grabbed one of his shirts from the laundry basket by the bed and slipped it on, taking small comfort in the way it stopped at the top of my thighs. It was such a cliché thing, to wear a boyfriend’s shirt, to feel small and feminine and soft.
Boyfriend. Had I actually thought of him that way? Pausing by the doorway, I looked back at the bed, his body relaxed and his breaths quiet, easy. We hadn’t discussed what we were, who we were. So much of us was secret. But something had shifted the night before. Every time we’d had sex before had been a result of something, a need we both fed. But last night had been different. More.
I glanced at the few photos that he’d hung over the stairs, landscapes in black and white, framed with white mats and black wood surround. I paused on the step, touched a photo of Boston’s skyline, featuring the John Hancock Tower. The lights reflected off the Charles River below. At the very bottom of the photograph, I saw initials: D.A.E.
I didn’t have to search my brain for who I guessed it was, because her name hadn’t left my head—Diana. Nathan’s wife. Nathan’s deceased wife. A shudder moved through me and my fingers left the frame. Moving down the stairs, I studiously avoided looking at the rest of the photographs, not wanting to see pieces of a ghost still lingering.
Nathan’s kitchen was expansive, separated from an eat-in kitchen by a large island topped with a thick butcher block. The cabinets were shiny white, the countertops a black granite. And it was tidy; whatever small appliances Nathan owned were tucked away, leaving me to marvel at all the space one could use for cooking, baking.
The fridge was stocked with juices, milk, a pitcher of what looked like real lemonade and an assortment of beer and wine. More than anything, I noticed how very neat it looked. I counted five different cheeses, several kinds of meats and full fruit and veggie drawers; everything in its place.
I was halfway through taking mental stock of his pantry when I felt the guilt creep in for having snooped. Everything was labeled with neat type face labels and it struck me as not something a man would think to do. As tidy as Nathan seemed, I couldn’t believe he took the time to label his grains and lentils as well.
It left an uncomfortable feeling in my belly and I decided I didn’t want to snoop around his things anymore. Grabbing the pancake mix and a bag of chocolate chips, I decided to make him breakfast.
Pancake flour coated the island and me by the time Nathan walked into the kitchen wearing only a pair of fleece pajama bottoms. “Hi,” I said with a grin. “Want some coffee?”
Instead of replying, his eyes swept the kitchen, not looking right at me. I turned my head and took in the mess I’d made. Flour handprints could be seen on the handle of the stainless steel fridge, and splatters of light batter like polka dots on the dark granite. But none of that was probably as alarming as the chocolate smears on the cupboards to the left of the stove. I should’ve washed my hands before grabbing plates, I realized belatedly.
Since he didn’t answer, I poured him a cup from the pot I’d brewed earlier and topped it with a little cream. After wiping away the chocolate thumbprint, I pushed the mug into his hands. “Here, sit.” I gestured to one of the chairs at the island and pushed a plate toward him. He remained agonizingly quiet, taking in the kitchen still. “Don’t tell me you don’t like chocolate chip pancakes,” I said.
Finally, he looked at me. His eyes held such wariness, confusion, like he wasn’t sure what to do with me.
“I know,” I answered his unspoken thought. Gesturing around at the mess I’d made, I said, “Don’t worry, I’ll clean up.” I pushed the plate toward him again. “Eat.”
I started busying myself with wiping down the stove and loading the dishwasher with the pan and bowl I’d used. “By the way, I’m on the pill.”
There was a choking noise behind me and I straightened, turning around. Nathan held a fist to his mouth as he stared at me.
“Your email and text, from before.” I raised an eyebrow. “We never had a chance to talk about it between coffee and sex yesterday, but I’m on the pill. And I’m clean.” The truth was, I’d never not used a condom with another man before, not even in the heat of the moment. But I’d trusted Nathan with not giving me a raging case of the warts.
“You’re choosing now to bring that up?” he finally said.
I wiped my hands on my apron. “When would be better? Over a candlelight dinner?”
He swallowed a bite and nodded. “I see your point. A pancake breakfast can suffice.” He cut into the pancake and held the bite up on his fork. “Incidentally, these are very good.” He popped it into his mouth and gave me a small smile as he chewed.
“Well thank you.” I curtsied and began wiping down the butcher block. “It’s nice to have a real kitchen to work in. Mine is so small.”
“Despite its size, it never looks like a bomb of batter went off.”
I shot him a look and he grinned, leaning over the butcher block with his cup of coffee, coming across as more relaxed than when he’d entered the kitchen.
“If you haven’t noticed,” I began, spraying the counter and wiping it, “I don’t have very many possessions. Hard to make a mess when you’re living meagerly.”
“I did notice, actually.” He took another bite and leaned back, stretching. “But thank you for breakfast, Adele. This was a nice surprise.”
I observed the way his muscles flexed as he stretched, thankful for his lack of shirt. But I couldn’t help but want to unsettle him a little bit, after seeing how much more relaxed he became as the kitchen turned from disaster zone into normal again.
Trailing my fingers along the counter as I turned toward him, I took heady pleasure in how his own fingers stilled, his eyes trailing me like an invisible cord was pulling me to him.
I dipped my finger into the syrup puddle on his plate and brought it to his jaw, sliding my finger along the edge. My lips replaced my finger and I sucked his skin, swiping it with my tongue as I cleaned up the path I’d drawn.
His hands cradled my skull and pulled my head up before his lips descended on mine, teeth biting gently into my lower lip. He tasted of chocolate and syrup and coffee and I scratched my nails into his neck, not wanting to separate our lips for even a second.
He hauled me into his lap, ran his hands up my thighs and under the shirt I wore. His fingers brushed the underside of my breast before he pulled his lips from mine. “Nice shirt,” he murmured, looking down between us as I straddled him.
His hands were warm and I arched into his touch as his fingers explored under the shirt: over my ribs, the curve of my waist, up the center of my chest. His hand gripped the center of the neckline and made a fist, forcing me closer.
Our lips just touched, not kissing—just breathing. “What are you doing to me?” he whispered.
I didn’t answer; couldn’t answer. Because whatever it was, he was doing it to me too.
