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“No, it was supposed to be Medusa. I left in the middle of the session to come here.” I really don’t want to talk about it, so I grab his hand and interlace our fingers. My tank slides back into place.
“Do you want popcorn?” I stretch my leg over him, climbing off the bed.
“Sure,” he manages on a shaky exhale.
I pop a bag in our little microwave. I feel him watching me but don’t look. The memories piling up are giving me second thoughts. He deserves someone better, someone without such a checkered past. He’s composed and good, and I’m…a disaster, a storm brewing, ready to blow in from my former life.
The beep sounds, and I take my time, dumping the contents into a bowl, trying to calm my shaky hands.
“Do you want me to go?” Adam asks quietly.
He’s standing near the bed, uncertainty creasing his features. His thoughtfulness warms my chest. He’s naive about some things—that’s obvious. He’s also perceptive and caring.
“No. I’m sorry. I guess I’m nervous too.” I try a faint smile, and he returns it.
We sit back on the bed—this time, with his arm around my shoulders. We start the movie.
“Oh, now, I get it,” he says when Buttercup calls Westley Farm Boy. “If I’d seen it, I would’ve said the next line.” He looks down at me, his smile fading as the moment suddenly turns intimate.
“Well, you can try it next time I ask you something,” I murmur.
All he does is nod, eyes heated.
I don’t waste any time, giving him the opportunity.
“Kiss me,” I challenge. A whisper is all I can manage.
He licks his lips and leans his head down, a breath away from my mouth. His voice matches mine, barely audible as he quotes the famous line with his own twist. "If you wish."
Our lips crash together, the buildup of tension, doubt, and desire creating a monsoon of emotion. We’re hungry for each other, fighting to set the pace, which only increases it.
He’s either led me on about being innocent or he’s just a natural when it comes to this. His mouth is soft and pliable, sliding over mine like it was always meant to be there. We could stay like this, here in this twin bed forever.
I press my tongue across his lips, willing him to let me in. He slowly opens up, and I tentatively reach in to taste him. He groans in pleasure, taking control of my body. Pushing me gently until I’m flat on my back, he looms over me, a hand reaching down to pinch at my waist.
Our tongues meet, get acquainted, and trade places. We’re communicating with probing fingers and tiny gasps—Tell me what you like. I like it soft and then hard, desperate to feel your desire for me.
My teeth scrape over his bottom lip, sucking it gently in between my lips. It’s too good to be true, a fireworks display is in my head.
His body and mouth tense up, and he jumps off of me without warning.
When I open my eyes, he’s on the other side of the room, forehead pressed against the wall. His back is pulsing up and down, trying to catch up with his heavy breaths.
The cool air stings my fevered body as I sit up on my elbows.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my heart galloping inside my chest.
He sounds like he just competed in a two-hundred-yard sprint. Several long seconds tick by. He lifts his head up, turning toward me and adjusting the front of his pants. Is he mad at himself for being turned on?
“I don’t understand,” I say, sitting up. I press my thighs together; the ache is agonizing.
He’s staring at me, still across the room. The lights are off, the only source being a smidgen of moonlight shining through the window and the movie still playing.
“You deserve to be treated with respect, not mauled in bed before we even go on an official date.” He stands up straighter, arms at his sides. “I’ve been telling you I want to be friends and acting completely different.” He pauses, slowly stepping toward me. “Let me take you out to dinner. Please.” His voice is surprisingly composed.
My throat squeezes with the tenderness of his concern even though I wish he would stop respecting me for a few more minutes.
“Okay.” My voice is hoarse.
