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“Twenty-five,” I said. It wasn’t a lie. I’d had it right there on my dating profile. He knew this, just as much as I knew his listed age of forty-five wasn’t a lie either.
The hand on my thigh moved an inch higher, and dear God, he must have felt the heat coming off of me. Another inch and he’d be exactly where I was growing desperate for him to be. “So, you’re old enough to make better decisions than this.”
I swallowed. “So are you.”
He chuckled as he wrapped his fingers around the stem of the glass I was holding, lifting it closer to my lips. His other hand kept steady on my inner thigh, his thumb brushing back and forth by the most sensitive parts of me. “You’re not wrong.”
I took a sip of the wine, letting it sit in my mouth for a moment and sink into my taste buds before swallowing. “Are you saying we shouldn’t?—”
“I’m saying that we’re probably both walking into a mistake,” he laughed.
I noticed the sensation of his thumb lifting the hemline of my underwear before I’d even realized he’d moved his hand again. He brushed against the slick skin between my thighs, and his lips parted instantly. I knew damn well he could feel what had been building there, but he still kept himself from touchingexactlywhere I was growing desperate.
“But I don’t think you care. And neither do I.”
He pushed the glass to my lips again, and the moment the wine touched my tongue, a single knuckle dragged across the bundle of nerves that was aching to be touched. I struggled to swallow through the little sound that croaked from me, and before I knew what was truly happening, he was on me.
He stole the glass and set it to the side, his mouth meeting mine in a fucking frenzy, the lingering tastes of wine mixing between us. All of his fingers on the hand between my thighs slipped beneath the thin fabric of my underwear and between the folds of the far too slick skin, and oh myGod, Adrian was touching me, putting pressure just where I wanted, taking away the ache and leaving only pleasure in its wake.
His free hand grabbed for the knot in my knit cardigan just beneath my breasts, and a second later it was undone, both sides splaying out and leaving me bare-chested.
He didn’t waste another moment on my mouth.
“Drink your fucking wine,” he ordered, grabbing it for me once again as his lips left mine. Hastily, I took it, and as I shakily lifted the glass to my lips, he descended on my breast instead.
Warm and wet and soft, he dragged his tongue across my hardened nipple before gently sinking his teeth into the delicate, sensitive skin. It took everything in me not to gasp his real name, and instead, I buried the sound in the wine.
Rigidity pressed against my inner thigh as he made more room for his hand. Too many times in my life, I’d imagined what was beneath his jeans, filled in the gaps from what I hadn’t been able to see at pool parties or the rare, occasional times he’d used our hot tub back home, and it was almost maddening that I had a chance to see all of him now.
I didn’t want to wait.
I downed the rest of my glass and set it to the side, far enough out of reach that I didn’t need to worry about knocking over two glasses rather than one. I couldn’t reach much from the angle he had me at, leaning back onto the bar top—but I could grab for his jacket with one hand while holding onto his hair with the other, could push it off of his shoulders, could show him what I wanted.
I didn’t realize the error in that, though. He removed his fingers entirely as he fully shrugged it off, leaving me needy and without stimulation on my clit. Adrian—orJohn—took that moment to slip out of his shirt as well, and pulled his mouth from mine.
For a horrifying second, I could consider how I must look. One elbow was holding me up on the marble countertop, and I looked almost like a fucking meal had been laid out with my exposed chest and my legs spread, a load of fabric from my skirt bunching up around my hips. I’d done this so many times in my life, but this was different, this was something I’d wanted foryears, and the reality of that was beginning to hit.
It hit especially hard as he stood there between my thighs, his hair a mess and his bare, sculpted upper body practically heaving as he, too, observed me.
I reached for the zipper at the side of my skirt and his hand halted me.
“Bedroom,” he said, his tone making it sound more like an order than a statement.
————
I couldn’t breathe.
With my bare body laid out on the plush white sheets, Adrian towered over me in nothing but his boxers, every ripple of muscle tight. From the bulk in his arms to his built-out pecs and abs, he’d clearly taken up working out in the time since I’d last seen him. He’d always been attractive, but his chest certainly hadn’t looked like that when he had been relaxing in our hot tub, and I couldn’tstopstaring.
But neither could he.
“Christ,” he hissed, his fingertips playing with the elastic band of his boxers. His cock was obvious beneath them, straining against the fabric for dear life, and even with it covered, I could tell that I was doomed. “You look like a goddamn painting.”
I…had never been told that before.
Something about his words lit more than just my skin on fire. He was connecting with me on a level no one had ever seemed to care about—even if I was playing the role of Lily and not Ava, it was still a version of myself that I didn’t dare to allow to breathe. IwishedI could be Lily, and the readiness with which he was willing to engage with her on art and the silly little things I had said made my chest ache.
You look like a goddamn painting.
