As we leave the room, he grabs my hand. I give him a look, but he just squeezes my hand and doesn’t say anything.
Chelle waves as we walk up. “What do you want to drink?” she asks as she signals an attendant.
I glance at Adam.
“Want a beer?” he asks, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me to his side.
“Sure. Whatever you’re having, hon.” I can play couple.
I watch as he orders us each a golden lager.
As the night goes on, we continue to be a charming couple. We share a table with Chelle and her husband, Matthew. After Adam playfully nips at my ear, my hand drifts down to rest on his thigh. His eyes widen, and I realize I’m not pretending. The thing is, I can’t tell if he is or isn’t. I lift my hand and put both of them on the table where I can see them before ordering water.
When we walk back to our room, he reaches for my hand again. Instead of just palming it, he laces his fingers through mine. I focus all of my mental power on not tripping and willing my hand not to sweat and/or feel clammy.
Chelle and her husband are a ways behind us. Their room is on the same floor. Instead of just opening our door, Adam turns me, so my back is to it as he presses up against me.
“What are you doing?” I gasp.
I shiver as he trails the tip of his nose from my earlobe down to my chin and then back again.
“Just making sure everyone sees you’re taken.”
I turn my head to see Chelle give us a thumbs-up before she and her husband slip into their room.
“No one is watching now.”
His eyes bore into mine. “Do you want me to stop?”
I watch his tongue wet his lower lip as I lift mine to his in an answer to his question. His lips are soft, and his tongue instantly seeks entrance. I can taste him. I never want this kiss to end. My mind is screaming that this could end badly as my arms snake around his neck. With one hand pressed against our door, he coils the other around my waist, eliminating any negative space between us.
The hand attached to the arm wrapped around my waist tries in vain to open our door. A combination of his other hand pressing the door closed and the key card being backward are to blame. He breaks our kiss, and I whimper at the separation.
He opens the door and pulls me into it. His lips find mine again as the door swings shut behind us. He didn’t shave this morning, so his scruff feels rough against my chin. I’m in sensory overload from him—his taste, the feel of his hands as they mold me to him, his scent that I mourned the loss of earlier that afternoon.
One of his hands slides up my back and into my hair. I laughed the last time he touched my hair. This time, I want to purr. He groans against my lips. I swallow the sound, taking it inside me.
We kiss our way across the room, and there’s a moment’s hesitation as he decides which bed we should fall into. He goes with his, pulling me down with him.
As my inner voice of reason rears its ugly head, I begin to wonder how many drinks Adam had as I doubt he could be into me in his own right mind. Do I just go with it? Not going with it doesn’t seem physically possible. I want to climb him like a tree. God, and the way his hands feel on my body, there is nowhere else I want to be.
He pulls back, lifting himself off the bed. My mouth drops. Is he stopping? He catches my gaze, and his eyes scorch me. Our eye contact breaks as he pulls the hoodie he’s wearing over his head, and he tosses it across the room. Underneath, he is wearing a faded T-shirt that fits snugly over his arms and chest. My fingers itch to pull it off of him, but now, I feel the added heat my body doesn’t need from my windbreaker. I reach for my zipper.
“Let me,” he rasps, placing his hand over mine.
I surrender it to him, almost panting, as he lowers it in slow motion. I feel exposed despite my V-neck shirt as he parts my jacket and stares down at me hungrily. His hand slips under my neck, lifting me, as his other hand eases my jacket off one shoulder and then the other. As the material slides down my arms, I feel skinned, raw, a feast for him to consume.
He pounces, covering me again. Only this time, when I drag my fingertips across his back, I can feel the heat coming off of him through his shirt. My hips twitch, and his hand tightly grips my waist to stop me.
His hand moves up to brush my hair off my face. His eyes are tender as he lowers his lips to mine. His hand moves from my hair to cup my face. He’s slowing us down. I feel relieved and disappointed at the same time. I’m not naive, but it’s been a while, and I just assume it hasn’t been for Adam.
“This is wrong,” he breathes against my lips before his tongue caresses mine. “I’m supposed to be looking out for you,” he continues, his lips moving to taste my neck.
“You are looking out for me,” I argue, arching my back and pushing against his hand as it moves from my waist to mold my breast.
I push my chest further into his hand. I want him with every fiber of my being, and I panic as his movements continue to slow.
He rests his forehead against mine. His gray eyes slay me. “Aubrey, what are we doing?” His words drip with remorse, quelling the passion that pooled within me.
But it doesn’t stop me from blurting out, “I want you.”
His eyes close as he inhales, stealing all the air around us. He rolls to the side, falling off of me, to lie next to me. “I want you too.”
I don’t understand the frustration in his tone. We both want each other.
“Why did you stop?” I roll toward him, reaching out to turn his face to look at me.
When he flinches from my touch, I slowly pull my hand back and sit up, my back to him.
“I’m trying to do the right thing.”
My shoulders sag as I glance back at him. “What about being with me is so wrong?”
“I feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” he says.
I stand and turn on him. “I am not a child.”
He reaches his hand out to me. “That’s not what I said.”
I push his hand away and glare at him. “Don’t.”
“Aubrey, come on,” he pleads.
“No. All you did tonight was mess with my head. You clearly need to figure some stuff out.”
I turn and walk to the bathroom, needing to be away from him to pull myself back together. I just cannot understand why he even kissed me in the first place if he thought it was wrong. He’s here with me to help me make sure I don’t get lost while moving between countries. He’s not my babysitter. I close the door behind me and lean against the sink counter. I gaze up at my reflection to see my swollen lips and my chin reddened from his stubble.
Turning the cold tap, I splash water on my face. I’m surprised I’m not crying. I should be feeling rejected right now. Instead, I’m pissed. Whatever happened tonight, he started.
Now, I have to exist knowing what his lips feel like on mine and that he thinks it’s wrong somehow. I despise our shared quarters more than ever now. I do not want to sleep under our tent-like netting with him. I don’t want to watch his chest rise and fall as he sleeps. I also would rather walk across hot coals than seek his aid in large bug removal. What I need is my own room, the privacy to nurse my wounds alone and not under his watchful eye.
Knowing I can’t avoid him forever, I walk back into our room. I need to change for bed. I should have grabbed my things on the way to the bathroom. I don’t want to go in there again. I don’t want him to think I was hiding.
Anger fuels me on as I change in front of him, my back turned. Maybe I think I can show him what he’s missing out on, what he decided is wrong. I slip off my jeans, knowing my shirt almost covers me. Almost. If I were truly brave, I would have taken my shirt and bra off before putting on the yoga pants I sleep in. I still feel a thrill, taking my shirt and bra off, my bare back to him.
“Aubrey, are you going to talk to me?”
I glance at him, over my naked shoulder. I try to look disinterested. “What do you want me to say?”
He licks
his lips, looking up at the ceiling, before looking back at me. “Are you angry at me?”
My head dips back as I scoff. “I’m not happy with you.”
I bend down to grab my T-shirt and drag it over my head, feeling somehow powerful in being unafraid of changing in front of him.
“I feel really bad—”
I turn on him fully, cutting him off, “You feel bad for kissing me? Shit, Adam. You can be a real asshole.”
His mouth drops.
I continue, “You made it crystal clear that you think kissing me is wrong. That’s awesome, really great, because I didn’t. So, now knowing how much of a mistake you thought it was sucks. Should be fun playing the happy couple tomorrow, seeing as how I don’t even want to look at you right now. If it’s cool with you, instead of me having to listen to you say again how kissing me was a mistake, I’d like to go to bed. Do you have any issues with that?”
I take a step back when he charges me, pulling me hard against him and putting his lips on mine.
I push him away, gasping. “What the hell are you doing?”
He traps me, the post of my bed at my back. “Maybe I don’t care anymore if this is wrong.”
He dips his face toward mine, but I turn my head.
“Maybe I care that you thought it was.” He takes a step back, raking his fingers through his hair. “I feel responsible for you. There—I said it. But trust me, I do not think you are a child. I’m shit at this, and I am only trying to save you from me.”
I push off the post and walk over to sit down on my bed, putting my elbows on my knees and rubbing my temples. He follows me but sits on his bed, right across from me, our legs almost touching.
I’m trying to process what he said. I can’t be too offended that he feels responsible for me. It’s annoying, yes, but I respect that he’s honest about it.
He wants to save me from himself? I just don’t understand what he means by that.
So, I ask, “Why do you think you need to save me…” I pause, looking up at him. “From yourself?”
He rolls his shoulders. “I’m not looking for a relationship, Aubrey.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Who says I am?”
He rubs the pad of his index finger back and forth across his lips. I wonder if he can still taste me. We seem locked in some strange staring contest. I’m waiting for him to make a move even though I’m not sure how I’ll react. Part of me feels as though whatever moment we had is lost. To begin again, at this moment, would feel forced. The way he stopped us before bruised my ego and broke whatever spell we were under.
It feels like forever before he speaks. “Well, I sure fucked this up.”
I cover my mouth, trying in vain to hold in my laughter. His words break whatever tension lingered. He looks a bit wounded that I’m laughing.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to say that. Look, it’s been an interesting night. Let’s just try to get some sleep.”
He nods his head and slowly makes his way to the bathroom. I try in vain to fall asleep before he comes back. I stay in my bed as he loosens our netting from the posts and carefully drapes them around our beds. I’m startled when he comes to my bed and not his.
I start to say something, but he beats me to it. “Can I just lie with you? We don’t have to do anything. I just…I just want to lie with you.”
I’m about to say that I don’t think it would be a good idea, but his rasped, “Please,” kills my opposition.
I move to the side, making room for him, only to be pulled back until I’m flush against him, my back to his bare chest. His arms surround me. I’m disappointed in myself at how quickly I surrender.
I lie stiffly in his arms at first. I’m overanalyzing what this means and how my acceptance of him being in my bed makes me look. I wonder if he’s going through the same thing I am until I hear the gentle change of breathing that signals he’s asleep.
Even though sleep evaded me prior to him joining me, the rhythmic cadence of his breathing lulls me to sleep. My last coherent thought is acknowledging the feel of his arms tightening around me.
At some point overnight, we shift.
When I awake, my cheek is resting on his shoulder with my nose at his neck, our limbs tangled. I know I should slip away. It would be the easiest way to avoid any awkwardness over last night. It hurt when he pulled away.
I’ve just made up my mind to ease myself from his grasp when I feel his body shift. He lifts the arm I’m not lying on above his head and groans as he stretches, his chest pushing out toward me. My hands almost reflexively reach up to brace myself. He pauses mid-stretch to look down at me before pouncing. I’m on my back, my hands pinned above my head.
Adam’s face hovers over mine. “What do we have here?”
“Adam!” I exclaim, startled.
He tilts his head to the side, almost smiling. “No, I’m Adam. You’re Aubrey.”
I flex my fingers and glare at him when he doesn’t release me. “I’m thrilled you’re in such a good mood this morning. Wanna let me go now?”
He sighs, letting go of my wrists and sitting up on his heels, straddling me.
I push up on my elbows. “Are you going to move?”
His hand moves to the hem of my shirt, pushing it up a couple of inches to expose my stomach, before I swat at it.
He rubs the hand I hit. “Thought we should do some exploring today.”
I tug my shirt back down. “Fun as that sounds, it would probably be smarter if we didn’t.”
He shifts his weight off of me and lies back down next to me. “But I thought...” He trails off.
I turn onto my side, facing him. “You were right to stop last night. It wouldn’t be a good idea for us to get involved. Things could get awkward. Feelings, probably mine, could get hurt. I think we should just stay friends.”
He gives me a look.
“Or become friends. Whatever,” I amend.
He gets up, pushing the netting back and tying one side up to the post of his bed, before walking over to his bag. He walks back and drops a small bag onto my stomach. “All right, friend, I meant to give you this earlier. It’s no big deal. I’m going to go shower.”
I sit up all the way. “What is it? Don’t you want to watch me open it?”
He shrugs and leans against the post of my bed. I smooth the comforter out in front of me and shake the contents of the bag out onto it. Out tumble two charms—a small bottle of wine or maybe beer and a waterfall. In all of the excitement, I forgot to get charms for my bracelet.
I’m blinking away tears when I look up to thank him.
He avoids my eyes, “It’s nothing.”
But I know better. I set the charms on the table between our beds before getting up and going to him.
I answer the question on his lips with my kiss. I know he can hurt me, but now, I know I can hurt him too, and somehow, that comforts me. He doesn’t argue. He just accepts my surrender, lifting me and carrying me back to my bed. His lips leave mine briefly as he walks to, and then digs through his bag for something.
I need his touch before I lose my mind. “What are you looking for?”
His head stays down as he continues to search for something. “I know I have a condom.”
Oh. “Adam…”
Something in my tone compels him to look up at me.
“I’m on the pill. I’m clean. If you are too, we don’t have to use one. I trust you.”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he comes to me, pausing only to free the netting until it surrounds us once more.
Adam makes good on his earlier teasing. He explores me. His deft hands make short work of my clothes. With his mouth and his hands, he erases the memory of every other touch I knew. Some people believe the Garden of Eden was in Africa. I’m his garden, and he’s my Adam, the first.
I pull at his shorts, and he pulls back to remove them. My gaze is bold as I watch him bare himself to me. My touch seems to hold a power o
ver him as well. Even as sweat glistens on his brow, a gentle sweep of my fingertips makes him shiver.
When I push aside the hair falling forward onto his face, I see my reflection in his eyes, and I feel beautiful. My desire makes me desperate as I pull him toward me, lifting my hips to meet him. Any control he had before that is gone. He marks me, deep inside, over and over again.
Haphazardly throwing on his clothes from the day before, Adam leaves just once to get us food and chilled drinks. Shedding his clothes once he’s back in our room, he proudly presents what he’s gathered.
We make a picnic over on his bed, using our hands to feed each other, our hunger for each other only increasing as we eat. He trails pieces of mango across the tops of my shoulders, nibbling and licking its wake. Where he seems obsessed with my skin, I can’t seem to get enough of the taste of his lips, his tongue.
He accepts my kisses greedily, pushing our picnic aside and tugging me into his lap. Our bodies were made to be joined, and we relax into each other. I slowly rock my hips, and his hands lift and lower me. We connect again. Our kiss only breaks as we cry out together.
My forehead falls to his shoulder, exhaustion taking over. I mumble complaints as he lifts me, ducking us both under the netting.
Adam carries me to our bathroom. He sets me on a small wooden stool by the vanity, and I droop as I watch him fill the large garden tub. As the water runs, he comes to crouch in front of me, lifting his hand to cup my cheek. Instinctively, I lean into his touch. Tub half-full, he reaches for my hand, and together, we settle into it. I’m nestled between his legs, my back to his chest.
Using a small dish meant to hold decorative soap, he wets my hair. My shampoo sits within arm’s reach, and I drift off to sleep as he massages some into my scalp.
When I awake in bed for the second time that day, I’m once again tangled up in Adam. Only, it isn’t the same. I’m naked in his arms, his bare body surrounding me. I feel changed. The clumsy lovemaking of my high school boyfriend did not prepare me mentally and physically to comprehend what it is to be worshiped intimately by a man.
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