adrian-run-to-you-v1

by Lara Adrian

  As I savor the tender skin at her hip, I slide my fingers into her wet, silky cleft. I want to take it slow, wrestle back some of my fleeting control, but my need for her is too wild.

  I press my hands to her thighs and spread her open to my fevered gaze. Then I lower my head and claim her with my mouth. She moans, bucking against the sensual onslaught of my tongue and lips. “Please,” she gasps. “Oh, God . . . Gabe, please.”

  “Please what?” I murmur against her tender flesh.

  “I want . . . I want you inside me now.” She shudders as I continue to lick and suck at her sex. Her shoulders come off the pillows and for an instant I think she’s going to break her promise to keep her hands where I’ve placed them, but she falls back down on a groan. “Oh, God. I need to come so bad, Gabe.”

  Her desperation is swiftly becoming my own. I tongue her swollen clit, arousal ruling both of us now. My face is wet from her juices, my senses swamped with desire for her. Every nerve ending in my body is lit up and sizzling, every tendon and sinew ratcheted to the breaking point. And my cock has never been harder, ready to explode.

  “Come for me now, baby.”

  That’s all it takes. With my name a strangled cry, she breaks on my tongue in wave after powerful wave. I want to savor every hard tremor and nuanced vibration, but my need is too urgent now.

  I flip her over to her stomach, drawing her hips back until she’s on her knees before me, her head down on the pillows in a nest of her loose dark hair, her bound wrists stretched above her.

  “Christ, you’re gorgeous like this. Tell me you enjoy this. Tell me this is what you want.”

  “Yes,” she gasps, her body still thrumming under my fingers. “I want this. I want you, Gabe . . . now.”

  I stroke my hand down the length of her spine, from the top of her nape to the seam of her sweet, rounded ass and the drenched, molten haven below it. I move in behind her and guide my cock to the mouth of her sex. I drive home in one long, hard thrust, too far gone to even think I have the ability or the will to take things any slower now.

  A possessive growl unfurls deep inside me as I pump within the tight, hot walls of her body. “Fuck, Eve.” My voice is guttural and ragged, my release building like a tidal wave. “You’re mine. Mine.”

  “Yes. Oh, God, Gabriel . . . yes.”

  “You belong to me. No matter what,” I snarl. “Say it.”

  “I am yours.” The pledge gusts out of her on a sharp sigh. “No matter what, Gabe. I belong only to you.”

  Her reply is enough to snap the leash on my control, but it is the feel of her sex convulsing around me in climax that sends me hurtling over the edge. She cries out with her release, and I slam into her feverishly, savagely, my body tensing with every rapid pound of my hips against her backside. My orgasm erupts in a scalding rush.

  I’ve barely finished coming as I reposition her on her back and strip the bindings off her wrists. I sink between her legs again, picking up a tempo that’s even more relentless, more fevered. She wraps her arms around me, her thighs hooked around my hips.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispers. “Please, Gabe . . . don’t stop.”

  I couldn’t if I tried. The white-hot explosion of pleasure is still rippling through every cell in my body, but I want more. Need more.

  With this woman, I know I won’t be content with anything less than all of her.

  25

  ~ Evelyn ~

  The next morning, after showering and brushing my teeth in the apartment’s sole bathroom, I pad barefoot in a fresh camisole and yoga pants toward the small kitchen, where the aromas of brewing coffee and sizzling bacon make my stomach growl with interest.

  That’s not the only thing that stokes my hunger.

  Gabe must have been up for a while. Long enough that he’s already clean and has breakfast more than half under way. He pivots from the stove as I approach, alerted to me even though my steps are silent on the beige thick-pile carpet of the hall.

  Holding a black spatula in his hand, he is naked except for the low-slung, gray sweatpants he wears, all of those delicious planes and roped muscles of his body bared for my appreciation. As for the bulge of his cock, the baggy fabric hardly conceals its thick, heavy outline. And the loose waistband of his pants only accentuates the obvious, sagging enticingly on the lean cut of his hips.

  I can’t imagine ever tiring of seeing him like this. The fact that he’s cooking breakfast for me and has a pot of coffee waiting only makes me adore him even more.

  His mouth curves in a slow, sexy smile. “Good morning.”

  “Mm, morning.” I can’t look at him today without feeling the soft abrasion of the bonds he’d placed on my wrists last night. The faint ache lingers there, along with a deep thrum of yearning that still clings to me now, even after I eventually fell asleep boneless and exhausted from pleasure last night.

  He rests the spatula next to a griddle and a bowl of pancake batter he’s about to pour into it. He strolls up to me and lifts my chin on the edge of his fingers, lowering his mouth to mine for a kiss. It’s too tender, too brief by half. I moan, biting my lip as he withdraws.

  “Insatiable,” he murmurs, his grin waking those twin dimples that never fail to weaken my knees and my resistance. “Coffee?”

  “Love some. Just black, please.”

  “Coming right up. Have a seat.” He indicates one of the two stools that sit on the other side of the short L-shaped counter. And he was right about his kitchen window. It does, indeed, look into a unit in the brick building next door.

  I smile to myself as I take my phone out of the pocket of my stretchy black pants and set it next to me on the granite. I notice his glance as I place it there, and the flicker of question in his expression.

  “I talked to Andrew this morning,” I volunteer as Gabe pours a mug of coffee for me and brings it over. “He called before I got in the shower. He said he just wanted to say hi, but I think he was afraid to admit he was checking up on me. We haven’t spoken since our blowup in the boutique.”

  “What did you tell him?” Gabe’s voice is as measured as his stare.

  “That I was spending the weekend with a friend.” I smooth my finger idly over the rim of the phone’s case. “It’s not a lie, but it feels like one.”

  “I know.” He frowns, making a low noise in the back of his throat. “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t like keeping secrets, Gabe.”

  He nods, his brow creasing into a deeper furrow. “I need to fix this. I will fix it. Right now, I just need you to trust me.”

  “I do.” I swallow, resting my palm against his cheek. “I trust you completely. Last night should’ve been evidence enough of that.”

  “Last night was amazing,” he growls, his consternation replaced by a look of dark, male desire. His hands frame my face, lifting me toward him for another kiss, this one long and unrushed, hot and possessive. “If you’re not careful, you might find yourself bound to my bed for the rest of the weekend. Maybe longer.”

  I smile against his sinful mouth. “That doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

  He chuckles. “Maybe the better plan would be to hold you captive in your apartment instead. I think I warned you my place didn’t have much to recommend it.”

  “It has you. And besides, I think it’s a nice place.” I draw out of his loose hold, glancing at my surroundings. The rooms are organized and orderly, neat as a pin. “Sure, it’s compact, but this is New York, after all. And I have to say, I’m particularly impressed with the lack of clutter. Even your furniture is arranged with exacting precision.”

  He smirks. “Interior decorating skills courtesy of Uncle Sam.”

  “Is that also where you got your baking skills?” I gesture to a basket of obviously homemade blueberry muffins that sit on the counter next to the toaster.

  “Those? They’re a gift from my neighbor down the hall in Apartment 5.”

  “You have a neighbor who bakes for you?”

  “
Every week.” He shrugs, all charm and dimples. “I try to warn Mrs. Bernstein that she’s spoiling me, but I think that’s the point. She makes me a fresh batch on Saturday mornings and drops them off at my door.”

  “I’m sure she does,” I remark, giving him a flat look. “And does this tart down the hall expect something in exchange for giving you her fresh muffins every week?”

  He grins at my double entendre. “Considering she’s in her eighties, the only muffins I’m getting from her are the ones over there on the counter.”

  “Good.” I laugh, happy to replace the image of a married cougar on the prowl with one of a gray-haired little old lady who probably views Gabe as a grandson more than a juicy hunk of man-meat.

  He fetches the basket and offers it to me. And, dammit, the muffins do look and smell amazing. I select one and start peeling off the paper wrapper. Breaking the crumbly muffin in half, I hand him one piece. I take a bite and can’t hold back my sigh.

  “Oh, my God,” I moan around a mouthful of blueberry goodness. “This is incredible.”

  He nods, watching me chew in my state of culinary rapture. “Maybe I really should sleep with her, right?”

  I almost choke on my laughter. “Maybe we both should.”

  “No,” he says, his dark tone close to a demand. “I don’t intend to share you with anyone, Ms. Beckham.”

  I bite my lip. “Not even eighty-year-old ladies bearing muffin baskets?”

  The corner of his mouth quirks, but the rest of him is vibrating with sexual energy. “No one.”

  The air between us shifts, as it has so often since we met. It doesn’t take more than a breath for his mood to change from playful and charming to sexual and commanding. It takes even less for everything female in me to respond to the storm gathering in him.

  He reaches for my hand. Bringing my fingers to his mouth, he licks off the crumbs before sucking my index finger into his mouth. Slowly, he lets it go, his eyes full of carnal promise. “Do you remember what you told me last night?”

  My mind buzzes with all of the desperate promises and breathless whispers he coaxed from me under the barrage of pleasure he delivered. I meant every one. Especially the one that sits perched on the tip of my tongue even now.

  “I am yours.”

  He inclines his head in a tight nod, his gaze scorching everywhere it touches me. Leaning over the countertop, he captures my mouth in a searing kiss, dragging me up off the stool and halfway onto the granite surface. I crawl up the rest of the way, impatient to put my hands on him. I kiss him in a frenzy, my fingers in his hair, on his back, clawing at him in raw lust and a need to be taken hard by him.

  “I’m only yours, Gabriel.”

  His eyes never leave me. They consume me as completely as a blaze.

  With a sweep of his arm, he pushes aside my phone and the mug of coffee and the rest of the smattering of things on the countertop. Then he takes hold of me by my hips, dragging me across the granite to the opposite edge where he stands. My yoga pants and panties are yanked down with impatient hands, cool air rushing against the drenched seam of my sex as he parts my thighs.

  The sound he makes as he looks at me, spread open and ready for him, is fevered, possessive.

  His hand moves to the front of his pants, and I watch in rapt fascination as he pulls out his cock and guides it between my legs. He is fully erect, sliding along my wetness like heated steel, unyielding, demanding. He finds my center and I whimper with the need for him to fill me, to claim me.

  Desire rules my voice and every fiber of my being. I toss my head back on a desperate cry. “Please . . .”

  He captures my mouth in a brutal kiss and thrusts inside me. Hard and thick and unrelenting, almost more than I can bear. He lifts his head to watch me as he pounds into me, his strokes furious and deep and wild. His handsome face seems so tortured in that moment, awash with a hundred things he cannot, or will not, say.

  So, I say the words for him.

  “You’re mine, Gabriel.” With one hand braced behind me, I wrap my other around the back of his strong neck, our eyes locked on each other. “No matter what . . . you belong to me.”

  My demand pushes him over the edge of his control.

  Hauling me closer, he powers into me now. He doesn’t let up, not until I am crazed with sensation, tears leaking from my release breaking over me in an explosion of pleasure and emotion. He comes with me, my name boiling out of his throat like a curse and a prayer.

  26

  ~ Gabriel ~

  As appealing as I found the idea of keeping Evelyn bound to my bed for the entire weekend, eventually our stomachs overruled my plans.

  Having spent most of my free time last week on the Upper East Side at her place, food options in my kitchen were limited to random breakfast items, a few frozen dinners, and the basket of blueberry muffins. Instead, Evelyn persuaded me into a trip to the farmers market and lunch at a neighborhood café.

  We are seated at a table in the small green space out back, enjoying deli sandwiches and iced teas. A woven tote stuffed with fresh produce, including a carton of tiny wild blueberries, sits on the gray patio bricks at my feet.

  “You realize this is setting a bad precedent with Mrs. Bernstein,” I tell Eve, my arm draped over the back of her hard wooden chair next to me. Garbed in a breezy summer dress and flats, she turns a radiant smile on me, her pale green eyes sparkling in the sunshine. “I’ve made the occasional pharmacy run for her and carried up her parcels from time to time, but you’re really forcing me to up my game now.”

  She laughs, leaning over to kiss me. “I couldn’t pass up the blueberries, and I’m sure she’ll appreciate having a few days’ worth of fresh vegetables.”

  I make a skeptical sound, but I like that Evelyn thought of it. Christ, I like everything about being out with her today, doing things I see normal couples do every weekend. It’s a foreign concept to me, sharing my day and my neighborhood with someone. While I would have expected it to feel strange or awkward, with Evelyn it is neither of those things.

  If anything, it is the sense of contentment I feel that alarms me the most.

  It’s too easy to weave her into the fabric of my world when I look at her right now. Too easy to let down my guard and forget that someone has been watching her--someone who still has the benefit of hiding in the shadows, lurking just out of my reach.

  Until I’m certain she’s safe and that every threat is eliminated, I have to be first and foremost the man committed to her protection. Not the man distracted by his desire for her . . . and the deepening affection that I can no longer deny, least of all to myself.

  For what isn’t the first time today, she reaches into her purse and takes out a small spiral notepad and adds a few details to a lingerie sketch she’s working on. Sheepishly, she glances at me and finds me watching her draw.

  “Sorry,” she says, snapping the notebook closed. “I get a little obsessive sometimes when it comes to new designs.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Can I look?”

  She hesitates for a moment, seeming a bit uncertain before opening the little sketch pad and handing it to me. It’s a detail drawing of a lovely bra with delicate, pearl-studded straps and lacy cups. Below the sketch showing it from the front is one displaying the unusual side-closure of the piece.

  “There are no hooks or clasps,” she explains, leaning closer and pointing to the sketch. “It stays on using a touch fastener instead, see? It can be done with one hand. All the wearer needs to do is press the two ends of the bra together and it’s set. It comes off just as easily. And it can be custom-made to close on either side, based on customer preference or need.”

  I lift my gaze to her bright, excited expression. “This is an adaptive design. For someone missing a limb.”

  She nods. “I started thinking about it back in the locker room at the gym last night with Kelsey and Tameka and Lori. I have some ideas for panties and bustiers, too.” She shrugs, taking the notepad out of my loose
grasp. “Anyway, they’re just ideas. I won’t be the first designer to offer adaptive lingerie, but I want L’Opale’s pieces to be as beautiful and unique as anything else we create.”

  I’m staring, but damn if I can help it. I’m more than impressed. I’m proud of her. And I’m touched to think that she would take this kind of interest in my friends. My chest is heavy with all of the emotions she inspires within me.

  She slips the pad back into her purse. When she pivots back around toward me, I slide my hands into her loose hair and slant my lips over hers.

  “What’s that for?” she asks, smiling up at me after I kiss her, her forehead resting against mine.

  “You, Evelyn. Just for being who you are.”

  Her gaze softens, but I see the sultry edge of desire that’s still simmering below the surface. I see the question in her eyes, and I would be only too happy to oblige. “Shall we go?”

  “Yes.”

  I put cash on the bill that’s lying next to my elbow on the table. I’m reaching for the bag from the market when my phone chimes with an incoming call. I know the custom ringtone, even though I don’t hear it very often.

  “I need to take this.” At Evelyn’s nod, I unlock the screen and accept the call. “Hi, Mom. Everything okay?”

  “Oh, honey.” My mother’s voice sounds breathless and strained. “I’m sorry to bother you, but your brothers are all at work or I would’ve called them first.”

  I glance at Evelyn, who’s staring at me in quiet concern. “What’s going on, Mom?”

  “It’s your father. He fell in the bedroom just now.” She exhales, and it comes out as a sob. “I tried to help him up, but I’m not strong enough. And you know how he feels about calling the paramedics--”

  “It’s okay. I’ll be there.” Evelyn is on her feet alongside me while I talk. We collect our things and start heading out of the restaurant at an urgent pace. “I’m leaving right now, Mom. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”