And he stopped rubbing just long enough to slip a finger inside of me. First tentatively, and then deeper. Then he slid it in and out while I gasped in the rhythm his hand had set.
I was so close. So close. And delirious with pleasure as I was, I hardly had time to realize where his hand was or whether or not I should be embarrassed or self-conscious. “I’m going to come,” I finally said.
He did not reply, speeding up the rhythm of his touch. It was just enough to push me up and over the top. I threw my head back and gasped, feeling the convulsions of release wash over me like raindrops in a high desert storm.
But he continued stroking and stroking against my too-sensitive flesh. “I’m going to do it again. And you are going to say my name. And if you don’t, I’ll keep doing it until you do.”
The pleasure was so intense it almost hurt. I tried to push him away. “No, it’s too much.”
“You’re going to come and my name is going to be on your lips,” he uttered fiercely against my ear. “Come on, Emilia.”
And it was building again and lord, I couldn’t believe it but I wanted it so badly—again. I never knew it could happen again so fast.
But I was still resisting him and his hand, my body stiffening. He pressed his mouth to my ear. “Surrender to me,” he commanded as he entered me once again, his finger sliding into me—and then there were two fingers and I fell slack against him, deciding, ultimately, to allow myself to go where he would take me.
“You’re so tight,” he muttered. “So innocent.”
And I was close again, biting into his jacket at the shoulder to keep from screaming. “Come for me, Emilia.”
And it was so intense—so much more intense. The previous orgasm—as good as it was—was nothing to this one that was approaching like a monstrous wave from far offshore, about to crash down on the rocks. I could barely remember my own name, let alone his, as he pushed me toward a higher climax than I’d ever known.
“Oh God,” I said.
“I’m good but I’m not that good.”
“Adam—” I panted.
“Better,” he whispered. “Say it again.”
“Please.”
“Again, Emilia.”
“Adam. Adam. Adam.” And just as I felt the crest of release take hold, he lowered his head and sank his teeth into my earlobe, the pleasure and small, sharp pain clashing with each other.
I fell against his chest, panting. It was several minutes before I remembered where I was or even who I was. There was nothing but an aching, haunting bliss and the feel of his chest rising and falling under me—very quickly with each rushed breath. He was very turned on and I wondered why he’d done this in the first place—why he’d started this when he knew he wouldn’t be able to finish it for himself—at least not tonight.
Or maybe he could. I stroked my hand along the rigid line of his erection, easily discernible from base to tip. He stayed my hand, hesitating.
An almost involuntary groan escaped his lips. “No,” he breathed. “Tomorrow morning I’ll have the boat back. We’ll spend the afternoon out, have lunch, go swimming, make a day of it. You can stay the night there.”
I looked at him, the question in my eyes. “I can wait, Emilia. You’re worth waiting for.”
The kindness of those simple words took my breath away. You’re worth waiting for. It was so opposite of what I’d known from my only serious relationship—if a self-involved high-school boyfriend could even be considered serious. Zack hadn’t wanted to wait. Had decided to force the issue when I told him I wasn’t ready. That wasn’t the answer he’d wanted, so he’d taken what he wanted anyway.
I shivered against Adam and he pulled me to him. “Thank you,” I said, voice trembling with an emotion I couldn’t fully explain.
When he turned on his phone shortly thereafter, there were four text messages and a missed call. Adam swore under his breath, but took the time to answer each one of them while I sat beside him huddled under the blanket.
His car took me home soon after. Restless yet depleted, I reclined against the leather bench in the backseat, mind wandering over the evening’s events. Hopefully things would come to a conclusion tomorrow. But that shard of desire came with a double edge—because it meant that tomorrow night together would be our last. And as much as his hands on me were driving me to new undiscovered countries of pleasure, I suddenly realized how much I would miss him, beyond just his magic hands. His conversation, his boyish smile, his caring consideration, his keen perceptiveness, his clean, ocean smell. I tried my best to ignore the ache at the center of my chest that hadn’t gone away since he’d said that simple sentence, You’re worth waiting for.