Page 90 of Adam
“You’re so amusing, little orchid,” he says, crossing his arms.
There it is again. The softness he tries to pass off as nothing. The so-called concern he keeps dangling in front of me, and of course, the damn nickname I’m stupidly attached to.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“What am I doing?” he asks, raising one brow, clearly confused.
My breathing turns tight, rage simmering low in my chest. I stay quiet. I know if I keep talking, I’ll just make a bigger idiot of myself. After all, I clearly mean nothing to him. He’d rather chase after that bitch with the apricot-shaped ass.
He steps closer … then closer, until he’s only inches from me, his eyes dragging over my face. And just like that, I’m weak again. My knees threaten to give out, and all I can think about is his body. He’s so close it’s pathetic how badly I want him.
He looms over me for a few long seconds, neither of us daring to break the silence. His chiseled jaw twitches.
“Lock your door tonight, Isabella,” he says, calm as ever.
Defeated, I simply nod, my eyes dropping to the ground, or anywhere away from his.
As he turns his back to leave, something claws up my throat. An impossible, frantic urge to keep him here. My ego flares, twisting tight around my ribs. He’s mine. He’s mine, and the thought of him walking away feels wrong in a way that isn’t entirely sane. He should know it. He should feel it.
“Before you go …” I clear my throat. “Help me unzip this,” I say bravely, turning my back to him.
“Can’t you do it yourself?”
“I can, but I wantyouto do it.”
He exhales, his eyes fixated on mine through the mirror. “I shouldn’t lay a hand on you, you know that, right?”
I shrug, unbothered.
He steps closer to me again and leans in, until his lips brush the shell of my ear. “But I’ve never been good at doing what I should.”
The zipper slides down excruciatingly slowly, each inch sending a shiver up my arms. And once again, I can’t tell which version of him is standing behind me. The guardian, the monster, or the man who looks at me like he wants to swallow the world just to taste my skin?
I shove the dress off my hips and let it hit the floor, standing there in nothing but my lace thong. His stare hits me instantly. In the mirror, I watch his eyes darken.
“And what about now?” I ask softly, struggling to hold my voice still. “What are you going to do?”
“Put it back on,” he orders.
I turn around, facing him, and rest my hands on his firm torso.
“Don’t you like me like this?” I purr, loosening his tie.
His chest heaves faster, as if he’s struggling to breathe. I slip off his blazer, savoring the hunger in his eyes as he stands there, frozen, eager, anticipating what’s coming next.
My fingers circle the back of his neck, and I rise onto my toes, letting my hard nipples press deliberately against his body. He wants me, I know it. I can see it. His breathing betrays him more than he’ll ever let his words.
“Kiss me,” I say.
“No,” he breathes, his lips barely brushing on mine.
“Why?” I complain desperately.
“Because it’s a bad idea,” he says quietly, pulling in a shaky breath.
Disappointment hits me again, but this time it only hardens my resolve. I’m done waiting for fate to straighten itself out. I want him, and I’m not shy about it anymore. I’m not going to let my inexperience make me look the timid little good girl he thinks I am.
That certainty pushes me forward before I can overthink.
