“Oh God,” I whimper as he tugs my head back, teeth skimming the columns of my throat.
“Is this what you wanted?” Adam whispers as his mouth moves across my collarbone, one hand finding my breast. “To be touched in the back of my truck?”
“Yes,” I cry out as he nips the delicate skin on my shoulder, his tongue lashing over it, sealing it with pleasure. The pad of his thumb scrapes over my nipple, burning right through my dress when he squeezes and rolls it, and I rake my nails down his arms. “Adam .”
“Would you have made all these noises? Let people hear you?” Hot breath rolls down my neck, making me shiver as his teeth graze my ear. “They would’ve wanted to see. See the gorgeous girl come undone just for me.” He grips my hips and yanks me to the edge of the truck bed before spreading my thighs wide.
“Thing is, Rosie…” His eyes drop, lock on the spot between my legs, the one that shows him how badly I crave him, and a wicked smirk tugs at his mouth. “I don’t like to share.” He swipes two fingers along my slit, gathering my wetness and making me gasp. Then he sinks them in his mouth, slow, savoring, and when he licks his lips, I’m sure I’ve died and gone to heaven. “They can’t have your noises.” He sinks a single, broad finger inside, and my head falls back, lips parting on a whimper. Adam tangles his fingers in my hair, pulling my gaze back to his as he works his finger in and out. “They can’t have your mouth, the way it opens just for me.” His thumb finds my clit, a firm pressure with a slow, torturous roll, and when my begging eyes hook on his, he grins. “And they sure as shit can’t have your eyes.” His mouth meets mine with another brain-melting kiss before the next words tumble out, low, promising, and so damn rough. “Because I’m not. Fucking. Sharing.”
“Ohhh God .” I shove my hands through the sleeves of his T-shirt and grip his bare shoulders below, fingernails digging in as I cling to him, and maybe sanity too.
“Just Adam is fine,” he whispers, that low voice dipped in mirth, a certain smugness that’s so rare from him but so beautiful too.
My hips move, lifting, rolling, chasing the friction of his hand, begging for more , and harder , and please , and fuck does he ever listen, giving me everything I want and more, until I’m panting, ready to combust.
“Jesus, listen to you. And you were gonna give them these noises?” He cocks his head, tsking. “No, these are all mine, trouble.”
“All yours,” I barely manage, sinking my fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging his forehead down to mine as I start to unravel.
“Fuck.” His brows furrow, and he closes his eyes, gives his head a tiny shake. “Didn’t think it was possible.”
I press my lips to his, coaxing his eyes open. “What?”
The pad of his thumb scrapes across my lower lip. “For you to get any more beautiful. But here you are, looking up at me like that, your lips swollen and red, your hair a mess, and you, so…” Electric blue eyes dip, roaming over me with a wild intensity that sets fire to my skin. “So fuckin’ flushed . Like you can’t get enough. Like you’re coming alive.” He pushes a second finger inside, making me shake as his thumb rubs my clit, then swallows my gasp with his mouth. “Beautiful isn’t enough, Rosie. You’re fucking immaculate.”
And here’s the most incredible thing: I believe him .
I tell myself that’s why the pit low in my stomach begins to bloom, why my spine starts to shake and my toes curl, despite never getting this far with Brandon. Because on top of the mind-blowing pleasure he’s delivering, it’s the confidence, the powerful sensation that comes with feeling so wanted. Treasured. Seen .
It’s been too long since anyone has seen me.
“Was I dreaming earlier when you said you’ve never orgasmed with anyone?”
I whip my head side to side as my thighs begin to quiver. “Never.”
“Mmm. That’s a fucking crime.” He watches me with a barely contained hunger as I lean back on my hands, and when my head rolls over my shoulders, he clamps his mouth over my neck, dragging it up my throat until it finds my ear. “The second you come on my fingers, this pussy is mine.”
Holy mother of —yup, that’ll do it. Adam knows, too, because he gets this smirk on his face, halfway to wicked.
“Ready, pretty girl?” He chuckles, a dark, gruff sound that grates against the hollow of my collarbone as he traces it with his lips. “Silly question, huh? The way you’re suffocating my fingers and clawing at my shoulders tells me so.”
His fingers slide into the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling my head taut as he curls the fingers inside me and whispers, “Come, Rosie,” against my mouth, and I let him throw me right off the edge of the cliff.
It feels like I’m falling, drowning, and right at the last second, he pulls me up and breathes life back into me, his lips on mine as he swallows my cries.
A satisfied moan grates in his throat as I ride his fingers, rock against the waves of pleasure that beat like heavy rain inside me as Adam’s mouth moves against mine, murmuring that word he promised, the only word I want to hear.
“Mine .”
CHAPTER 15
THE ONE WHERE THEY WORE FAKE MUSTACHES
ROSIE
Early Monday mornings at Wildheart are near impossible to beat. It’s a slow start, the quiet hum of music drifting from the radio on the front desk, the soft purr of the cats lounging in their pods while they wait for their forever homes, stretching lazily in the sunshine, bellies out and begging for scritches.
There’s a certain peace that comes with being the only one here for an hour or two while the rest of the world wakes up from their weekends. It’s a safe type of happiness, in a bubble of contentment, pretending for just a moment that we’re not all restarting on Mondays, rushing out the door, and gearing up for a long, drawn-out week where you can barely stand by the end of it.
A wet nose nudges my pocket, and I smile down at Piglet. “You like Monday mornings, too, huh?”
What she really likes is the treats tucked in my pocket. Her nose spots those things from a mile away, and she won’t stop looking up at me with those ginormous gooey-brownie eyes until I give her one. Or five.
“You’re irresistible, you know that, Pig?” She takes the treat from my palm and trots happily beside me, making our way to the cat sanctuary, her favorite place to be. Turns out she’s got a mothering streak a mile wide.
She’s been incredible with Adam and Bear on our weekly hikes, and though she still seems so utterly depressed when I head to her kennel first thing in the morning, the moment she spots me, she leaps to her feet, tail wagging, tongue out, ready for any adventure. On quiet mornings like these, I wear her lead around my waist, let her walk around the shelter with me. She loves the newfound freedom, but, God, these cats. I don’t think she’d ever seen one before, judging by the way she stared with the widest eyes at the first one through its door for five minutes straight, not moving a single muscle.
And then that cat stood, stretched, walked right over to Piglet, and touched her tiny pink nose against her big, wet black one, and all hell broke loose.