He rakes his fingers through the strands, twining a rose gold end as he grips my hip. “You paint these honey waves the softest shade of pink because you want to stand out just a little bit. I think it makes you look innocent, sweet, but what makes you stand out…” He sweeps a thumb beneath my eye. “These stunning eyes, the same color as the trees the day we met.” He skims my cheekbone. “And these freckles, the way they light up your face when you smile, come out of hiding after an afternoon in the sun…” The tip of his nose rubs against mine. “This nose, the cutest fucking nose, the way it crinkles when I make you blush.” Capturing my chin, he claims my mouth with the softest brush of his. “And this smile…Jesus, this is what makes you stand out, Rosie. This smile is what I couldn’t tear my eyes from that day in the forest, not the nervous way you chewed it when you looked up at me, the way it grew when you watched that precious dog melt in my lap, the way it transformed every inch of your face when you laughed. I fell for this smile first, because there was no other choice but to fall.”
There’s always a choice , I almost say. And I’ve never been anyone’s .
But Adam shakes his head, a glint in his eyes like he knows exactly where my mind is trying to take me. Like he’s not going to let it.
He grips my neck, bringing my mouth to his, devouring me with a ferocity that steals my breath, lifts me to the tips of my toes, chasing more, everything. “No other choice,” he whispers against my lips before forcing my gaze back to our reflection, where every inch of my nakedness glows red under his scrutiny.
With his eyes locked on mine, Adam steps back, reaching behind him and pulling his shirt over his head. My mouth salivates at the sight of him, miles of tanned, knotted muscles carved to a level of perfection that feels surreal. And as he steps out of his shorts, muscular thighs straining below the immaculate lines of the lion painted there, heat spreads throughout my belly.
Adam steps back into me, palm covering my torso as it glides up, up, hands skimming the sides of my breasts as he dots my shoulder in kisses.
“These,” he murmurs, cupping the weight of them in his hands. “These are perfect. And they fed your son for thirteen months? I don’t ever want to hear you say something negative about something so incredible. And, fuck, are they incredible. Like they were made to fit inside these hands.”
“Adam,” I choke out as his thumbs scrape across my nipples, pulling everything inside me tight. My back arches, pushing myself deeper into his touch, wanting more.
Fingertips dance across my flesh, dipping between my breasts, lower, across my belly, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. Adam’s eyes meet mine as he gently traces the faint stretch marks painted on my skin. Heat pools in my cheeks, begging me to look away, but the look in Adam’s eyes begs me to stay right here with him.
“Tiger stripes,” he wonders out loud. “I understand the term now more than I ever did. A beautiful reminder of the versatility of your body, the way it adapted to grow something so precious. You’re unbelievably strong, Rosie. A mama who’ll do anything for her son, to help him grow and learn surrounded by love, while also showing him what true strength looks like.”
“What does it look like?” I ask quietly as his hands sear across my flesh like a paintbrush on a canvas.
“It’s fierce. Brave. Conquering your fears so you and your son can live without the barriers you see in your mind. But it’s also vulnerability. Honesty. Trust. It’s seeing your faults, your fears, as setbacks and opportunities to grow and learn more about yourself, rather than a dead-end road. It’s moving forward one step at a time, with someone’s hand in yours, holding you tight.”
“I like holding your hand. It makes all those steps a little easier.”
“I feel the same way about holding your hand. But for what it’s worth, Rosie, I think you’d be moving forward with or without me. I’m not your strength. You’re your own strength.” Fingers flutter across the line of my c-section scar, below the softness of my stomach. “If you ever question it, this right here should be all the proof you need that you’re a badass with unmatched strength. Because this scar tells a story. A story of a life you grew, a life you birthed, a family you built all on your own, one anyone would be so lucky to be a part of.”
He pulls me tight against him, encasing me in his warmth and something that feels a lot like love. And me? I sink into it. I embrace all of it, because I think that’s what you do with love. You never know how fleeting it is, after all.
“That’s how I feel, Rosie. Lucky. So damn lucky to be a part of your family, however small a part of it I may be. So grateful you let me into your lives. So grateful for these beautiful green eyes, and the kindest, widest smile that makes my heart feel so full. So grateful for this strong, incredible body that gifted me a tiny little boy I didn’t know I needed, one I’ve fallen in love with. So, thank you, Rosie. If you can’t see yourself for everything amazing you’ve done for you, I hope you can see everything amazing you’ve brought me.”
My heart pounds a relentless beat as Adam takes my shaking hand in his, pulling it back.
“This, Rosie,” he murmurs, pressing my palm above his pattering heart. “It’s all for you.”
I don’t know why it feels so heavy, so deep, like being submerged in water, except it’s the good kind of drowning, where it gives you life instead of stealing it away. Drowning in appreciation, in praise, in words that—for some reason—I know are genuine. The realization is staggering, pulling a shaky breath from my lungs, making my knees wobble as the feel of this man encases me. And when my knees give out, knocking me backward, I feel the heavy press of a bulge against my lower back, the sheer size and weight of it ripping a gasp from my throat.
Adam’s low chuckle skates down my neck. “Yeah, that’s all for you too.”
Fire blooms, crawling along every inch of me as he rakes two searing palms down my sides, grasping my hips so hard it straddles that pleasure-pain line in the most perfect way, like loosening his grip might mean losing me.
“I’d kiss every fucking inch of this body, worship it all, make it my only religion if you’d only let me.” He drags a single fingertip across my shoulder, my collarbone, dipping down to circle one tight nipple. “What do you say, trouble? You gonna let me?”
My back arches, pushing my aching breasts into his capable hands. “Please, Adam.”
He takes the weight of them so easily, squeezing, rolling my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, pulling every sound from my mouth. Hot, wet kisses trail my shoulder, up my neck. He traces each curve, draws a path across my belly, around the fullness of my hips. He dips lower still, and when his touch ghosts past the spot I want him most, my entire body trembles, folding forward from the teasing, the satiety I’ve been denied, and the handsome fucker really chuckles in my ear.
“I like you frustrated,” he tells me, pulling my ass back into him. He dips his hand between my legs, tracing my thighs, and he hums appreciatively as he finds the physical evidence of what he does to me coating me right there.
“I’d like your hand a little higher.”
“Mmm. Is that right?” Fingertips dance closer, so slowly it hurts, a desperate clenching low in my belly. “Here?” he whispers against my ear, sliding his finger through the wetness of my inner thigh.