Chris Martin launches into his old line about stars shining “just for you.” I grab my phone, desperate for him to stop. This thing can’t be about romance. Doesn’t he understand by now he can destroy me with just one of his sexy looks?
I flip through my playlist until I come across Nine Inch Nails’s “Closer.”
“Hey. Go back.” Adam eyes me with suspicion. “New favorite band, remember?”
“Trust me, this song is more fitting.” I flip over to lay above him with one hand holding me up and the other trailing down his stomach, headed for his pants. I dance around on top of him, mouthing the words to the song. Adam’s eyes grow wider when the song breaks into the chorus.
“Whoa!” he yells, nearly shoving me over. “I thought we agreed to take this slow.” He springs for my phone, eagerly stopping the song like it’s making his ears bleed. After a few clicks, the members of Typhoon are crooning into the night, discussing the perils of love of all goddamned things.
I brush off the relevant fact that he chose to play the mix I named “romance,” and frown. “I thought we agreed we were coming back to drink champagne and get it on. You’re becoming the reversed version of a cock block.”
“Come here.” He pulls on my hips, his expression suddenly serious.
And, holy shit, now they’re singing about strangers in the dark...and stars...I should stop this right now. The music, the relationship, whatever game we’re playing. But one look into Adam’s eyes, and I’m a total goner.
I dip my head down, reluctant and cautious. He kisses me with a fire unmatched by anything, hints of champagne and the cheese balls we broke out for our makeshift dinner on his tongue. I breathe deeply through my nose, catching his musky scent mixed in with the outdoors. His lips, both benevolent and eager, stroke and brush around mine, giving room for his tongue to press its way in. When I reach down to tug at his shirt, wanting to finally feel the muscles of his stomach without fabric getting in the way, his hand wraps around my fingers.
He looks up, his eyes filled with so much emotion, it’s as if he’s about to cry. “Just kiss me, Jewels,” he whispers. “Nothing else.”
I fall back into him, wrapping my lips with his, not dwelling on reasons why he’d be upset, not caring that I promised myself I wouldn’t get emotionally attached. I take his probing tongue between my lips and suck hard, rubbing my body against his in sync with our kisses. Adam backs down, pulling away just enough to reclaim his tongue and lightly suck on my bottom lip. Every time I try to kick it up a notch, he’s quick to slow it back down.
I finally give in to his sweet gestures and marginal PG rated intentions. We continue kissing forever and ever under the bright stars, burning through the playlist I created with high hopes for such an occasion. The only stroking and touching of any kind involves heads and faces, and it’s filled with compassion, tenderness. Although I’m still burning for him from head to toe, there’s an intense need to match his pace and prove to him I want this. I want him.
Every time we stop to catch our breaths, Adam studies me closely, as if waiting for me to profess my love for him. As if wanting to tell me he’s in love and doesn’t ever want to let me go.
We’ve entered dangerous territory. You can’t kiss someone with so much emotion if you’re preparing to walk away. Alarms ring through my head, too loud and too obvious to be ignored. There are way too many complex emotions being passed between us.
I already know he’s going to shatter my heart.
GET IT NOW: