Adrian Lessons (22 page)

“That didn’t take long.” She tosses her phone to the side, onto her pile of clothes sitting next to the bleachers, and smiles at me.

“Like I’d let you wait.” I pull my shirt off over my shoulders. Her slight intake of breath as her eyes rove down over my chest is sexy as hell. I make to walk around the side of the pool to reach her, but she holds up a hand. “Wait.”

“I don’t know how long I can wait with you naked,” I say. Need courses through me, thick and hot. Each second I don’t have my hands on her burns into my skin like grains of sand.

“Marie gave me the outline for this scene.” She stands up and trails her hands over her full, delicious body. “It’s very…specific.”

“I’m not used to being told what to do.”

“I know you’re not,” she says, eyes still ranging over my torso. “But this time, you’re going to give it a shot. In the book, Jonathan dives in and swims over to Amelia.”

I grin. If she’s going to play games, I’m going to play my own games as well. Without taking off my pants, I dive into the water, relishing the coolness against my face. I burst through the surface and swim toward her with hard strokes. But when I look up at the edge of the pool, she’s not there.

There’s a splash behind me and I turn. Her head pops up out of the water a few feet away. “Catch me.”

The mischievous expression on her face drives me wild. I dive after her, but she swims back quickly.

“Right,” I say. “You were on the swim team in high school.”

She grins and splashes me. “So was Amelia.”

I swim toward her and then circle her slowly. This time, she doesn’t dart away. Unable to bear the sight of her sleek body submerged in water any longer, I lunge forward, but she slips out of the way again.

She wags her finger at me. “Like I said. This scene is very specific. So I’m going to tell you what you’re supposed to do. Okay?”

I growl, but I’d cut off my own head for the chance to touch her at this point. “Fine.”

“Come forward,” she tells me. “So that we’re almost touching, but not quite.”

I drift forward in the water until our skin is aligned, barely a centimeter of water separating her breasts from my chest. I can feel the warmth of her breath on my neck. The water laps between us, drawing us closer together.

“You put your hand around my back, pulling me into you,” she whispers.

I do as she says, sealing our bodies together until there’s no space for water anymore. Her hands snake around and clasp together against my back. In the poor light, she’s so gorgeous.

“Kiss me,” she says.

I do, bringing my mouth to hers with such force that I nearly push both of us underwater. She tastes sweet and silky. Her tongue slips into my mouth and I respond in kind, losing myself to her.

She jumps up in the water, wrapping her thighs around my waist. I grip her tight ass and kiss her hard, stepping forward until her back is against the side of the pool. She breaks away and pants, the echo of her breathing loud in the enclosed space. “Now touch me.”

“Where?”

“You know where,” she breathes.

I obey, reaching between us to caress her folds. Then I grind my fingers against her, and she moans into my neck, rubbing her hips against me in a way that gets me insanely hard.

“Inside me,” she demands. “I want you to touch inside me.”

I obey, moving my fingers inside and finding that special ribbed spot to rub inside her walls. She tightens against me with a ragged sigh. I press my body against hers, hard, so she can feel every contour of me pressed against every contour of her.

“Put me up on the side of the pool and spread my legs,” she commands.

“Marie gave you a very detailed outline, I see,” I chuckle, but I do as she says, lifting her easily out of the water and setting her on the edge. I spread her knees as water pours in rivulets down her stomach and into her soft creases.

“Lick me,” she says.

I chance a glance upward. Her tone is firm, but there’s a slight quake in her shoulders. It’s taking all of her strength to remain confident, in control. But the sight of that confidence is making me horny as fuck. I grip her ass and slide her hips toward me and then, still in the water, I nibble on the outsides of her folds, the taste of chlorine quickly fading to be replaced with something uniquely her.

“Now get up here and get on top of me,” she says hoarsely.

I leap out of the pool in a rush of water, and in a second I have her pinned to the tiles, liquid streaming down my skin and pouring on to hers. She looks deliciously vulnerable, there on the tile, but still in control. I’m letting her have this. I’m doing exactly as she says—something I’ve never done before—and surprisingly, I’m happy to.

I grind my hips down on her so she can feel exactly how hard I am underneath my soaking wet jeans. She moans at the pressure and I push down harder, wanting nothing more than to bury herself in her, yet knowing I can’t do it. Not tonight.

Suddenly, she pushes forward, her hands on my shoulders, and then she’s on top of me, pinning me down against the tile. Her long hair hangs into my face, creating a canopy for just the two of us. She lowers her head and bites my neck. It’s sexy as hell, and I exhale harshly.

She sits back and rocks against my hips, dry humping me slowly and deliciously. I moan at the weight of her moving against my cock. She lets her head hang back as the lips of her pussy envelop the shape of me.

She reaches for the zipper of my pants. I stay her hand.

She actually growls at me.

“These jeans are the one thing standing between you and getting deflowered tonight,” I say as sanely as I can manage.

“Is there a problem with me getting deflowered tonight?”

“Yes,” I say. “Because I’ve planned something for this weekend. Something special.”

She moves her hips against me in another delicious stroke. “You sure?”

I’ve tested my resolve again and again, and I’m not going to break now, when I’m so close to giving her everything on my terms. “I’m sure.”

She slides off me and rolls onto her back, sighing. “I thought for sure the nudity would get you.”

“Cleo, you got me. Don’t worry about that.” I laugh raggedly and run a hand through my hair. “Did Marie really write out all those instructions for you? The girl’s a freak.”

“Well,” she says slyly. “I may have lied a little bit.”

“Wait. That was all you?”

“All me,” she says. And laughs.

~23~

CLEO

“The school newspaper wants to interview you,” Marie reports as she walks through the door, balancing a load of laundry on one arm and a pizza on the other. She tosses the laundry on the floor, the pizza on the table and raises an eye at the heap of me, upside down on the couch.

“Are they journalistically interested in seeing what happens when someone dies of horniness?” I mutter, my hair brushing the floor.

“They want to get the inside scoop from Adrian’s ‘special friend.’ Not that the two are unrelated.” She crouches, eyes me, and shoves a piece of pizza in my mouth. I chew and swallow. After a moment, I shake my head.

“Need sex. Not pizza.”

“I thought if anything could measure up to sex, it would be pizza,” she sighed.

“Nope. Sex.”

“You sound like my brother when he turned seventeen.”

“I think the libido of a seventeen-year-old boy has been implanted in me, actually.” I pull my shirt down. “Do you see a scar?”

Marie gathers her laundry up off the floor. “You know, you could just go have sex with someone else. College students do that.”

I think back to David’s religious revelation when he saw my boobs. “It’s more like…I’m horny for one person. Anything else would be like—like eating pizza when what you want is sex. No offense.”

“None taken.” She takes a bite. “So this person you’re horny for. His name starts with an A and ends with Drian?”

“No, I’m horny for Chef fucking Boyardee. Obviously.”

“Oh. I guess I’ll have to give this to someone interested in Adrian then.” She plucks an envelope from her purse and taps it.

I sit up. “What’s that?”

“Read it yourself.” She hands it to me.

I open it. It’s an invitation, printed on creamy rich-person stationary. An invitation to a dinner, this Friday. Underneath the silvery printed writing, there’s Adrian’s handwritten scrawl. I experience a moment of surprise that I know him well enough to recognize his handwriting.

White Steel is throwing this thing. I don’t think I can face it without you. Be my personal escort?

I resist the urge to clutch it to my chest like an army wife in a fifties movie. I don’t think I understood until now how much I believed that he wouldn’t be interested in me anymore, now that he’s famous. And how happy I am that I was wrong.

Marie reads it over my shoulder. “Whoa, Cleo. The Verge? That’s a serious venue.”

I barely noticed anything about the letter except for the fact that Adrian can’t face something without me.

“You’ll need a pretty hardcore dress,” she continues. “Luckily he tucked a thousand bucks into the envelope.”

“Very funny.”

She waves ten hundred-dollar bills in my face, which all the color drains from. Rapidly.

“I can’t accept that.”

“Which is what I told him you’d say. To which he promised that, in the future, if you’re ever uncomfortable with any of the lavish gifts he is sure to bestow on you, just say the word and he’ll take them back. But he thinks he should get in at least one lavish gift before then. And if you send it back, he’ll just donate it to the people who made ______.”

“I hate that show,” I gasp.

“He knows.”

“God damn it,” I say, grabbing the fistful of cash. “Marie, we’re going shopping.”

One pair of Michael Kors shoes, one Versace dress, and one Miu Miu handbag later, I stand outside my apartment, hoping Adrian comes quick before a mugger notices that I am his wet dream.

Adrian comes quick.

In a limo.

I guess I underestimated what famous really means, because I’m gaping when the sleek black car pulls up and then when Adrian steps out, my eyeballs explode, sending meteors shooting twenty feet and exterminating the dinosaurs.

His suit is impeccably black, cut perfectly to the contours of his muscular body. His hair sweeps low over his forehead, highlighting his cheekbones and jaw. There’s a look in his green eyes that sends a shiver all over my body. And then I realize that look is because he’s looking at me.

“I’m not a fashion expert,” I say in a rush. “Once this is over I’m returning it all and donating the money to charity.”

“You’re telling me that I’ll never see you in that dress again, after tonight.” He takes a step closer and I catch his scent and oh, God, I would throw this dress in the nearest trash can if I could pounce on him right here and now.

But I keep my composure. “That’s what I’m saying.”

He slips his arm around my back, cupping the skin exposed by the cutouts in the fabric. “Then I’ll have to make sure tonight never ends.”

“How will you do that?” I ask, mostly to find out whether or not I’m still capable of speech.

He lowers his mouth to my ear. “How about I fuck you so hard that time stops for us?”

A noise escapes me, one I didn’t know I could produce. It sounds like something that should be in the trailer for
Fifty Shades of Grey.
I’m wet immediately, and I want him to know. Trembling a little, I guide his hand to it.

His body goes rigid with restraint as his lips graze my forehead.

I want to hack away his restraints with a machete like a jungle traveler.

The limo door, as if sensing his need for a dark, enclosed space, pops open. Adrian takes my hand and guides me inside, never once removing his eyes from mine.

I’ve never been in the back of a limo before. The divider from the driver is up and there’s an ocean of smooth leather seats. The fresh car small mingles with Adrian’s, intoxicating me.

The door closes, and in less than a second he has me pushed up against the seat, his hand on my thigh, his mouth at my neck.

“Fuck, Adrian,” I gasp. “Now. Now. I want you now.”

He cups my hip, that wicked smile playing around his lips. “Is that a fact?”

That’s it. Red explodes behind my eyes and I snap. I twist out from under him and suddenly I’m on top, straddling him, my dress hiked high over my thighs. “You have been making me insane. Do you realize that? You’re
torturing
me.”

Something flashes in his expression and he surges forward. My back lands against the door. He’s pressed against me, both of us upright now, my legs wrapped around his strong waist and his arms holding me close.

“
You
need to realize something,” he says fiercely. “You need to know how much I’ve been wanting you. Craving you. Thinking about you every fucking second, Cleo. Torturing you? I’ve been torturing myself. It feels like setting myself on fire whenever I stop from doing exactly what I want to you. You’ve only wanted me for weeks. I’ve wanted you for years. Think about that.”

“You have me, so take me.” I grind against his hip. His breath turns ragged. “I’m right here.”

“I will not let—” He pants heavily. “Your first time—” I grip his straining hardness and he groans. “Be in the back—” He rests his head against my shoulder. “Of a car.”

“A limo! I am so okay with my first time being in the back of a limo! Limos are classy! There’s nothing wrong with losing your virginity in a limo!” My words dissolve into insensible mumbling as his hand sneaks to the inside of my thigh, rubbing my skin.

“A car is a car,” he says, and then kisses me until I’m not sure if we’re still in the limo or if we’ve been transported to a spaceship.

“We could be in a gas station bathroom right now and I would still want you to fuck me senseless.” I bury my fingers in his hair.

In response, he uses his mouth to do terrible and wonderful things to the breast that has fallen out of my low-cut dress. I let my head fall back, drowning in this feeling.

“You want to know what I’m waiting for?” he says in a low voice, finding my wetness again, slipping inside, and my body reacts on its own, grinding against his hand.