Our lips are still pressed together, not kissing, just breathing into each other.
He makes love to me, until I start to feel that familiar pull in my lower belly, my clit tingling from each firm stroke from the base of his cock.
“Adam…” I whisper his name.
“Come for me, Evie.”
My body shatters around his, and I know he’s done. The feel of me tightening around him always sets him off.
He lets out a long moan, my name mixed in with it, his body shuddering. He comes inside me, coating my insides with his release.
We stay here, him inside me, as we kiss soft, gentle kisses, making out like we used to when we were kids. It’s been a long time since we’ve done this.
I try not to think what it could mean for us.
But I am hoping against hope that something has changed here. I know I’m a fool to think this, but I can’t help myself.
I wish for more, not what we had because I know I can never get that back, but something new with him.
I’d just be happy to have anything of Adam, anything he’s willing to give me.
I run my fingers down his side, causing him to laugh against my mouth. I love the sound. He always was ticklish there.
“I should clean up. I just don’t want to move.”
“So, don’t.” I stroke my fingers down his back.
He lifts his head and stares into my eyes.
I see something change in them, something that leaves me feeling cold. It’s almost like he’s switching off on me.
Desperate to keep him with me, I press my lips to his, kissing him. He kisses me back, but it doesn’t feel the same.
I’ve lost him.
Shutting my eyes, I draw back from him.
He pulls out of me and sits on the edge of the bed. His back is rigid.
“Talk to me,” I say softly.
He glances back at me, his expression closed off. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“What about what I saw…the things in your old room?”
His face darkens, his brows pulling together. “I told you downstairs that I didn’t want to talk about it. That hasn’t changed.” He gets up from the bed and walks over to the chest of drawers. He pulls open a drawer and gets out a pair of running shorts.
“Why won’t you talk about it?” I ask, sitting up, pulling the sheet up and around me.
“Because what’s the fucking point?” He pulls the shorts on with tense, jerky movements.
“The point is, we can’t keep avoiding stuff all the time, like those things in there.” I point to the wall. “And about what’s going on here, between us.”
He slams the drawer shut. Then, he grips the top of the dresser with his hands, his head bowed forward. “Nothing is going on between us.” The words come out gritted.
And they hurt like a bitch. But I don’t show it.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” I shift onto my knees, facing him. “Just talk to me. Tell me why you kept my things all these years.”
“Why do you fucking think?” He spins around to face me, his eyes wide with anger. “For the same reason I keep coming back and having sex with you all the damn time. Because I never got over you! I’ve spent the last ten years of my life pining away over you like an idiot while you moved on to a brand-new life, doing God knows what, fucking God knows who!”
I don’t why, but instead of feeling guilt, his words incense me.
Maybe it’s because of an article I read a few days ago. It was an old article, but I regretted reading it the moment I did. It talked about the upturn in Gunner Entertainment’s success since Adam took over the helm. I was proud of him while reading it until I got to the part where it said he was as successful in business as he was with women.