It’s only just now that I’m realizing these are probably some serious sticking points, and how completely fucked up is that? It’s just that Gwendolyn Adams has always been the picture of self-confidence, strong and assertive, so loyal to her family, and always seeming unconcerned about their different lifestyle. It never occurred to me that there might be pain, trauma even, lurking under the surface. That my actions had bigger, lasting consequences.
Of course, I’d dumped a shitload of unresolved Bates family drama on her as well, so maybe... maybe she’ll see. Maybe she’ll understand that being a Bates has always been about the name, never about the people who bear it. The Adams are a family. The Bates are a brand. That’s all I’ve ever known family to be.
I turn to her, deciding to save that introspective nig
htmare for another time—preferably when I’m not comfortable and enjoying myself. I clear my throat. “It’s a TV show, Adams, and a kid’s TV show, at that. They’re not going to kill the dad.” My brow puckers in confusion at her gaping stare. “What?”
“It’s like you’ve never seen The Lion King.”
It’s the look on her face that makes me drag her in my lap and wrap my arms around her. “When the next season comes out, we’ll watch it together, and you’ll see that everything will be fine.”
The look she gives me is wide-eyed, surprised. I realize a beat too late that I’d accidentally made a declaration about the future. But in the moment, I meant it. Now that I have Gwendolyn Adams in my life, I don’t plan on letting her go. Not if I can help it. And I always get what I want. There are a million reasons this wouldn’t work, a hundred obstacles, but in this room, just the two of us? Fuck it, why not?
She touches my cheek and lifts up to kiss me, her lips warm and sweet from the candy she’d been eating. She kisses me again, deeper, full of an unmistakable intent. These are not the small, restrained touches we’d shared since that kiss. Her hands rub down my chest, sneaking beneath the hem, her fingers hooking into my waistband. Her teeth tug at my bottom lip, begging for entrance. Happily, I let her in, and when her tongue sweeps against mine, I groan in relief.
Days of pent-up desire well up inside of me, but I shake the lust fog from my head, frame her face with my hands, and ask, “Are you sure? You feel okay?”
“Yep. I had a really good nurse.” She straddles my hips, and then pulls her shirt over her head, exposing her perfect tits. Just like that. No frills, no bra, no fanfare. Just instant tits in my face. It’s like she knows exactly how to drive me crazy.
I think I know exactly how to make her feel the same.
I roll her over, making sure neither of us fall off the bed, and quickly remove my own shirt. Her eyes rake over me hungrily, lip trapped between her teeth, and I can’t help but take my time getting back to her, letting her drink her fill. She likes my body. I see it written all over her face on the regular. It’s not much—it’s not a long history of me being a good guy who does good deeds—but it’s what I’ve got, something I’m proud of. I put a lot of time into training, staying fit, sculpting my body into an exacting tool. Her eyes gloss over as her gaze sweeps down my chest, fingertips following the reverent path. I wonder if this is how she feels when I look at her—wanted, powerful, triumphant.
I’m only mildly surprised to find that I hope she does.
I start my journey with a kiss, from her mouth to her hips, taking my time, tasting her skin, teasing her flesh. She writhes under me, hips pushing impatiently upward. When I get to her belly, I kiss from one hip bone to the other, smiling when she squirms from the sensitivity. I’m too long, too tall for this little bed, so I hook my hands beneath her knees and pull her toward the foot of it with a single, powerful tug.
She inhales in surprise at the motion, but I don’t miss the way her eyes track my shifting muscles. It distracts her long enough for me to shuck her shorts and panties, sliding them down her creamy thighs in one smooth yank.
“Bates,” she says, realizing with a start exactly what I plan to do. She pushes up on her elbows and looks at me in alarm. “I don’t—”
“Yeah,” I say, kissing the insides of her thigh, “I think you do. Come on, let me do this for you, okay?”
I know this is different from that day in the chem lab—that this isn’t the dark, shadowy, hasty under-skirt deal we were working with before. This is her spread out before me, as bare as she can be, in the stark light of day. I’m asking her to really trust me, to expose herself in an intimate way—a way I’ve never even wanted from another girl before. I’ve eaten out exactly two girls, and each were for nothing more than the novelty of it. The first, for the novelty of just having the experience under my belt, and the second, with Gwen herself, for the novelty of having—taking, owning—as much of her as I could get.
Now, I just want to taste her, bring her a pleasure so intense and all-consuming that she calls me by name. My first name.
I nudge her legs apart, my palms sweeping up her thighs, never breaking her gaze. This is a question, a request. If she doesn’t want it, I’ll back off, and I’ll never look. I’ll let her keep this. I won’t take it.
She watches me, and after a long, breathless moment, exhales shakily. “Okay.”
I press my thumbs into the juncture where her legs meet her hips, finally allowing my gaze to drop to her center. I wet my lips at the sight of it, shouldering in between her legs, and hold her wide gaze as I press an open-mouthed kiss to her core. She tenses in surprise, mouth parting, but her eyelids grow heavier as my tongue peeks out, prodding into her deep folds. She shivers, fingers twisting hard in the blankets, and releases a soft cry when I flick my tongue against her clit.
She moans, “Jesus, Bates.”
Well.
That won’t do.
I take my time, and why shouldn’t I? It took us weeks—no, years—to get here. I set to the task more diligently than I would anything else, learning what makes her tremble, what makes her back arch, what elicits small, agonized sounds from the back of her throat, what makes her buck up against me. Her hands thrust into my hair and her legs gradually relax, falling open around me, completely without shame. Eventually, I learn just the right way to kiss and tease her, and from the way her legs shake and her stomach tenses, I’m certain she’s almost to the edge, very nearly ready to topple over.
Until she starts squirming away, whining, “No, no, I want to come with you inside me. Please.”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice.
I stand and shuck my pants, flinging my shorts off my feet with a clumsy kick. I bend over her, sliding a hand under her back and inching her up the mattress. Her hands grab my ass, pulling me close, her legs spread, hips pushing upward.
I sweep the hair from her sweaty forehead, soothing her. “Wait, fuck, I have to—” I fumble to open her bedside drawer and something clatters to the floor in my haste to clutch for the box of condoms, but I eventually find it, quickly rolling one over my aching dick.