“Okay, look,” I say, trying to calm him down. “If you really don’t want to, I’m not going to make you.”
“This shit isn’t normal, Sage. It’s not…right.”
“Why not? If I’m giving you consent, and we both want it, then who’s to say it’s not right?”
“I don’t know…”
“God?” I ask with a tilt of my head.
He gives me a flat, unamused expression. “Stop. I just need a minute to think this through.”
I let out a sigh and rest on my heels as I wait. Adam’s been raised to believe that anything kinky must be evil. He’s been internally punishing himself his entire life for all the shit he gets off to in secret. I know he does. I just wish I could help him let that shit go.
“Adam, it’s okay if you like it. As long as I like it, and I’m literally telling you I do—”
He lets out an exasperated huff as he crowds me. “Fuck it,”
he mutters. “Sage, look at me.”
There’s that authoritative tone again that makes me weak.
So I stare up at him obediently.
The next thing I know, the fingers of his hand are smacking me on the cheek, making me gasp and my eyes clench shut. A moan flies out of my mouth. Then his hand is around my throat, and he’s jerking my attention up toward him.
“Open your eyes, Peaches,” he mutters with a tight jaw.
My lids pop up just in time to see him lean down toward me. Arousal burns in my belly as I stare up at the ferocity in his eyes. His guard is down like I’ve picked a scab so long I’ve made it bleed. And now it’s gushing.
Then, with a firm grip on my face, he slides two fingers into my mouth, making me gag and choke as he pulls them out. Spit flies from his mouth, landing on my face. But then he’s there, running his tongue along the length of my cheek.
His face is inches from mine as he grits his teeth in my face. “You fuck me up. You make me want shit I know I shouldn’t want. You know that?”
Disoriented, I nod.
“But I love it, Peaches. I fucking love having you like this.”
He hesitates a moment before adding, “Like the dirty slut you are. Aren’t you?”
Again, I nod. This strange, all-consuming sensation washes over me. Like adrenaline and arousal mixed together, and as ridiculous as it sounds, it all feels so…intense.
Then his mouth is crashing against mine, as the grip on my throat tightens, so much so that I start to feel my pulse in my own ears.
I’m lost in his dizzying kiss and all too quickly, it’s gone.
He pulls away, leaving me swaying on the floor. He’s walking away again, pacing frantically. “Cut,” he barks loudly.
I don’t rise from the floor. I can barely move. So I stare at him until he finally freezes and glances back my way. The features on his face melt into unadulterated shame and sympathy combined as he rushes toward me.
“Fuck, Sage. Get up,” he mutters as he lifts me to my feet.
“I’m fine,” I mumble.
Grabbing his own discarded shirt from the couch, he uses it to wipe down the surface of my cheeks, lips, and chin. Then he holds my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him. “I’m sorry. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Turning my face in his hands, he examines my cheek, where he slapped me. “I said I’m fine,” I argue, regardless of the fact that my voice quivers as I force the words out. Why the fuck do I feel like I’m about to cry? I did like that. I liked it a lot. But suddenly the feel of his arms around me and the gentle touch as he dotes on me has me wanting to bawl.
So I shove him away. “Adam, stop!”
“You made me do that. Now I’m going to make you do this,” he says in a commanding tone.
“It was a ten-second clip, Adam. It’s hardly grounds for aftercare.”
“I don’t give a shit,” he snaps. “Sit down.” His words are sharp, sending chills down my spine as I suddenly find myself doing what he says. A moment later, he’s handing me a glass of water and holding a cool rag against my face.
I stare up into his eyes, growing more and more emotional at the sight of this pure and kind version of Adam. And all the while, the camera records on the tripod, catching every second of his aftercare.
And I let it.
“Have you still not heard from that asshole ex-boyfriend of yours?” Adam asks, sitting across from me at the same diner we met at. It’s become a bit of a Saturday morning ritual, but considering that we’ve spent nearly every waking minute together since all of this went down, it really doesn’t matter which day of the week we eat here.
“No,” I mumble with my lips against a cup of coffee.
“Do you think he’s seen the videos?”
Setting the cup down, I think it over. Has he seen them?
Probably. I mean, how could he miss them? The little degradation snippet we posted is already doing better than the first video. Viewers love a little slap and spit.
“I think I’m afraid he has seen them and just doesn’t care,”
I say, without looking him in the eye.
Adam hums out his disapproval and it’s quiet for a moment before he speaks again. “So, let’s go to the club.”
“Ha,” I say, stabbing a bite of his waffles with my fork.
“Very funny.”
“I’m serious. Let’s go rub our relationship in his face. We can even record a video in there.”
He makes it sound so simple, as if Brett wouldn’t throw the biggest fit in the world, acting as if he is somehow the victim here. And how I’d somehow fall for it.
“No, we shouldn’t,” I reply.
“Why not?”
“First of all, recording in the club is incredibly unethical.
And second of all, I have no desire to see my ex or rub anything in his face. I’m moving on.”
Even I can hear how unconvincing I sound.
“Come on now. You said you wanted revenge on him and that it was part of the deal. Besides, if we want to fuck up his relationship with my father, I think us showing off ours is a big part of that.”
Letting out a long, annoyed-sounding sigh, I lean back in the seat. “Fine.”
He shoots me a wicked-looking wink from the other side of the booth, and I hide my own smile behind my coffee cup.
As he continues to talk, going on and on about how well this new video is performing, I let my eyes take in the sight of him.
Adam has changed a lot in the last two months since I met him. His clothes are grungier, his posture is more relaxed, and his demeanor is softer. Like he’s becoming more himself, or maybe I’m just rubbing off on him now.
Either way, he’s changing.
And it’s like the worse he behaves, the better he gets.
Twenty-Six
Adam
S age’s hand feels so small in mine as we walk across the parking lot toward the club, her heels clicking on the pavement. I have a bit of déjà vu, remembering what it felt like pulling up to this place for the first time.
It still feels as strange and as foreign now as it did then, only this time, I’m not alone.
“We’re just going to go in and let him see us together, and then we’re leaving,” I say to comfort Sage. Her usual confident and headstrong demeanor is changing with every step closer to the building. It’s like she’s shrinking before my very eyes.