𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

51 || All's Fair In Love & War

Thick and throaty, the tone of his question tells me he knows the answer to his question. While the smile against my skin proves he'd seen the bliss on my face, felt the ease in my limbs.

Again. I want him to do whatever the fuck he'd just done to me again. Over and over until im dead.

My chest heaves, short pants escape my lips, while my hands bury into his hair and I pull his face to mine. "How'd you get so skilled with your mouth?"

He watches me watch him. A curve forming on his lips. "Are you jealous?"

Perhaps that's what this is.

"Yes." There's a bite to my tone, as my hands slide down to grip his neck before my fingers trace his lips. "How many women have had these lips?" I murmur.

A part of me doesn't want to know, the other part, doesn't want peace.

He catches the tips of my fingers between his teeth, before slipping them further into his mouth and sucking on them.

But it's the way he's looking at me that tells me he likes my confession more than he's letting on.

He releases my fingers with a soft pop and speaks in a whisper against my fingertips. "Just one."

I'll kill her and make it so very painful.

"I wouldn't recommend retaliation, though." His voice is light, his palm warm as it slips beneath my shirt and itches it higher. "She may be stubborn and bratty but she can hold her own in a fight."

Cold air brushes my warm skin whist his lips find the swells of my breast.

He leaves a trail of chaste kisses across the skin, it's so distracting, it takes me a moment to realise he's talking about me. Only me.

It brings a smile to my face, while my chest loosens before tightening again. "She sounds hot." I sigh and loosen my hold on him. "You should be grateful she's giving you the time of day."

He sucks my skin, a low noise escaping the back of his throat and falling against mine. "Never said she wasn't."

This time, the throb pierces my chest. Marking itself as a  burning sensation that overwhelms every thought I have about him. I can't describe the feeling nor do I think it has a name. But if it did, it'd be his.

"What's wrong?" Perceptive as ever, Adrik lifts his head and narrows his eyes at me.

A second longer and he'll know.

I blink it away and lower my gaze down between us.

We'd ditched our wet clothes from the storm and kept them off even after we'd fucked. Yet here I lay, clad in his black T-shirt, while he wears his boxers.

His hair smells of my shampoo, his skin of my soap, while traces of my mouthwash linger on his breath. "Did you shower again?" He'd put me in his shirt, but it smelled of detergent instead of yesterday's downpour. "And do laundry?"

"You wouldn't wake up." He speaks in murmurs, between each mark he sucks onto my skin. "I got bored." Dark eyes find mine, and he licks his lips, his voice dropping. "Until I wasn't anymore."