This is the Radio Edit --a censored sex scene.
If you want the Album Cut (the full explicit love scene) you have to go to the companion work, called SOUNDCRUSH EXPLICIT and find the chapter URGENT Chapter 35: Bad Girls Don't Give A F*ck About Cabinentry--Explicit.
Got it? Good! Please don't forget to scroll through and vote on the radio edit, if you are heading over to the album cut! Thanks!
Okay, a few more notes: I chose the unknown musician playing the cover of "Beneath Your Beautiful" to approximate the song Adam writes and plays for Mac in this chapter. I mainly chose it because I think his voice is about the same timbre as Adam's, and he sort of looks like a slightly younger version of Adam. I think our Adam is a talented guitarist, and we would see more finger work than just these simple chords our friend plays above.
Another note: I've tried to post an external link to a real estate listing that inspired my vision of Adam's house. Sometimes these links don't work. If it doesn't work, you can private message me if you are interested in seeing the pictures!
Mac
Being with Adam here in LA is not like being on tour. On tour, the guys are always around, giving Adam shit about us, me egging them on, while Adam good-naturedly ignores us all. On tour, most days we keep to the relentless schedule. My main interactions with Adam are either band stuff or him trying to make sure I'm fed, watered, rested, happy, and balanced, and me trying to tolerate his attention as goodnaturedly as he tolerates all the shit he takes about banging me. On tour, we are bandmates 12 hours a day, lovers in stolen moments, and parents-to-be in secret. It makes it easy not to think about the future.
Here in LA, for the first time, it feels like we are a couple. We are staring at each other from opposite ends of the limo seat, hungering for each other, and for the first time ever, I'm looking forward to going home with him. Being with him in his house has always scared the shit out of me before, because it's feels too...intimate.
Adam's place is not like Trace's place...all Hollywood Rock Star Mansion cool. Being at Trace's place, you feel like a jam session or an impromptu A-list party could happen at any moment. Like Matt del Marco might drop by to say hi and suddenly of all Skid Marcs could be there, messing around in the studio. And this was even before the father-son reveal. Trace's connection with Skid Marcs has made for some crazy nights at his place with the Old Guard of Rock Stars. One night Trace called us all to come over and we waded through the party of famous people to find him having coffee in his kitchen with Stephen Tyler, who apparently doesn't drink.
It's not like Leed's place either—which is admittedly cool as shit. Completely contemporary with trees growing in the middle and filled with geodes, crystals and fossils that the Smithsonian probably sold him. My brother is the only person I know that will spend eighty thousand dollars on a six foot tall rock filled with trilobite fossils and quartz, but I'm not complaining. That vibe it lends to the yoga studio? Unbelievably centering. Living with Leed is like living in a spa. But his poolside is the perfect place for a party—so we throw our share, too. Mostly for the SCIC, though.
And Adam's house is least like Bodie's house. His more closely resembles a Dave and Buster's than a home. Bodie actually has the biggest house, because he continually hosts a rotating troop of visiting family and friends from back home, and it's packed with all kinds of stuff to keep them amused-media rooms, rec rooms, sport courts, a pool full of cheap Target floats, a kitchen always stocked with catered food from barbeque and tex-mex places. Tamara lives with him full time, along with a roving troupe of their cousins, aunts, uncles, etc old high school and college friends. Bodie is so laid back, he loves the continual family reunion at his place. When he wants privacy to take a lady home...he takes her to my old condo, that I sublet to him for the price of always picking up my tab whenever we go anywhere together. He thought it was a good deal until I tricked him into attending fashion week in Paris with me last spring.
The condo worked perfect for me, before the Green Room Incident. Really, all I need is place with an amazing closet. I know I'm kind of a fashionista, but it was necessary to become the Soundcrush Unforgettable Girl. The label made it clear that was part of my job. So I put on the designer clothes and I put on the make-up and put in the highlights, and I decided I liked it. What girl doesn't like fucking awesome clothes and shoes? Plus, it makes me feel powerful. My clothes, my makeup, my look—it's my shield. We all have one, except Bodie, who just doesn't give a fuck what anyone thinks of him. Trace has his bad-assery, Leed has his shit-cool, Adam has his nice-guyness.
I really didn't think of my condo as a home. More like a place to hang my bags. My mom's tiny little bohemian bungalow on the commune is probably the closest thing I ever had to a consistent home, and I guess my condo came to resemble that over time—a junky, eclectic mix of whimsical decor, but I basically lived out of my closet.
It worked, until it didn't. Until I woke up with nightmares, and drove to Leed's place nearly every night, kicking out the girls that would be there and making him sleep with me on the couch. Finally, I just stopped going back to my condo, and Tamara brought my closet over to Leed's. Leed's place worked better.
I don't know what's going to work after this tour. But I do know...Adam's place is fucking frightening.
I mean, it's beautiful. It's modest, by Hollywood standards, a 5 bedroom, two million dollar home in an upscale, but non-celebrity neighborhood—the one next to Trace's and Leed's. It doesn't even have a pool, because Adam said between Trace's and Leed's Olympic sized pools five minutes away, why did he need one? He opted for a home on a small landscaped pond, with an incredible covered deck strung with Einstein bulbs. A place where you can sit down, have a beer, and a casual conversation with your neighbors, not an LA VIP pool party.
Inside, Adam's place is filled with all the details that make a home. Rugs and pillows and curtains and candles and stuff. When he bought it, Adam gave his sisters a bunch of catalogs with circled decor and built a board on Pinterest with additional ideas. He told Alex, Janie and Brett to have at decorating the place. They did a great job.
What they didn't know was that Adam stole all those catalogs from my condo. And he creeped on my Pinterest for the board he built on his account. During travel time for work I would sometimes daydream about decorating my condo like a home, but never got around to it. In what little down time I've had in LA, I've spent my time building my body and my look—not my home.
So Adam did it for me—at his place.
That's why I have never spend more than a forty-five minute fuck session there. In the past, it has always messed with my head to be there. It's like walking into a place that you like very much, but you aren't sure you belong in.
That's why the first thing I want to do when we walk in that door is get straight to bed. I've decided underneath Adam is definitely a place where I belong. If I can get few the first few hours in Adam's place underneath him—maybe I'll be too happy and exhausted to be freaked at how he's been trying to build our future for years.
We are five minutes out and I am so ready to be naked with Adam, when he breaks eye-contact and intercoms the driver. "Hey man, can you make stop at Erewhon's?"
"What?!?!" I hiss. "You want to go grocery shopping?"
"Shortcake, you are the one that made us wait, so this is on you. Since my dick has been reduced to only semi-hard, now I can halfway think. We'll never make it through the marathon love-making session I'm planning if we don't eat something."
"Fuck eating!" Suddenly I'm on my hands and knees, crawling across the seat to straddle him. "You could be inside me in five minutes, Preacher," I wheedle with my sexiest voice in his ear.
I try to grind on him but he stills my hips with a firm squeeze. "No."
"No?"
"No." He confirms. "See how that shit feels?"
I snarl. He laughs, and that one sexy lock of longish hair that will never stay gelled back falls onto his forehead. I brush it back, contemplating ripping open his shirt, but then I hear his stomach let loose a rumbling growl. I cock my head. "You're really hungry, huh?"
"I don't know about you, but I haven't eaten since way before yesterday's show."
I guess that's true. It was much too early for breakfast when we left the hotel this morning. I had a midnight snack with Leed and snuck a steady stream crackers on the plane to settle my stomach, but our bodies think it's about 3pm now, and Adam hasn't eaten in almost twenty four hours.
"Okay," I say begrudgingly. "But let's get the hot bar foods, not something to cook."
He grins. "Of course. I know that's what you and Leed live on."
Erewhon's is a high end market and cafe—the kind of grocery store with multiple hot-food bars and deli counters—all organic, most healthy food. Pretty much everything in Leed's house comes from there—we have it delivered every couple of days. It's been a while, since I've been inside an actual grocery store. Adam, of course, does his own shopping.
People are already recognizing him as Adam holds the limo door open for me. Suddenly I feel self-conscious. I put a hand to my large sunglasses making sure they are in place and mutter, "Adam...I look like hell."
Adam pushes them atop my head, smoothes my hair, looks at me carefully and says, "It's true that Tamara's make-up is entirely gone thanks to those wipes, but no one will be able to tell you cried a little bit earlier. You do not look like hell. You look like an angel. Come on."
He looks so sweet and sexy holding his hand out to me, I take it, and fuck how I look. I'm sure my eyes are still puffy, but he makes me feel like a million bucks, just the way his lips part a little in lust as he drinks me in.
We stroll into Erewhon's as a couple of people snap pictures on their phones. It's actually pretty funny, shopping the hot bars with Adam. He dramatically scoffs at my selections—a fish tikka masala and curried cauliflower. He piles his cartons full of five cheese pasta and Hawaiian pork and tequila lime chicken wings. He makes me laugh, dishing scant spoonfuls of exotic foods into his cartons and sampling them as we go. He probably eats thirty bucks worth of samples, and ignores the looks he's getting from customers and Erewhon employees. Every time he tries something he doesn't like, he tries to shove a bite of it in my mouth. "Ugggggh, taste this. It's disgusting. You'll love it."
We are laughing insanely by the time we fill our food cartons. Adam picks up a growler of craft beer from the tap stations and I get a carafe from the juice bar.
Adam comes up behind me while I'm waiting for them to blend my juice and whispers, "Why don't you ask them to make you some morning sickness pops? I'm sure Marcy would love work overtime this week." I slap him on his bicep, but I keep my killer face on as he discreetly pinches my ass and saunters away.
When my juice is finally blended, I find him in the produce section, palming avocados. He's put coconut waters, coffee beans, almond milk, organic cage free eggs, sprouted grain bread and fresh jalepenos in this basket. "Eggs and avocado toast for breakfast?" he asks mildly, smiling at me over the produce.
My heart pounds at the revelation that my answer is yes.
Hell yes. I want to make eggs and avocado toast with Adam for breakfast. Every day.
I simply nod at him, and he puts two ripe avocados in the basket. We move toward the checkout down the snack aisle. Without even breaking his stride, he reaches for the exact kind of crackers I've been eating to stave off morning sickness and tosses them in the basket, too.
Why does something that simple make me love him just a little bit more?
Stepping into Adam's walnut-floored foyer should be awkward, but it isn't. I have the few bags of groceries; Adam has our two overnight bags. He switches on the lights in a house that hasn't been occupied in over three months, but it's so homey, it doesn't feel unused. He jerks his head toward the stairs with wrought iron railing, to let me know he is taking up our luggage. I shake the grocery bags at him and head towards the back of the house.
The footprint of the house is deep and narrow, and I move past the the mostly unused rooms upfront—an office with a computers and keyboards and amps, and a formal living room with dark leather furniture and intricate eastern rugs. At the back of the house, three steps lead down into the open kitchen and the cozy keeping room that line the back of the house. The keeping room has the same masculine, dramtic feel as the formal living room, but it's softened by the details. Tall drums of varying heights are scattered around the room as accent tables, and they hold candles and trinkets from Soundcrush's travels. Throw and pillows make me want to snuggle on the couch and watch the world outside the dramatically framed windows that show his backyard. The kitchen opens onto the covered patio, which is really more like an outdoor living space, and probably my favorite part of the house. It reminds me of the open air amphitheater where families would gather to eat during the summer on the commune.
I spread the groceries out on the bar, admiring the distressed cream cabinets in the kitchen and trailing my fingers on the dark granite counter tops.
Then I shake my head and stare down at my stomach. Babycakes, what are you doing to me? I don't give a fuck about cabinetry. Stop infiltrating my brain with your daddy's domestic desires.
Yet for some reason, I search the kitchen drawers and find a lighter. I slide open the doors to the patio and light candles on the teak deck table and search for the switch that turns on the Einstein bulbs hung over the deck. Never mind that it's noon.
I'm pouring from the growler when Adam beats down the staircase and stops abruptly in the keeping room. I look up, take in every gorgeous molecule of him—from that stray lock of sandy hair, to that slightly shocked expression on his face, to the adorable way he swallows and stuffs his hands in his pockets as he watches me hold out the beer to him.
"Goddamn," he whispers and walks slowly toward me. He takes the beer from me and sets it on the counter. His hands move restlessly over my face and his expression is intense as he stares down at me.
"What?" I ask. If he says I just looked at him with wifey eyes, I will break this growler over his head. I'll take that shit from Matt del Marco, cause...you know...he's Matt del Marco. But Adam is not allowed to comment on my loving expressions.
He shakes his head slightly. "Nothing. Let's eat." He pulls dishes from the cabinets and plates our food.
We talk easily about nothing while we eat. I watch the ducks gliding on the pond at the bottom of the rolling lawn.
"Are fences allowed in this neighborhood?" I ask.
He takes my meaning at once. "Not around the yard, but I think maybe we could maybe enclose the patio with railing. We could make it...safe, if we need to," he smiles. His smile feels a little too knowing, and I return my attention to my plate.
My fish and cauliflower leave me slightly dissatisfied and I steal a few of Adam's chicken wings. He watches me lick my fingers. I'm almost positive he's ready to jerk me from my seat and carry me to bed, but instead he swallows heavily and says, "I...uhhh...I..." he chuckles, embarrassed by something. "I wrote you a song this week."
I drop my hand from my mouth. "You did?" I know he writes songs, but he never shares them. The only song-writing I've ever heard from his musical arrangement, not original melodies and lyrics.
"Yeah, let's clean up and I'll play it for you." A few minutes later the kitchen is cleared and Adam drops down on his couch with me beside him and his acoustic across his lap, fingering a tender lick before he begins to strum some tabs softly.
The song he plays is a metaphor about the make-up I wear, and his desire to see beneath my facade. It's tender and honest and damn addictive, but the song itself isn't what moves me to tears. It's Adam's sweet soulful voice, and the adorable, awkward way he shrugs when he finishes. His voice is so different from Leed's. Leed can be both powerful and soulful, but Adam's voice rings with tender sincerity, because he wrote this song for me.
"Again, please," I croak. He smiles and plays it again. The third time I ask him to play it, I'm already pulling him into the office where his keyboard is, and adding some ethereal but upbeat chords. By the fifth time, I've learned the lyrics and we've pieced it into a duet and harmonies for the chorus.
The sixth time is perfection.
"Fuck," I spit. "I wish we'd been in the booth for that." I cock my head. "Wanna go over to Trace's and lay it down?"
He runs a rapid sequence of tabs while he considers. Then he puts the guitar down and pulls me from the keyboard bench. "Yeah, but not nearly as much as I want to take you to bed. I can't wait any longer, Sweetheart. I think it's really time for us to make love, now."
I smile at him. "Adam...I think maybe we've been making love since the second we walked in your front door today."
He makes a low satisfied sound in the back of his throat. "I like that, Mac. I like what you said alot."
"I know, but don't ruin it with any more talk, ok—"
He kisses me firmly, like a man who knows his job. I'm falling under the spell of his rhythmic tongue tussle when he pulls back and says, "I'll meet you upstairs. I have to blow out those candles on the patio and lock up."
I streak up the stairs, so far beyond eager. He already lit candles up here and lowered the blinds, I see. The room is heavy with citrusy, coconut scent, and Adam's got a playlist humming low from the Sonos speaker in his masterbath, but I turn it off. The only song I want in my ears right now is the song Adam wrote for me.
I'm in my tank top and underwear—white lace—and on my knees on the bed, when Adam enters the room. He pulls his shirt off with one hand while I watch. "You like my striptease?" he jokes, as he toes off his boots and pushes off his jeans and underwear in the same motion.
"Very much," I breathe, my eyes on his rigid cock. Adam is perfect naked. He is powerfully built, completely confident and natural in the way he moves naked. Like a man from a time before clothes. A raw and wonderful image of him fucking me on a soft bed of animal skins, in a dark cave, before a fire, comes to mind...
"You took your shoes off," he says without inflection.
Oh Preacher, I guess I'm not the only one with pictures of our sex in my brain.
"I can put them back on," I offer, crawling on my hands and knees toward the edge of the bed.
He shakes his head, "Another time, But you can take those off for me," he waves at my scant garments. I strip my tank and panties; he chokes off a slight sound of surprise. Yeah, a week makes a difference when you are pregnant at my size. My breasts are fuller—slightly rounder at the bottom and almost bulging at my side ribs. My belly too—its lost definition. I'm trying not to worry about that—of course I know I'm going to be round as a pumpkin before the end...but I'm not sure how Adam is going to feel about my expanding body.
Apparently right now, he's more than okay with it. He scoots back on the bed and pulls me onto his lap, a fascinated grin on his gorgeous face as his eyes rove my torso.
"Adam, you feel so good. So hot. So hard," I murmur. Our sex happens perfectly naturally now. One more slow rock forward and back on my part, one slight adjustment with his hips and he enters me without any help from hands, filling me up, making my eyes involuntarily close as I am taken over by the feeling. I still. I just want this sensation forever—his rigid strength inside me, stretching me, completing me.
His hands are roving over my breasts and belly. Not squeezing or gripping, but patting, weighing, exploring.
"My god, Mac. You get more beautiful every day. He slowly twists my hips, and rolls me down on my side, but keeping our joining. We are chest to chest now, my leg slung over his hip, making soft sex movements together, as we kiss urgently, our tongues passionately promising to each other all the things we intend to do to one another.
Adam makes good on his silent promises. There isn't an inch of my shoulders, clavicles, or breasts that he doesn't dress with hungry kisses, sucks and licks. He's never done this before—lavished my skin this thoroughly with his mouth.
I grasp at his hips frantically, rolling onto my back and pulling at him to make him follows He eases up on his elbows and delivers long, sure strokes, grinding into my pelvis and giving me that perfect pressure I need, as I arch up, giving him the angle to drive all the way home inside me, which I know he loves. Together we slowly unspiral, building our pleasure.
"For someone who didn't used to like missionary, you seem to always want me on top of you, now," he teases me.
"I want you all over me. All the time. All ways."
"All ways or always?" he murmurs.
I can't stop myself from giving him a moment of honesty. "I don' know if I can tell the difference anymore."
He sighs in contentment. "That's sweet. Real sweet, Shortcake. But I don't want to mess up the moment by saying something you won't like, so I'm going to put my mouth back on you. And you don't have to say more sweet things. Yes and fuck and my name will do just fine, because I know you love me like I love you."
I can hardly breath through the intense pressure of Adam's love. Every part of me below my neck and above my knees is so fucking sensitive and needy. Adam's is giving all of me ecstasy with the pressure of his body moving over mine. I'm so high, and everything he's doing feels so good. I just let go the sweet surrender where I come completely undone, shaking and shaking and shaking until my brain is nothing but a pastel haze of wonderful.
The fire fades from his eyes and he releases himself. He strokes my thighs lovingly. "You look like you could use a break, Shortcake." I raise a limp hand at him, and let if fall. He can interpret as he wishes. I told Adam he could have all of me, and I meant it. He's loved me to my max right now, but if he needs to use me for his pleasure, I'm good with it. I love him. He can take, even if I can't give.
He catches my hand as it falls, and pulls it to his lips, planting soft kisses across my knuckles. "I want you again, but I can wait a bit. I'm going to get you a coconut water, okay?"
He returns with the coconut water and a soft throw from the couch. He crawls back into bed and gathers me to him so carefully, wrapping me in the soft throw. He's so loving, so considerate, so unselfish. Tears spring to my eyes. I bury my head against his chest, releasing two sobs. I feel a bawl coming on.
Adam's fingers tighten on my back. "Jesus—Mac—did I hurt you? Oh god...it's not—you're not cramping or something, are you?"
I shake my head quickly, trying my best to calm my sobs and scrub away my tears. I don't want to worry him. "No, nothing like that. I'm fine. We're fine. It's just you...you're just so...good."
He chuckles. "Good? I just did some pretty dirty shit to you, Mac. A lot of girls would say I'm a filthy bastard for that."
"Alot of girls would be dumb, not to accept you and what you have to give, anyway you have to give it." I mumble against his chest, and he shakes a little in a breathy laugh.
Adam unscrews the cap on the coconut water, tipping it into my mouth. "So why the tears, then?"
"Because I'm not. Good for you. I'm not everything you need. I don't care about cabinets," I mutter.
He pulls my face up to his. "What?"
"Adam...I look around at this house, how beautifully your sisters decorated it, and how homey it is, and it's like you created this life, waiting for the perfect woman. A woman that deserves it. A woman that can maintain it. A woman that cooks in that kitchen with those fucking gorgeous cabinets and puts potted plants on that patio—you know like the mixed containers with the purple cabagge and the spiky green plants- and makes one of those sweet photograph montages on the one wall on the side of the stairs of Babycakes...and...that's not me. I don't do that kind of stuff. I don't even think about that kind of stuff."
Adam is quiet for a minute. "Shorty...you're really confusing me. You say you don't think about that kind of stuff, but you are the one thinking about it right now. It's never entered my mind how nice the kitchen cabinets are, or expected that you would cook for us, or thought to put potted plants on the patio, and I damn sure hadn't thought about hanging pictures of our kid that's not born yet. So...all that stuff...that's expectations you are putting on yourself. Not me."
"Well, wouldn't you want all that? For me to take care of you and our kids and our home?"
Adam sits up gently pulling me with him. "Kids? Whoa. Now we are talking about more than one? Mac, what are you saying here? You want more kids?"
"Well, obviously we can't just have one kid," I say. Is he dense? "You would really want our kid to be a lonely only child? I mean, you grew up in a big family. And I had Leed. Especially since...I mean...what if we don't make it? I couldn't imagine not having Leed, after my parents split up... " I trail off. I don't want to start a fight.
Adam's mouth is working like he doesn't know how to use it anymore. He takes the coconut water from me and gulps it. "Shorty? Are you hearing yourself? The things you are saying...that you don't think about domestic shit, but you are planning mixed plant containers and photo montages. That you want to have kids—plural—in case we break up? Does what you are saying sound like right thinking to you?"
"Obviously it doesn't sound like right thinking," I snatching back the coconut water and finishing off, then throw the carton across the room as I clutch the blanket to my chest. "That's my point. I'm wrong for you."
Adam rubs his beard and falls back against the headboard. He stares at me like I'm a rare zoo animal. Then he says calmly, "Before this descends into a fight, I have a few things to say, and a few questions to ask you. First, I don't give a damn if you ever cook a meal. I like Erewhon's fine. Do you honestly think two people who love each other like we do should base the viability of their relationship on how they obtain their food?"
Well when he says it like that... "I guess not," I admit.
"Secondly, do you want potted plants on the patio?"
"Well, obviously not right now, since we are here only for a day...but yeah it might be nice." I pop back.
"Okay, well, you can order some potted plants next summer," he says calmly. What does even mean? Like you can do that. Like you can just order potted plants for your baby-daddy's place.
"That's ridiculous," I protest. "That's just a fight waiting to happen—trying to be domestic and buy shit together. I can just hear you now, Adam, going all caveman and saying something like, This is my house, Shorty, I'll pay for the goddamn potted plants and I want those pink little flowery things like my mom puts on the porch back home..."
"Nope," he assures me. "I don't give a good goddamn what kind of plants you buy—I'm not the one that wanted them, remember? And you can pay for them. I'm sure you have more money in the bank that me," he grins. He's probably right...he's bought this house and gives generous gifts to his family back home, and I spend my money on clothes and shoes and bags.
"Oh," I say.
"As for the family photo montage," he says more softly. "I'd really like that, too. You could choose the pictures. I'll help you hang them."
I smile. I can't fucking help it. I rub his chest, "I bet you look so fucking sexy, using tools and shit."
He shrugs, "You can let me know."
I frown. "Your closet is too small. Way too small."
That's when he stiffens. "Okay, if you are talking closet space, I know you're not kidding now. You mean this? This thing you are saying, but you're not saying?"
"Well I can't say it, you haven't asked me!" I yell.
He squints his eye at me, "Just to be clear, are you wanting me to ask you move in...or..."
"Oh my god, Adam we are not getting married!" I growl. How many times to I have to tell you that? Forget about marrying me!"
He smirks, "Well, we aren't having any more kids until we do," he says lightly.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me!" He grabs me and holds me tightly as I try to flounce off the bed.
"This baby is a miracle. The love it has brought us a miracle. I'm going to prove to you that we can nurture our miracle. That we can love forever. Then we'll get married, and we'll have as many more kids as you want. That's the deal, take it or leave it. So Mac, will you move in with me and help me grow our miracle?" he asks softly, the smirk completely gone.
I want to melt into his arms. I rake my fingers softly through his beard, look into his eyes with all the tenderness I can muster, and I say, "I don't know Adam. That closet situation seems pretty unsurmountable..."
"We can knock a wall down and make the adjoining bedroom into your closet. If we aren't getting married any time soon, we don't need five bedrooms anyway," he grins.
"Dammit," I say softly. "You have an answer for everything, don't you?"
"Still waiting for your answer," he says.
"Yes, I will move in with you. Before the baby is born," I say. "But not yet—not officially."
He nods, his expression shutting down from playful to grim. "Because of Leed. Because you don't want to tell him."
I put my hands, flat against his face, forcing our connection. "Hey, can we just be happy about this decision? It's huge and scary and hard for me to think about telling Leed and also watering potted plants not to mention, taking care of a tiny helpless human being, but at least I know...this is where I want to be...with you. You talk about miracles. So maybe...can we just...have a little faith that we will get there?"
His blue eyes darken with love, "Yeah, absolutely. But you know where I find my faith lately..."
I play with his sexy lips. "No...where?"
He flips me on my back, pulling my legs around him and entering me in a fluid, easy motion. "Here. Inside you."
And we make love again, this time until we are both exhausted and drifting together in sleep.
Wow! What do you guys think about Mac's swift decision that she wants to live with Adam? Up until this point it seems like she's been avoiding plans for the future at all costs. Will Mac be able to stand by her promise to move in with Adam in the harsh light of returning to the tour or is this just a fantasy? Remember, Mac has had a very emotional and tumultuous day! Thoughts?