Page 11 of Plum

I can’t stop the small huff. Fine.Adam. What is his deal?

Shit. Why do I care? I ain’t gettin’ paid to wonder.

“Adam, what would you like me to do?” I let my hair fall around his face and raise my tits ’till he could lick ’em if he stuck out his tongue.

For a second, it looks like he’s gonna say one thing, but then he seems to change his mind. There’s a pause, a flicker in his eye.

“Sit on my lap. Facing me.”

I sink down slow, rocking as I go, careful not to squirm too much. He busts a nut in his pants with no effort on my part, that’s at least a fifty down the drain.

“Like this?”

“Sure.”

Straddling his solid thighs, my legs are spread so wide I can’t get close enough to feel what he’s packin’, but damn, I can see it just fine. He’s a tuck-in-the-pant-leg, not an under-the-waistband kind of guy. His dick reaches well down toward his knee, and there’s not an inch of give in the fabric of his pants.

I respect the beauty of nature and all, but as a businesswoman, I must say market forces just drove that fifty up to at least seventy-five.

“What do you want to do now, Adam? You want to touch my titties?”

His eyes flicker. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“You can do anything you want.”

I’m expecting him to dive in—they usually do—but Adam’s a real surprise every time. He starts at the outside of my knees and stokes up my thighs, firm and slow, massaging as he goes.

And then, oh Lord, he gets to my hips. He digs in, his thumbs pressing hard, and then he works around until he’s rubbing the small of my back, makin’ small circles, pressing up my spine and then kneading the top of my ass cheeks.

It feelsso good.

I moan. I can’t help it.

These damn heels force my spine out of whack, and no matter how I stretch before my shift or build my core like Austin’s always talkin’ about, there’s nothin’ but an eight-hundred-milligram ibuprofen and a long, hot bath that’ll make the ache go away.

Well, nothin’ except this. Clark’s got superpowered magic hands.

“Lean forward,” he says.

I do until my forehead’s resting on his shoulder.

He brushes a soft kiss to my temple. So weird.

“You like this?”

I moan. “Uh huh.”

“It feels good?”

It’d feel better if he shut up and just kept doin’ it.

“Yes, Adam. Don’t stop. Oh, yeah.”

He digs those magic fingers deeper, and I arch my back, putting enough space between us so that he can gaze down and meet my eyes. It’s shadowy in here so you can’t make out the electric-blue, but there’s no hiding how intensely he’s staring. Shivers race his fingers up to the nape of my neck.

Is he a serial killer or something? Is this the look before he snaps my neck and wears me home draped around his neck like a feather boa?

I tense up. Can’t help it.

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