Page 76 of Between Us

And even though I’d never wear this on a normal day, I don’t feel embarrassed about what I’m wearing or uncomfortable with my body. It’s just not my style.

And it’s not something I want to sit and watch a movie in either.

“Let me get you something to wear.”

Without really thinking about it, I walk into Adrian’s bathroom and pull my hair into a bun. Doing my best, I struggle a bit to unlace the corset, but it’s an awkward angle.

When Adrian steps into the doorway with a pile of clothes, he silently comes up behind me and helps me untie the rest of the garment. My arms are bent to my chest holding it up, though for one crazy second, I consider dropping it. Even with the loose linen top underneath, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

The way his eyes slowly move up my back until they meet mine through the glass, suggests he’s thinking about the same situation. His knuckles gently skim against the bare skin of my shoulders.

“Do you need anything else?” he asks in that low, gravelly voice I’ve been blessed enough to hear a few times now.

Swallowing, I shake my head. “What about you? Aren’t you going to shower?”

His eyes darken as he tilts his head. He looks at me with a predatory gaze I never would’ve expected from him. Thinking back to the joke he made when we were leaving the haunted house, he looks like he’d really love nothing more than to devour me right now.

“Do you want me to wait?” he quietly offers behind me.

“No,” I breathe out and find the courage to let my hands drop to my sides. The corset top easily falls from around me, landing at my feet.

The light orange linen top is cropped to my belly button, leaving a few inches of bare skin between the hem and the skirt I’m still wearing. Through the thin fabric, my puckered nipples are visible.

Adrian’s quick to notice, letting his eyes stray there unabashedly. “Blake…”

His voice is cautious, and a sudden wave of anxiety rushes through me. I’m practically throwing myself at him right now, and if he turns me away, I don’t think I would recover.

Losing the battle of keeping my arms at my side, I start moving to cover myself and stutter, “I—I… just…”

Taking a step, pushing his chest to my back, Adrian lightly grabs my forearms and holds them at my sides. “Youare fucking beautiful, Blake. I’m just making sure this is what you want. But believe me when I say I want you. So fucking bad.”

Turning my head to look up at him through my lashes, I quietly whisper, “I want you, Adrian.So fucking bad.”

Groaning, he drops his head and grabs me around the throat, kissing me rough and possessively. Twisting around in his embrace, I meet him chest to chest and kiss him back just as desperately. Finding the hem of his jersey, I don’t waste any time pushing it up and off his body.

When his arms come back down, they deftly move to slip my top off. It happens too quickly for me to second guess it, and the deep groan that comes out of his throat pushes any insecurities from my mind.

I know in a lot of women’s opinions, I’m blessed in this department. And I don’t mean to complain about my breasts because I love my body—more so for everything it’s done for me, especially athletically, rather than how it looks. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a small, vain part of me that loves them.

But with breasts the size of mine, comes things like stretch marks and larger areolas. No amount of exercise has made my boobs smaller over the years—if anything, my chest muscles have made me appear larger. And the stretch marks are mostly light along my shoulders—from years of swimming, and weightlifting when I was younger—but darker on my breasts.

I knew the chances were small—minuscule even—that Adrian would have found such shallow flaws in me, but I feel more vulnerable at this moment than maybe ever before.

Starting at my waist, both of his hands slowly move up until he’s cupping each of my breasts. Even in his large hands, they don’t quite fit without spilling over. Something Adrian seems toreallyappreciate.

The act of undressing someone has never been an intimate experience until tonight. Usually, it’s a means to an end. Now, watching as Adrian finds the small buttons attached on my hip and begins unclasping them, feels like the closest thing to a religious experience I’ve ever had.

When it slides to the ground, he smiles down at my lower half—now in nothing but my bikini style panties and fishnets. Laughing in shy amusement, I quickly take the tights off and stand in front of him.

It takes everything in me not to cover myself from him, yet when he moves toward the waistline of his pants, a new type of nervousness takes flight.

I watch as he pulls on the fabric, freeing his already growing length and lets the shorts fall around his ankle. It’s no surprise that even half-mast, he’s thick and long. The evidence that he goes to the gym multiple times a week is written in every hard line and slope of his body. Running a hand over his short curls and down to the nape of his neck, he stands there—naked and extremely confident in his own body.

With nothing more than a smile, he turns toward the shower, slides the doors open, and turns the water on. My skin’s already pebbling—whether from the cold air or his eyes on me—so I appreciate the gesture.

It’s a small bathroom so he’s back in front of me in a couple of steps. Leaning onto the counter, I watch as he quickly pumps out some oil into his palm and works it through his hair before washing his hands. Pulling me into his warm body by my hips, he leans down and kisses me—it’s languid and tender and seems to be a silent promise of some kind. Letting him take the lead, I relax against him and for once try not to rush through the moment.

When the waters warm, he slips his fingers into the waistline of my panties and asks, “Ready?”

---