Page 152 of Unorthodox
I can smell the rum on her breath, and when she opens her eyes again, they look a little glassy.
“You’re not really going to do it,” she says softly, some of the spark leaving her face again, our brief moment of lightness gone.
I run my hands up her side, grazing my thumbs against her breasts. She squirms but doesn’t look away. “Do what?”
She glares at me, pouting. “You know what, Max.”
I shift my hands, palm her breasts and squeeze gently.
Her eyes flutter closed, then she moves, positioning her knees on either side of my hips so she’s straddling me. I don’t answer her, and she keeps her eyes closed, as if not hearing the words will change things between us.
As if it won’t be true.
“Why, Max? Is it really…the money?” She still doesn’t open her eyes. I wondered how long it would take her to get to this question.
I wondered if I would tell her the truth. But I won’t. I can’t. That pain—losing Oliver, failing him when I was the only one left to protect him—it’s too much. Not even Mamie knows. And if I tell her abouthim,then I have to tell her aboutme.And that’s a shame I will never voice.
“What if I didn’t do it?” I ask her instead, ignoring her question.
Her eyes flash open, and I can almost feel the excitement in her body, the hope welling up in her chest. She opens her mouth but doesn’t say anything. I stroke her nipples with my thumbs, feel them pebble beneath my fingers.
“What if I kept you instead?”
Her chest rises as she inhales, holding her breath.
“You want to be mine, love?”
She still isn’t breathing.
I pinch both of her nipples, tugging gently, and she yelps, finally exhaling.
“Answer me.”
I hear her swallow, then she says, “What would you do with me?”
Kneading her between my fingers, soothing where I hurt her, I tell her the truth: “Make you really mine.”
She says nothing, but her hips shift, grinding against my hard cock.
“What do you want, Addison? What did you dream about doing as a child?” I know as I ask her, she probably doesn’t have an answer. When you live a life like ours, you’re too preoccupied with surviving one day to the next. Daydreams of becoming something more than what you are don’t exist.Livingthrough each moment is hard enough.
A future is a pipedream.
“Moving,” she answers me. “Far, far away.” The words are sad, but she’s smiling. “Where will I go?” She clears her throat, shifting further into me as I keep kneading her between us. “When I leave here, where do I go?”
Russia. Texas. Mexico.
“Do you want to talk about that now?” I sure as fuck don’t.
She angles her head, pushes closer to me, her mouth over mine, alcohol on her breath. “I don’t think so.”
“You want to kiss me?”
She nods, biting her bottom lip.
“Then do it,” I tell her, keeping my eyes on hers.
And she does. She kisses me, her lips soft and hesitant at first, but as I open my own, her mouth is ravenous, her tongue clashing with mine, her arms tightening around my neck. She whimpers against me as I palm her breasts, pinching and soothing in quick succession.
