“Adam,” she moans, and it completely does me in. My name on her lips, sounding like that . . . Yeah, I’m not a damn saint, and she knows that as well as anyone. Her bunny shorts are tossed on the floor a second later, and then I show her why that obnoxious alarm is the best fucking device mankind ever invented.
Afterward, she’s breathing deeply, sound asleep in my arms, and I’m remembering the first time I ever held her like this. That first time I held her in my arms as she drifted to sleep—the night I nearly broke my fist on her asshole ex-boyfriend’s face—I was fucking terrified. I held her to make her feel better, but once I had her in my arms, I couldn’t let go. All night, I had the opportunity to roll away from her—and I knew I should—but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I squeezed her tighter, scared shitless about the feelings I was having, and about fucking it up and losing her. I’m not sure if that’s the night I fell in love with her, but it’s the night I started realizing I’d do anything to keep her.
“SHIT!” Peach suddenly yells, jerking out of my arms and launching herself out of bed. “THE ALARM, ADAM!”
“Yeah?” I say, shifting until I’m sunken deep in the warm center of the mattress.
“I promised Dee I’d meet her at IHOP! Why didn’t you—”
When I start chuckling, she glares at me. It’s not my damn fault she’s so irresistible, and she should know better than to trust me to share her with anyone else—even her best friend—when I’d rather keep her for myself.
She growls at me, reading my thoughts, and then she stomps over and whacks me with a pillow. When I grab her wrist and yank her back onto the bed, she squeals and frantically scrambles to get away. I wrestle her beneath me, giving her a smirk she can never resist. My hair is hanging down over her face, and she’s pretending not to want me. Even though she just had me less than half an hour ago, she’s not doing a very good job.
When I wink at her, she giggles, and I plant a quick kiss on her nose before letting her back up. Peach wouldn’t mind if I kept her here another few hours, but Dee . . . that girl is another story, and I know better than to get on her bad side. A few days after Peach and I became official, I accidentally brought up the night she and I met at Mayhem. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to mention it in front of Dee because I had no idea Peach had been keeping what happened between us that night a secret from her. The girl had a meltdown that I’m surprised didn’t take out the entire East Coast. Peach spent days texting her and calling her. She even tried prying intel out of Joel, who was the only one of us Dee would still bother talking to, and considered forcing him to deliver flowers and chocolate until I warned her he’d probably take all the credit. Eventually, she had enough of Dee’s drama and asked me to drop her off at her dorms. Twenty-four hours later, it was like nothing had ever happened between them, and I knew better than to try to make sense of it.
When Peach bends over to grab a pair of jeans from a bottom drawer of our dresser, I enjoy the view, disappointed when she slips from the room for a shower. If I hadn’t already worn myself the hell out, I’d be tempted to try and join her. With other girls, sex was sex, but with Peach, each time is like . . . God, I don’t even know. It’s exhausting in a way that leaves a satisfied smile on my face and heavy weight in my bones. With her, I’m in it. I’m in every second of it, giving as much as I take because sex isn’t just sex with her. It’s so much more than that, and if I tried to describe it, I’m pretty sure the guys would have my balls in a jar.
The first time we almost went all the way . . . well, that entire night was just confusing as fuck. First, when I asked her why she wanted me and she clamped her mouth shut in the middle of a sentence that started with “Because I . . .” I thought she was going to tell me she loved me. My heart thundered in my chest, with as much fear as hope. I wanted to hear it, but looking back, I don’t know if I was ready—because when she refused to tell me, I started doubting. We both pretended like nothing happened, until I was wrapped in a rubber and pushing into her, and she told me she was a virgin and blew my fucking mind.
I still have no idea how or why that shithead ex of hers dated her for three fucking years and then lived with her and never once crossed that line, but I’m glad he didn’t.
When I found her sleeping on the bathroom floor, I felt like the biggest asshole in the entire world. I picked her up and brought her to my room, and it dawned on me with blinding clarity why I wanted to kick my own ass for embarrassing her and why taking her virginity—something I had always avoided doing with other girls—was suddenly the only thing I could think about.
I loved her, and I wanted to tell her, but I was terrified of losing her if she didn’t feel the same way. So instead of just saying it, I told her to ask me why I wanted her. If she wanted to know, I’d tell her, but if she didn’t, I wouldn’t push it on her and mess things up. When she refused, I should have been hurt, but then she kissed me and fried every circuit in my brain. I went down on her because I just wanted to give her something, anything, and when she melted in my mouth, I savored every last bit of her.
She told me to get a condom, and my heart galloped like a prize-winning Clydesdale in my suddenly tight chest, but one look in her eyes told me she was still high off her orgasm and that I’d be taking advantage of her if I pushed her any further. I loved her too much to do that to her, even though I was pretty sure I’d be dead from blue balls by morning, so I rolled to her side and spooned her tight against me, holding her in my arms until she drifted off to sleep.