An Everlasting Pursuit (PURSUIT, #3) Page 9

  I laugh as I go to the bedroom to change into a sweatshirt and sweatpants for eating, half disappointed at my failure in spite of spending bags of money on lingerie. When I go back to the kitchen and sit on the chair at the breakfast island, Adam moves toward me and leans in. I watch him in awe as he brushes his lips on mine.

  “You’re so much sexier in sweatpants than expensive lingerie.” He descends to kiss me once more, this time parting my lips to get a taste of my tongue before going back to cooking.

  I feel like bursting into tears with his tenderness. I love him so much. Why can’t I have him as my heart desires? And my ovulation date is so close.

  “Don’t be sad, baby. Think of this as if you’re having your period. I have to keep my hands off of you for five days a month. Sometimes six. That’s not piece of cake.”

  I walk over to him, hug him from behind, and rest my head on his back, while he moves around slowly, chopping, seasoning, and tasting the food. Whatever games he wants to play, he’s mine, and he actually does it for my wellbeing.

  “I love you.” I kiss my favorite spot between his shoulder blades over his shirt.

  “I love you, too, more than you can ever imagine,” he says and squeezes my hand.

  After the dinner, he retreats to his study for a while, and then goes out jogging. For two long hours. I can see he’s trying to exhaust himself to half-death so he won’t have any energy for me.

  Damn, he’s good at this game.

  When it gets close to the time to go to bed, the naughty in me wakes up again, and I get to the second point on my list. While he’s preparing for sleep, I turn on my I-Pad and find the one and only video record of us having sex together, where Valerie, Jack’s crazy half-sister, recorded while Adam was taking me from behind in a storage room of a movie theater. It was our second time having sex and first time in public.

  Although watching it makes me want to puke because of the bad memories associated with it, it is Adam’s favorite video of all times. I consider putting it on the large TV screen, but it would be kind of rubbing it in his face. Sometimes, subtler is better. So I make it ready to go and press ‘play’ as soon as Adam appears at the doorway.

  The volume is on the highest, so my moans of the video fill the room instantly.

  “You saucy little cunt, tell me how much you want me to fuck you.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not gonna pull that trick on me,” he says, shaking his head.

  “I’m feeling a little nostalgic for the days you were begging me for sex.”

  “Baby, I can’t watch that video without fucking you thoroughly afterwards. Stop it so we can sleep.” He’s begging me all right, but for something else.

  I turn the screen toward him. He watches it until the end, his gaze fixed, his body frozen like a sculpture. I can see his cock hardening beneath his boxer briefs. I had no idea this disgusting video was his kryptonite. When the video ends, I put it to replay and start to strip off my clothes ever so slowly. He looks torn between watching the video and me getting naked. At least he’s not leaving the bedroom.

  When I’m fully nude, except for my white, cotton panties, I start to walk toward him, taking one slow step at a time so as not to scare my prey away. He’s aware of what I’m about to do but can’t move.

  My heartbeat quickens when I stand in front of him, inhaling his natural manly smell that I love, one without any cologne or aftershave, and run a finger across his chest. I’m breathing heavily, so is he. I lean in and brush his chest with my lips. My longing for him is so deep that it feels like years have passed since we last had sex, although it was only yesterday morning.

  “I love you, Adam,” I say, knowing he loves hearing his name from my lips as an assurance that it’s him that I love and not Jack. “I fell in love with you long before that video was recorded.”

  “Yeah?” He raises both of his eyebrows and presses his lips together to stop a smile. He’s going to enjoy hearing this. “How long before?”

  My tongue lingers around his firm pectorals for a while before I suck a nipple really gently. He tastes delicious. I want to taste him all over and have him taste me, too.

  “How long before?” he repeats and I realize I’ve been lost in the sensation of his body. I let his nipple free and run my hands around his chest, over his scar, down his washboard abs, until they reach the border of his boxer. Slowly, I slip a finger underneath.

  His eyelids fall shut as my finger explores around his cock, then he repeats his question. He opens his eyes and I look up at him under my eyelashes, smiling, and shake my head. “I won’t answer that until you give me what I want.”

  He shakes his head no.

  “And you’ll get some bonus information, too, if you make love to me now.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “You assume that Jack is the only man who kissed me before you, right?”

  “Assume? Isn’t it so?”

  “Nope.”

  He widens his eyes; the playfulness of his expression disappears.

  “How many?” he asks, but I’m not sure whether he’s asking how many men kissed me or had sex with me. Knowing his utter jealousy, I’m sure he’ll care for both.

  I ignore his question. “Actually, it’s quite an interesting story which involves a hot guitarist, me, and the prom night.”

  His face darkens now, although his penis is still hard against my palm. Under normal circumstances, I steer clear talking about men hitting on me to not irritate him. For a good reason. He gets extremely worked up, even when he notices a man just staring at me. I should know better; that’s the very reason why I have to plot ways to get him to the bed with me.

  “Tell me.” He grabs my arms, but not tightly enough to hurt me. “It’ll keep me up all night if you don’t tell me.”

  “Good, we’ll both stay up all night if you don’t make love to me,” I say with all my seriousness. I know I’m hurting him by keeping him in the dark about my past with men, and he’ll most likely not be able to sleep as he claimed. But his game is hurting me, too. I move closer to him, until my nipples touch his chest. I wrap my arms around his neck and rub myself slowly on his skin, gasping in pleasure with our skin contact. Shivers wrack my body, causing goose bumps on the parts that are touching his skin.

  Will there ever come a time when touching his naked body won’t give me shivers? Not likely.

  He’s not moving, just eyeing me carefully and probably trying to decide what is more important; the game or my past. I want to help him chose me, so I step on my toes to reach his lips.

  He cups my cheeks with his hands before I can kiss him. “That means I’m not the second one kissing these?” he asks, brushing his thumb across my lips, and slips it between my teeth.

  Why does it matter so much if he’s the second or the fifth or the hundredth? He’s had his fair share of women in the past, and I’m not complaining about it. I’m not a slut. Neither is he to kiss or have sex with the first person who comes his way. Whatever kisses we gave to others were because we thought maybe it would develop into a serious relationship. So, why does the thought of me kissing some teenager a decade ago bother him to death?

  “No, you’re not the second,” I say, disappointed that he’s still insisting. I realize my trick is backfiring. Rather than convincing him to sleep with me, I’m beginning to feel I’m not interested in sex anymore. He’s dropped the subject about the time I fell in love with him all together, while the number of boys in my past is so important to him that he won’t sleep for pondering about them. “You know what? I’m very tired. I’m going to bed now.” I turn around, releasing myself from his hands, and stride to the bed.

  “Baby, are you upset?” He follows me to the bed.

  I don’t have to say it aloud to let him know how I feel. I put on my sweatshirt and slip under the blanket. Spooning me from behind, he kisses my ear. His erection is hard on my buttocks, but I couldn’t care less about it.

  “Don’t be mad at me
because I’m a jealous man,” he says in a low, sultry voice. “I’m curious about everything you do. If my heart was strong enough, I’d ask about the details of your relationship with Jack, but I’m positive I won’t get past it without a heart attack. And you told me already you were a virgin when you did it with Jack, so I know you were innocent before him. But it’s your lips we’re talking about. My favorite part of your body. I want to know who else kissed them, and I promise I won’t kill whoever he is.”

  I let out a long breath. Whatever annoying thing he’s doing, he’s doing it out of passionate, desperate, and intense love for me. I can’t be mad at him for long.

  “I won’t tell you his name.” I roll on my back and wrap an arm around his neck. “He was my second best friend after my cousin in high school and took me to the prom as my date. While we were dancing, he asked me whether he could kiss me.” Adam’s grip tightens. I chuckle as I rub his shoulder and continue, “’He said, ‘If I kiss you and don’t feel anything, I’m officially a gay.’ I was already suspecting he was tending more toward boys. So I let him.” I tilt my head to see the lines on Adam’s face softening.

  “Did it take him that long to recognize his sexual tendencies? I think he was just trying to come up with a valid reason to kiss you.”

  I slap his chest. “Some people don’t realize it until they’re well into their adulthood.”

  “So, was he gay or not?”

  “After the kiss he said it felt like he was kissing his arm.”

  “And here I always thought you have the beauty to turn a gay to straight.”

  “One day you’ll wake up and realize I’m not as pretty as you make of me. I’m dreading that moment,” I say.

  “That’s one thing I can promise you right away. Such a moment will never come. Ever.”

  For an instant, I remain silent and watch his face, waiting for him to bring up the other question. He strokes my hair and my cheek. His penis is still hard, but not as much. And I think, if I don’t do anything about it, it’ll deflate all the way down in a few minutes.

  Finally, when minutes pass and Adam doesn’t inquire about it, I frown and ask, “Don’t you care about the time I fell in love with you?”

  “Of course I do, baby. But don’t tell it to me just yet. Keep it for my birthday. And don’t buy me any present. It’ll be your present for me.” With that, he kisses my forehead and rolls to his side of the bed to turn off the lights. I hug him from behind, rest my head between his shoulders blades, and fall into a deep sleep, hoping the game will come to an end tomorrow.

  The next day, I wake up with a slight headache and find a note from Adam. It says he’ll spend the entire day at the construction site. I put on a t-shirt and shorts, brush my hair, and head to the kitchen for a hearty breakfast. I fix myself eggs with bacon and orange juice for breakfast, and call Sabrina to let her know that I’ll be working from home today.

  I tab on the calendar of my phone and start calculating my ovulation day. I still haven’t had a period after the miscarriage, and that was forty five days ago. It’s normal, according to Dr. Fowler, since my hormones might need time to get back to their normal levels before the pregnancy. She also told me to steer clear of any unprotected sex to give it at least three months for my body to recover. I’ve read enough articles and blogs online to know that my chances of getting pregnant must be higher now that my body has just managed to conceive.

  One of the websites I frequent points out low weight as one of the reasons for infertility problems. I take each word of that article to heart and fill my stomach to the brim during each meal, even if I have no appetite. My new attitude toward food amuses Adam to the extreme and gives him more motivation to cook more and different meals.

  While nibbling on the eggs, I scan through the blogs of women who had fertility issues but succeeded in having children. I’m well aware of the fact that the Internet has become some kind of an obsession for me, but it’ll all end once I have my baby in my arms.

  I blow off work the entire morning and afternoon while focusing solely on the fertility blogs. I only tear my eyes away to read the text that’s beeping on my phone.

  It’s from Adam. “Baby, I’m still in awe for your surprises last night. My c. gets painfully hard every time I think about them. I can’t wait for the day to finally f. you.”

  I reply without any pondering. “You don’t need to wait. Just come over and f. me now. My p. is too wet to wait any longer.”

  Adam: “The fun is just starting. Can’t wait for your next surprise.”

  Me: “If my husband wants a surprise, he gets his surprise. I’m not like some jerk who holds off pleasure from his spouse.”

  Adam: “Ouch. BTW, we’re going out for dinner with Aunt Stella and Uncle Gregorio. I’ll pick you up at six thirty. I love you.”

  Me: “I love you too, but in the last two days I realized I love your c. better. XOXO to my real love.”

  Adam: “Double ouch. Your real love won’t cool off until your real kisses replace the digital ones.”

  I grin and drop the phone on the table to get ready for the dinner. It’s been ages since I have met with the Beckmans. Since our wedding actually. The dinner with them will be a good distraction, yet I should be prepared for my next move. There are only so many things I can do in public.

  For a change, I pick a violet, knee-length dress that’s more on the modest side. That won’t be the kind of surprise Adam is expecting to see. I let my hair down. It’s reaching to my waist now, covering me like a thick shawl.

  My phone beeps again with a text from Adam announcing his arrival. Tossing the phone into my purse, I leave and find him in his car in front of the apartment building. He levels his eyebrows as he sweeps his eyes up and down on me.

  “Is there something you don’t like?” I ask.

  “Something I don’t like? You’re so sexy even when you aren’t showing much.” He leans toward me to give me a kiss in the mouth. I pull back before he can have his fill of my lips, and he narrows his eyes questioningly. “I have this sneaking suspicion that you’re up to something.”

  “Wouldn’t you love that?”

  He grins and turns back to the wheel. We drive to a lovely Spanish restaurant in Sherman Oaks and meet Stella and Gregorio at the parking lot. Stella is Adam’s Godmother and his late mother’s best friend. She’s a petite, round woman with long, grey hair. Her husband, Gregorio, on the other hand, is almost as tall as Adam and sports pitch-black hair, which I have no doubt is thanks to some expensive hair dyes. However their discrepancies end there. Both are witty, generous, and warm-hearted people, and from what Adam told me, are borderline workaholics. What had started as a humble winery at the outskirts of Santa Barbara three decades ago turned into a five-star luxurious hotel and keeps the two busy enough to have only a limited amount of time for friends and family.

  “The dinner is our treat. Please, don’t shy away from ordering whatever your appetite desires,” Stella chirps as she hugs me, then Adam.

  “You shouldn’t have said that. Taylor’s appetite is large enough to break your bank account. Just giving you heads up.”

  “Hey.” I punch him on the shoulder. “It’s not... I’m not.”

  “As long as she keeps her figure, she can order the entire menu, for all I care.” Stella examines me up and down, and I’m not sure whether she’s giving her okay for my looks.

  Adam grabs my hips from behind, as we walk into the restaurant and pushes his crotch against my buttocks. “I don’t know whether it’s the skirt or your ass is getting bigger, but I’m dying to pin you against the wall and take you from behind.”

  I come to a halt to compose myself, because his words make my knees go weak, and then grab his hand as a support while we follow the server to our table.

  “Honey, look, they have octopus. Want to give it a try?” Gregorio asks Stella, when we settle on a table beside the tall windows.

  I feel my stomach twist as I glance at the menu for the oc
topus dish. Barely holding myself from wincing, I turn to Adam. He’s staring down at me with smoldering eyes. His mind is always there. So is mine, to be honest. But, he’s not the one being deprived of intimacy. Shaking my head, I gently elbow his ribs and scan the menu for more edible food.

  As expected, Gregorio starts a long conversation with the sommelier and orders a different wine for each of the four courses we’re going to be served. I sip only a little from the red wine, since its taste is a bit too fruity for my palate and dig into the cheese platter, while Adam and Gregorio discuss the recent and upcoming basketball games.

  “Is there a specific reason why you’re taking it easy on alcohol tonight?” Stella asks, making me choke on the Manchego cheese.

  “No specific reason, except I’m the designated driver to get us back home.” I add a smile to divert her attention from possibly dangerous waters.

  But, I guess my tactic doesn’t pay off, because she leans over the table and takes a quick look at Adam’s side before asking me, “No plans to put a bun in the oven, yet?”

  I swallow and turn toward Adam for help, but he’s too deep into the conversation with Gregorio.

  “Well, we haven’t seriously started trying yet,” I repeat Adam’s words. Particularly true for these days that he’s keeping his sperm everywhere but in my womb.

  “Don’t be nervous about the possible problems of being a parent. Adam is such a sweetheart. He’ll take care of you no matter what. All his sisters adore him, especially the twins. He practically raised them while he was a boy himself.”

  I nod, smiling, and work hard not to let my eyes moisten with flooding emotions. “I know.” I reach for Adam’s hand under the table and give it a swift squeeze.

  He turns to look at me then at Stella. “What are you two gossiping about?”

  “That you should come and visit us in Santa Barbara,” Stella replies. “We’ll keep the honeymoon suite free for you.”

  “We can’t accept that.” I shake my head. “Not unless we pay for it.” I wonder how much a night costs. A couple of thousand for sure. A romantic hotel out in nature, surrounded by grapevines and fruit trees. I wouldn’t blink an eye at renting the suite for a week if I knew Adam’s sperm would magically impregnate me there. Before considering spending that amount of money, though, I should get Adam to start having sex with me in conventional settings.