Page 83 of Seven Minutes
I dropped my forehead to his chest, groaning. “I was trying to return the favor,” I muttered. “And I pulled something before I even made it to your dick. Which is honestly rude.”Not to mention embarrassing.
His shoulders shook—half laugh, half groan. His fingers slid into my hair, lifting my face so I had to look at him.
“Eli,” he said softly, brushing a thumb along my cheek, “you don’t owe me anything.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
His expression softened into an impossible mix of affection and desire.
“Well, maybe next time you don’t try to surprise me before I’ve had coffee.”
I huffed, still embarrassed, still wanting him. “Noted.”
He pulled me up his body and kissed the corner of my mouth, slow, lingering, like he didn’t mind waking up this way at all.
“Come here,” he whispered. “Let me check the pull.”
He guided me back against the pillows, propping me up with a touch that was equal parts doctor and lover. His hands skimmed my ribs first, his touch warm and careful, then traced lower across my stomach. The muscle twitched, still tender.
I groaned before I could stop myself.
Adrian followed the sound with his mouth, pressing soft kisses exactly where his fingertips had been. The contrast of his warm breath, soft lips, and firm touches had my pulse kickingup, my breath turning uneven. I remembered his mouth so well. My body did, too.
He glanced up at me through his lashes, the corner of his mouth curving. “If you still want to return the favor…” he murmured.
Heat rolled through me. I didn’t even pretend to hesitate. I nodded, probably too fast, definitely too eager.
“Pity you’re not a hundred percent,” he teased lightly, thumb brushing my hip.
“My mouth works fine,” I shot back.
That earned me a soft groan that lived halfway between surrender and hunger.
Adrian shifted, straddling my legs carefully so he wouldn’t jostle my ribs or put pressure on my wounded thigh. He reached into his waistband, pulling his cock free, already heavy in his hand. My breath caught.
He stroked himself slow, deliberate, a pace that begged to be watched. And hewaswatching me, as if every reaction, every inhale, belonged to him.
I licked my lips without thinking.
His breath hitched. “Jesus, Eli…”
Lightly gripping his thighs, my eyes locked on the glide of his palm down the silken heat. The way his muscles tensed. The early morning light hit the wet sheen at the tip.
He looked down at me as if he were starving. And I stared right back, wanting him just as bad.
Adrian’s breath grew heavier, his strokes tightening. Then his thumb brushed my lower lip, lingering just long enough to make my breath catch before he pressed it gently past my lips.
I opened for him without a thought.
He pressed his thumb to my tongue, and I closed my mouth around it, sucking slowly while he watched as if it was undoing him one second at a time. He stroked himself faster, hips giving these tiny, involuntary thrusts as if he couldn’t help it.
I poked his thumb with my tongue, tickling him, teasing playfully. Adrian’s intense rhythm faltered, and he struggled to school his face.
“Baby,” he groaned, voice cracking. “I’m trying to concentrate.”
I let his thumb slide free with a soft pop.
“On what?”
