Ella James - Unmaking Marchant

As if he hears my thoughts, Adam raises his head and blinks at me.

“Adam,” I say, “you need to go home. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I expect contrition. Understanding. Instead, his eyes widen like I’ve slapped him. His shoulders square, and he reaches out to grab my elbow. “No way, baby. I want to get in the pool.”

I frown. “You what?”

“Skinny dipping. It’s your fantasy.” He grins. “I’m feeling loose tonight. I think I can do it.”

Adam’s so uptight, he’s never been willing to take a naked swim with me, not even when we’ve been the only ones at home.

“Lizzy’s gone now,” he says. “This is our night.” He kisses the top of my hand. “Last night drinking. I fucking swear. I love you, baby. We can stop going to parties if we have to. I’ll make the therapist appointment. Just let me swim with your fine self.”

I struggle not to roll my eyes; then Adam kisses me gently on the lips. Despite the overwhelming scent of alcohol, I don’t pull away when his arms wrap around me. He pulls me close to his chest—a signature Adam move that always makes me feel safe and sheltered—and for a long second, I can tell myself that he’s my Adam. The guy I started dating in ninth grade. The one who could barely get a condom over himself when we lost it to each other in the fields behind Harvey Goldman's house.

I inhale his cologne and ignore the smell of the alcohol. I allow myself to ignore everything as he lifts me out of the limo and carries me around the back of my house. In the still of the night, I hear Arnold pull off, bound for the smaller, whitewashed house where he and the cook and my security guard have rooms.

The egg-shaped pool is crisscrossed by thousands of globe lights strung between the main house and the garden house. Tonight, the stars twinkle between them. It’s beautiful.

“Adam,” I say as he sets me gently on the pale tile. He looks down at me, and I wrap my arms around his neck and look at his familiar face. “It really hurt me that you did this after you promised you wouldn’t.”

I stare into his eyes, looking for some hint—any hint—that he gets it. That he understands why I’m upset.

He takes a step away from me and hangs his head, looking back up after a long moment staring at the Salvatore Ferragmo calfskin leather shoes I got him for his birthday. “I understand, Suri. I guess…I have a problem. Maybe I need to try AA or something.”

Tension leaves me in a rush. I can feel my shoulders deflate like a popped balloon. “You’ll actually consider that?”

“I guess I have to.”

Yes!

I smile. I can’t help it. “Adam, thank you. That makes me feel so much better.”

“Anything for my girl.” He grins and steps close enough to kiss me quickly on the mouth, then starts stripping off his clothes.

My body temperature skyrockets. I can’t help it. Adam is lean and cut. I’m not very tall—only five-foot-four—so at five-foot-ten, he’s just my size. His blue eyes and mahogany hair look great with his naturally tanned skin. His grandmother is from Spain, and you can totally tell.

My mouth falls open when he tugs his boxers off, revealing a stiff erection.

“Ohh la la.” I giggle and step over to him, and Adam does a deft job getting me out of my dress and slip. He kisses down my neck and over my bare shoulders. A brisk breeze blows, causing chills to pop up on my skin. He tweaks my hard, round nipple, and I gasp.

“Bad boy…”

He kneels, thumbing me through my panties before he pulls them down and tosses them over his shoulder. He takes my hand and leads me to the stairs at the shallow end of the heated pool. Steam drifts off the water, and I watch as it laps against Adam’s knees, then thighs, then hips. He’s submerged up to his chest when he turns and tugs me in behind him.

I sink down to my shoulders, glad my hair is swept up off my neck as I twirl around. It feels exquisite.

I look over at Adam. He’s up to his pecs now, smiling a sweet smile, looking soft and attentive: the nice drunk he’s never been.

“Come here baby.” He holds his arms out, and my eyes fly to a bruise on his left shoulder, thinking for a second that he’s finally gotten the tattoo I always fanaticize about.

Oh, well.

I step over to him, running my wet fingers through his hair and tugging his lips down on mine. As I do, I press my naked body against his and Adam groans a little.

“Baby… Oh yeah.”

He starts kissing down my neck, just the way I like it. He kisses my collar bone and down my breast to my nipple, which he teases with his teeth. Through my haze of lust, I tell myself I’m not going to let his drinking ruin things for us. He’ll go to AA. He did better tonight. He drank a lot in a brief time period and he’s not calling me names.

One of his hands cups me in the water and he slides a finger in. I gasp, wriggling against him.

“You naughty, naughty boy.”

I find him, too, stroking him as he moans.

He jerks out of my grasp, lifts me in his arms and presses my back against the side of the pool, lifting my legs so he can find my center. He spreads my lips, stroking twice before he takes himself in hand, and, holding onto the side of the pool, pushes inside of me.

It’s supposed to feel good in the water, but I know after a couple of strokes it doesn’t. I feel stretched too tight, and it stings.

He begins to thrust a little harder, kissing my mouth and stroking my neck with one hand as the other holds my hips.

“Oh, yeah…”

I bite my tongue, trying to get used to the sensation, but the pinching feeling just gets worse.

“Adam,” I gasp. I push against his shoulder. “Stop, it hurts.”

His eyes open, as he continues pumping. “Stop?”

“I’m really sorry, but it hurts.”

He pulls out and lets go of me. I sink into the water while he spins around. “Damnit, Suri. This is bullshit!”

A shiver sweeps me as the wind blows. I wrap my arms around myself and hope he’s just being a frustrated guy. This is my fantasy, after all. Something he’s never felt comfortable doing. And I just shot him down.

Shoving my worries aside, I put on my sexy face and beckon him closer, curling my finger in a come-hither motion as the water laps around my shoulders. “Come here,” I tell him, trying not to shiver as the breeze picks up. When he gets close enough, I’m going to grab his dick.

But he doesn’t come. Instead, he turns around, running his hands roughly through his hair. “Jesus, you sure know how to kill a buzz.”

“Come here, Adam.” When he doesn’t, I grab his bicep and turn him around. I grab his dick with one hand, stroking as my mouth finds his. He kisses me back roughly. Almost painfully, as if he’s trying to bruise my lips. I try not to say “ow”—I don’t want to put a damper on our sex life, especially when we only get to indulge several times a month—but he keeps it up, kissing so hard my teeth are almost cutting into my mouth, then moving down my neck and biting. Not sexy biting; real biting.

I can’t help it. I push his shoulders. “Adam, stop!”

He shoves one wet hand into my hair, wrapping a strand around his fingers. “Come on, it’s been a fucking week or maybe more.”

He grabs my hips and pulls me closer to him, easing me toward the side of the pool again. Lifting me up, so the deck is digging into my back. Putting my legs atop his shoulders. He strokes my thigh and licks me twice, then pulls me abruptly back down into the water and enters me again.

Again, it stings. I’m not sure why. I close my eyes and try to loosen up, but eventually I have to squirm away. I push against him, looking up into his dazed eyes. “Adam, I’m really sorry. It just hurts.”