Chapter 3: Nice Guys Break Condoms--Radio Edit

Adam

"Ahhhh, Mac, you don't have to do that," I try to draw her up by her elbows but she pulls back slightly. She looks really lovely, looking up at me with her eyes soft and unsure like that, all her sweet skin glowing pink from her hot shower, but her face paling at my words.

I smile at her and run my hands through her damp strawberry blonde hair as she peels open my jeans. She's never done this—with me. Somehow I always took control and skipped over this. I don't know why I feel a little guilty about it, with her.

"You're not a fangirl, Sweetheart. Just doesn't seem...right, I guess."

"But I want to. I want to be...good to you."

Hmmm. If you really wanted to be good to me, you'd let me stay the night and wake up with you. But I don't say that. I'm not gonna fuck this up this time, pushing for too much. I used to sleep in her dorm all the time, but we went slow. It took months before I stayed over.

"You can finish however you want, I just want to..." she bites her lip as she pulls down my boxer briefs. "Try," she whispers.

She can't take all of me, but she knows how to use her mouth and her hand to create that perfect symmetry.

So fucking good. I have one hand on the wall and one hand in her hair, but I'm not controlling her head, I'm just...feeling her move. She looks up at me with an expression of excited happiness and I think my heart is going to fucking burst.

"Mac," I gasp. "Mac...I...I..."

The way her jaw softens and her throats works, it's the most intimate act we've ever shared.

"Come up here, Sweetheart." I pull her up by her elbows. Her mouth is beautiful, all swollen and pink. "That was amazing. Never had it with that much..." tenderness and affection, but I can't say that... "skill."

Her hazel eyes are bright. Her drying curls bounce as she shakes her head. "Bullshit. You're a rock star, and I'm way more out of practice than your average fangirl."

"I can hardly believe that, that was expert level." I say mildly. "You never blow fanboys?" We've never talked about the fans. I could never stand to hear it. But something is different this time. I don't know what. I just feel like...when it comes to Mac, I want everything now. The good and the bad.

"No," she whispers. "Never."

I touch her perfect pouty mouth. "I'm glad. It's not safe. But I'm clean, Mac. I promise. I would never have let you, if I wasn't sure."

She rolls her eyes. "Christ, Preacher. I know that."

"Nobody calls me that anymore," I remind her gently.

Her swollen mouth grins wickedly. "But you...are a preacher boy." She licks up my neck and kisses my jaw. "Always so good...but if you can't be good, you burn it down."

I laugh as I squeeze her ass. "That's what you think of me? That I'm an angel, except when I'm a devil?"

"Pretty much."

"Which one do you think you deserve tonight?" I squeeze the back of her neck and pull her gaze up to meet mine.

Suddenly her eyes fill with abrupt tears. She growls and shakes her head, backing away from me.

Shit. What did I say? I thought we were just playing around. Sometimes she drives me crazy—the way the smallest thing sets her off.

"Shhhh," I tell her, catching her up as she does what she always does...tries to pull away. I hold her to me, my chest to her back, as I lean down and brush my lips down the backside of shoulder. She shivers. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything. I know what you like." I whisper filthy things in her ear.

"Hmmmmmm," she whimpers in agreement, and now she's backing into me, grinding against me. My spitfire is so fucking crazy—she can't take too much tenderness from me, but dirty talk always sits right with her.

Now that she's started shivering, she can't stop. She's cold. Of course she is, —she's got no body fat at all, and she's been naked on her knees with wet hair in the cool air conditioning for fifteen minutes. I pull my shirt off one handed and wrap my arms around her. She sighs into my warmth as I shuffle her to the bed and rake down the covers. She crawls on the bed easily, and then—very very slowly, she lays down on her back and  holds out her arms to me. Sex like this—on her back, face to face—is not the way she normally likes it.

Christ, she's really trying. She's trying to be...open. The way she looks—her body naked and every inch willing—and her expression so trusting—I want to remember it forever. I want to take her this very second before she changes her mind.

"You still on the pill?" I ask. She shakes her head. "Condoms in my travel stuff," she tries to roll away to get them, but if she moves, she probably won't let me take her like this—lying on her back, vulnerable.

I lean down and kiss her forehead, wrapping the covers around her tenderly to keep her warm.  "I'll get them," I tell her. I make a quick circuit—the bottle of champagne in the living room and frantically rummaging Mac's shit for the condoms. Shit, she's wrong—she doesn't have any. I'm going to have to go back to my room—no! Finally I find one, at the bottom of her bag.

I get naked. She watches me with a hazy look. "Goddamn, Adam. I've missed you," she whispers as I pour her another glass and hand her the champagne. She sits up and little, takes it eagerly. All girls like something to drink after oral sex. And champagne is Mac's favorite. I smile as she takes a long swallow, but I can't wait to get that glass our of her hands.

"Your turn, Shortcake," I walk to the end of the bed and rip the linens from where they are tucked in. Then I reach beneath and grab her ankles, pulling her down to the bottom of the bed as she squeals.

"What are you doing?" she asks breathless, as fights with the comforter in her face and I sink to my knees at the end of the bed, folding the linens back to bare her beautiful, creamy thighs and her sweet, tender sex.

"Praying," I say earnestly, as I hook her knees over my shoulders and bow my head to her sex.

"Oh Adam," she breathes as she falls back, covering her face with the thick bedclothes as she whimpers and moans and bucks. I grin, noticing how she forgets all about that damn nickname she likes to call me. It's only Adam, Adam, Adam as I work.

She always tries to pull away the second she goes off—like she's afraid to fully finish— but tonight I force her hips down on the bed and keep going until her first surprised shout turns into a long humming note like she's singing. She finally surrenders to the overwhelming power, and I feel her body soften as the pleasure rains down through her, until her brain and body are fully drenched. I don't stop until she can't hum anymore, and her tone changes to a whimper that sounds like she desperately need a break.

She's limp when I pull away. She doesn't even jump as my beard tickles her, but she manages to struggle up from beneath the comforter, batting it away as searches for the condom I threw on the bed.

She looks absolutely fuck-drunk as she rips it open and waves at me lazily.

I laugh at her. She looks beautiful to me but she would hate seeing herself in the mirror right now, all red-faced and bushy-haired.

"You need a minute, Shortcake?" I tease her

"No. I need your ten inches."

I laugh some more. I'm not quite that big, but she always makes me feel...huge, because she's so petite.

"You got it, Sweetheart?" She's having a little trouble rolling down the condom—I think because she's still so woozy from her pleasure—but she finally gets it going. "All good," she pants. Then there's that moment of hesitation as she stares up at me. Missionary isn't her favorite—I know that—so when she smiles at me sweetly and lays back down gently, my throat feels tight. Mac is the kind of girl with tough talk, but when she wants to be sweet, she shows it in her actions.

I slide a hand under her back and pull her up the bed, settling her on the pillows, pulling the comforter up over us to keep her warm. She reaches up and rubs my jaw with her fingers as I hover over her. "Mac—"

She just nods at me and pulls my face down to hers, thrusting her tongue in my mouth. I take her tongue, as she takes me inside too, and I feel, maybe for the very first time, like we are one.

I make love to her tenderly, silently. I lavish her throat, her shoulders, her breasts with kisses. She wraps her little legs around my waist as I give her friction with each excruciatingly slow move. Her fingers play on my biceps, my shoulders, my jaw. Her eyes are wide and fascinated and full of acceptance and her smile...her smile is sweet, like the first time she smiled at me, all those years ago in the hall outside her dorm room.

"Mac..." I whisper in her ear. "I..."

"Sshhh," she says, shaking her head.

"No," I have to tell her something. This means something...the way we are so connected—sweeter than ever before. Doesn't she feel it?

"Mac...Sweetheart...this...I feel so much for you..."

"Adam...just...sshhh," she smothers me with another kiss. I let her, as I continue our slow, satisfying motion.

When she breaks for a strangled breath, I gulp air and blurt, "Mac, I love..."

"Adam!" She hisses, like I have slapped her.

"THIS," I hiss back. "I love being with you like this, Mac. I do. I can't help it. It's never been like this, with anyone else. Don't you feel that? Don't you feel me?" I put her hand on my hammering heart.

She closes her eyes, and her hand on my chest pushes at me. "Adam, stop talking!" she pleads. She turns her head to the side as I try to kiss her again. Her whole body is tense now.

Shit. Fucking shit. It's gone. The connection. I fucked it up again.

I pull out.

She grabs at my arms, trying to hold onto me. "What are you doing?"

I should be leaving. I should be walking out the door. Mac is going to be my ruin. I'm going to spend my life loving somebody that's not capable of love.

I close my eyes and bow my back, hovering above her on hands and knees. If I walk out, who knows when or if we will ever come around again? If I stay, and give her what she wants—want she needs—maybe there's still a chance.

I look into her eyes. So green. Cool as a cat's normally, but right now, utterly panicked. Why does she look out of those eyes at the big bad world like a she's a killer and look at me—the one person who would never willingly hurt her— with such fear?

I do the only thing I can do...I call out the killer in her.

"Enough romantic bullshit. Turn over." She groans in relief, flips and  scrambles up on her knees, spreading before me. I grab her waist and spear her. I fuck her the way she likes it—like an animal.

It doesn't take long at this point but just as I finish, I feel it—the tiny snap. Then the condom rips entirely. I freeze.

Fuck. I've never had a condom break. I pull out slowly. Doesn't matter. I can see the damage is clearly done.

"Oh god, Adam. That was the best ever," Mac is sighing as she dives, stomach down, for a pillow. For once, I'm glad Mac isn't into post sex tenderness. I give Mac's shoulder a quick kiss as I rise off the bed and head straight to the bathroom. I clean up. I stay in there a few minutes trying to figure out how I'm going to tell her.

A million things race through my mind. My jeans are on the bathroom floor. I grab for my phone and scroll my text threads—looking for the one that has just the Soundcrush men. And Riley.

Don't ask me how  Riley knows the things he knows. I really don't want to know. But that goddamn stalker knows everything that goes on in this band, including when Mac has her period. When we are out on tour, or recording in the studio, he sends us a signal...one little red siren a few days before. We can't put it on the band calendar obviously...Mac would flip the fuck out on us.

Look, I know this sounds like a douche move, but we aren't trying to be assholes. It's just the opposite. In general, we treat Mac like one of the guys.  Every single one of us in this band acts like a bitch now and again,  and we have to check each other's bitch behavior. That's how we roll. Mac is no exception.  But it's sometimes hard to know if Mac is just being pissy like the rest of us on any given day, or if she's stressed because of her monthly stuff. We get it—it can't be fun, traveling and working hard extremely hard like we do on tour and dealing with her period. So we try to be more understanding around that time of the month.

Goddammit, where is that text thread? When I find it, I stare at the little siren and the date. I check my calendar. I Google the shit to make sure I'm solid on the facts of life. I check two websites, hoping I'm wrong. I count the calendar days again.

Fuck. I have to tell Mac the condom broke. I mean, I have to tell her anyway. I know that.

But I really have to tell her in a way that's not going to make her flip out.

I'm sweating as I crawl back into bed.

She's asleep, the comforter all twisted around her.

"Mac," I whisper, shaking her shoulder. "Wake up."

She stirs, reaching for my arm and pulling it around her waist. "Stay. Sleep," she mumbles.

Stay, she says. She hasn't let me stay in years. I'm more than willing.

But sleep?

No, that's impossible now.