radicalducati Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Adolphus’ POV
She shifted slightly, pulling the oversized T-shirt against her chest but not putting it on. Her fingers curled into the fabric like it might shield her, but she made no move to slip it over her head. Her voice dropped, soft, unsteady.
“I wasn’t trying to… I just needed help.”
I stared at her. For a second, I said nothing. I just watched her.
Every inch of her was burned into my memory now. The way droplets of water clung to her skin, sliding slowly over her collarbone. The damp hair that framed her face, tangled and heavy. The delicate curve of her waist, the tension in her shoulders, the flush spreading along her neck.
“Adolphus…” Her voice was quieter now, nearly lost beneath the hum of rain tapping the windows.
I took a step toward her, slow and deliberate. “Tell me to turn around,” I said, my voice low.
She didn’t.
So I kept looking.
I reached out, brushing a dripping strand of hair from her cheek, tucking it gently behind her ear. She flinched—not from fear, but from the closeness. From something sharp and unspoken that crackled in the air between us.
“You should put that shirt on,” I said quietly. I didn’t move.
But neither did she.
Her lips parted slightly, and her breath hitched when my fingers grazed the line of her jaw. Her skin was warm and damp, soft under my touch.
I didn’t know what I was doing. Only that every part of me begged not to stop.
I leaned in, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’re making this hard.”
She swallowed, throat bobbing. “Then don’t look.”
“But you haven’t told me to leave,” I said.
We were close now. Closer than we’d ever been. The heat from her skin pulled at me like gravity. Her breath mingled with mine, soft and quick.
My hand slid down, slow, fingers trailing the curve of her shoulder. Her muscles tensed slightly, but she didn’t pull away. I could feel the thrum of her pulse beneath my fingertips.
“I should stop,” I muttered.
“Then stop,” she said, but there was no strength behind it. No true resistance.
I gave a slow smile. “You don’t want me to.”
Her breathing grew shallow. Her chest rose and fell in unsteady rhythm, and her eyes—those storm-dark eyes—never left mine.
I tilted her chin up, just enough to make her look at me. “Do you?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she stared up at me, her expression open and uncertain. And that silence… that silence said everything.
My fingers brushed the side of her neck, trailing lower, skimming over the smooth slope of her collarbone. She trembled.
“I don’t know what this is,” I murmured. “But it’s not nothing.”
She nodded faintly. “I know.”
I took in every inch of her—the soft sheen of water on her skin, the way her lips trembled as she tried to steady her breath, the way her full, round breasts rose and fell, barely concealed behind the fabric clutched in her hands.
It was killing me. All of it. The restraint. The wanting. The not knowing if I was about to cross a line I couldn’t uncross.
And then, before I could stop myself, the words slipped out—raw, quiet, honest.
“I want to taste you.”
Her breath caught instantly. She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Her eyes locked on mine, wide and dark, brimming with tension, confusion, and want—all tangled together, all written in silence.
“Adolphus…” she whispered, and my name on her lips was nearly my undoing.
I leaned in, slow, close enough to feel her breath against my mouth. “Tell me not to,” I murmured.
But she didn’t say anything.
So I hovered there, lips brushing hers without closing the distance. My hands ached to touch more, to pull her closer, to lose myself in her—but I held still, giving her space to push me away. Begging her to, even though I didn’t want her to.
She didn’t.
And that was all the invitation I needed.