Fake Date, Real Fate-Chapter 149: Wired for You [II]

My smile slipped, and I set the glass back down.

"Adrien... your hand."

He followed my gaze and flexed his fingers once, then shrugged like it was nothing.

"I caught it on a drawer," he said easily, without missing a beat.

A drawer.

I gave him a look, but he didn’t flinch.

"You should be more careful," I murmured, gently brushing my thumb along his knuckles.

He didn’t pull away.

Just watched me in silence as my thumb ghosted over the bruised skin, slow and careful, as if touching him hurt me.

"You always say that," he murmured.

"Because it’s always true."

His hand turned slightly under mine—just enough for his fingers to wrap around mine. Gentle. Warm. Still rough from whatever storm he’d walked through to get here.

His eyes were on mine now. Quiet. Intense.

"I’m okay," he said. "You don’t need to worry about me."

"I worry anyway."

I meant to sound light, teasing. But the words came out quietly. Honestly.

He didn’t respond right away. Just reached up with his free hand and brushed a strand of hair off my face. Then, slower, he leaned in—just like before.

Closer.

Closer.

His face was barely a breath away from mine, and instinctively, I parted my lips.

I waited.

And waited.

And still... his lips didn’t touch mine.

I opened my eyes, confused.

He was watching me.

Staring.

Like I was some puzzle he couldn’t afford to get wrong.

My heart thudded against my ribs.

"...What are you doing?" he asked, voice low. A faint smile ghosted his lips.

My voice came out softer than I meant it to. "Waiting."

"For what?"

I swallowed. "I thought you were going to kiss me."

His lips twitched slightly—like I’d amused him. But there was something else behind it. Something darker. Deeper.

"Did I say I was?"

"You didn’t say you weren’t."

"I do."

"Then do it."

He tilted his head slightly, gaze still pinned to mine. "You think I’d kiss you like this?" His eyes flicked meaningfully to the IV in my arm. "While you’re hooked to enough wires to run a small city?"

My smile faltered completely. A pang of something—disappointment, maybe shame—shot through me. My cheeks heated. "It’s just a few wires," I mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant, but my gaze dropped to the clear tube disappearing into my arm.

He watched me, his thumb still tracing lazy circles on my knuckles. "And how do you feel, connected to your city’s power grid?" he murmured, the corners of his lips lifting just a fraction more. The amusement was there, but beneath it, that familiar, unreadable intensity.

My breath caught.

His fingers grazed my jaw, slow and featherlight.

"I’ll wait," he said, like a promise and a threat all in one. "But when you’re better..."

His lips brushed just beneath my ear—barely there.

"...I won’t hold back."

I felt heat creep up my neck, slow and heavy.

He leaned back a little, just enough to keep me on edge.

"Don’t look at me like that," he murmured.

"Like what?"

"Like you want me to be reckless."

I smiled, small and defiant. "You already are."

He let out a soft sound—something between a hum and a sigh—and brushed the back of his fingers down my cheek.

"Sleep," he said finally. "We’ll finish this when you’re off the IVs."

My eyelids felt heavy, but it wasn’t from sleepiness. It was from the potent mix of his promise and the lingering current of his almost-touch. "Adrien..." I whispered, the name a plea not to leave, not to break the fragile spell.

And then—just to spite me, I think—he kissed the very tip of my nose.

I blinked.

He pulled back like that was the end of it. Like that was all I’d get.

But something in me wants to be naughty a little.

So I said it.

"I want you to touch me."

His smile vanished.

For a moment, the playful, teasing light in his eyes was gone, replaced by a dangerous sort of stillness. The air in the sterile room crackled, suddenly thick and heavy. He didn’t move, didn’t even seem to breathe. He just watched me, his gaze dropping from my eyes to my lips and back again.

"I am touching you," he said, his voice a low thrum that vibrated right through me. His thumb, which had been making lazy circles on my knuckles, stopped.

My breath hitched. "Adrien. You know what I mean."

"You’re not ready," he said again, but this time it was rougher. Throatier. The words dragged like they cost him.

I reached for his hand—the uninjured one—and placed it carefully on my waist, just above the blanket, just under the hem of the hospital gown. My skin burned beneath the light pressure of his palm.

"I am." freēwēbnovel.com

He stared at me like I’d just said something dangerous.

His hand twitched. A slight tightening of fingers. Nothing more.

I leaned in.

"You think I’m made of glass," I whispered. "But I’m not. And if you’re going to lose control—lose it with me." okay I’m kinda loving how I am teasing him. Hehe.

His jaw flexed.

Then he was suddenly up, standing beside the bed, breathing like he’d just run a mile.

Had I pushed too far?

But he leaned down again—slower this time—and braced both hands on either side of me, caging me in without touching anything more.

"You think I haven’t thought about it?" he said, voice low and dark and wrecked.

A rush of heat shot down my spine.

I reached up, fingers brushing his bare chest, tracing the curve of muscle.

Then, with a groan, he pulled back just an inch.

My chest ached with how badly I wanted to yank him back down.

"I want you awake," he said. "Strong. Able to claw at my back and moan my name without machines cutting in."

"Adrien—"

"I’m not saying no," he said, kissing my forehead again. This time, it wasn’t light. It was a promise. A warning.

"I’m saying... wait for me."

His words lingered in the air like smoke. I should’ve let them end it there.

But I didn’t.

I reached out again, slow and deliberate, and trailed my fingers down his chest. Over the cut of his abs. Just lightly enough to make his muscles twitch beneath my touch.

"You want me strong," I murmured, my voice softer than silk, "but you’re the one shaking right now."

His jaw clenched. Hard.

I smiled.

"I can’t move much," I breathed, "but I can watch. So maybe you should take your frustration out on something else."

His jaw clenched. "Don’t."

"Don’t what?"

"You’re playing with fire."

"Then burn me."

He inhaled sharply. His eyes were molten now, stormy with need and conflict and hunger he couldn’t bury.

But I still didn’t stop.

"Touch me like you mean it," I whispered. "Or get out."

And then I pulled the blanket off my shoulders, just enough to show the slope of my collarbone... and the thin hospital gown strap slipping down one side.

His throat bobbed.

"Fuck," he muttered, and for the first time—I saw it.

Desperation.

Not just need. Not just hunger. Desperation.

And I liked it.

I liked how desperate he was, how every inch of him yearned to give in. I could almost see it—the battle raging inside him, the part of him that wanted to keep it together for my sake... and the part of him that wanted to devour me.

"You’re too fucking good at this," he muttered, voice hoarse.

My smile was slow, triumphant. "I knew you couldn’t resist."

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Resist?" he murmured, his eyes dropping to my mouth again, the hunger in them so potent it was a physical touch. "Oh, I’m resisting. Believe me. This is me resisting."

"Then stop resisting."

"Isabella—"

I slid my knee up slowly against his thigh.

He leaned in—helpless, desperate—

And then, like a challenge, brushing my lips along the edge of his jaw instead of his mouth and I bit it.

He sucked in a sharp breath, the sound breaking in his throat.

"Please," he whispered.

"Please... what?" I whispered back, my voice a silken thread, my lips still grazing his stubble.

Then it happened.

A sound escaped him. Quiet. Guttural. Wounded.

A whimper.

Adrien Walton whimpered.

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