Adrian Lessons by L.A Rose Page A

the car and takes my hand. “I have to make this the best night of your life, remember?”
    And there goes the toenail.
    He leads me toward the doors. They’re locked, as I expected. And as Adrian releases the handle, a flashlight beam falls over his shoulders. What is it with law enforcement and their determination to keep me from orgasming?
    Although—I’m so pent up at this point, I can’t guarantee my orgasm wouldn’t endanger public safety. The detonation zone could be miles wide.
    “What are you two doing?” comes a gruff male voice. I resist the urge to spin around and say, “Each other, hopefully!”
    “Nothing,” says Adrian, pulling a wad of cash out of his pocket. My eyes widen as he slips it to the guard. “We were never here.”
    The guard hesitates for a millisecond, then reaches over and unlocks the door.
    “You’re rich,” I say to Adrian as we step inside. It’s a fact, not a question. “Are you one of those moody billionaires who secretly wants to tie me up and whip me or whatever?”
    His hand brushes the back of my neck. “Are you one of those mousy secretaries who secretly wants to be tied up and whipped?”
    A shiver runs through me. “I’m definitely not mousy.”
    “Then I’ll just have to find out what else it is that you secretly want me to do.” His tone is dark and eight different kinds of sexy. I’m starting to think I would let Adrian make love to me on a lawnmower in a blizzard.
    It’s just one night, right?
    He leads me out into the stadium. I gasp. In Boston, it’s hard to find a wide-open enough space to get a good look at the night sky, but Fenway Park is set up like a stage for the stars. Even through the light pollution and the haze, they’re brilliant. I look around slowly—the moonlight is enough illumination to see the thousands of stadium seats, the baseball field stretching out like a huge emerald jewel set into the earth. It’s like the ghost of all the screaming energy that’s here during the day has invaded this place at night, too, making it hum.
    “Gorgeous,” I mutter.
    “I agree,” he says, looking directly at me.
    Any second now, he’s going to lean over and…I try to relax my muscles. I can do this. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a woman, damn it!
    “Now’s your chance,” he says.
    He…wants me to make the move? Well, I can do that. Probably. Sweat erupts all over my face and my stupid mouth blurts out, “I’m a virgin.”
    It’s hard being this sexy all the time.
    Shock crosses his face, and he opens his mouth, but I cut him off. Apparently divulging my deepest secrets at random times is what I do around the Sex King. Soon he’ll know that I peed on fellow little leaguer Todd Baker’s mouth guard when I was twelve years old because he called me a ho. “I know. I know! I had a boyfriend for three years, right? So why the heck am I a virgin, right?”
    I give a casual, charming laugh. What actually comes out is the maniacal witch’s chuckle from The Wizard of Oz. Go figure.
    “Cleo—” he starts.
    “You have to understand why I stayed with him. I loved him. I loved him hard, Adrian. He was the first person I ever met who understood that I was a real human being, not just the ditzy girl who liked to make people laugh. I figured I could make it work—I wanted to make it work—despite the fact that…”
    I swallow.
    “He never wanted to have sex. Eric, I mean. At first I figured he was just the waiting type, and he would want to eventually, but…nope. I mean, lots of people have celibate relationships! I researched it! We did some other stuff, but he never really seemed into that either, and eventually I just…”
    The last part is too depressing to say aloud, so I mostly mouth it.
    “What?” he asks.
    “Eventually I just drghhghhh.”
    “I can’t understand you.”
    “Eventually I just decided I wasn’t pretty enough for a guy to want to have sex with me, so I stopped trying,” I shout. Fenway Park offers a helpful