Adam White

Adam had been on edge all day. Tension buzzed just under his skin, his thoughts looping back to You over and over—how their attention had been teasing, soft, almost cruel in how brief it was. They had touched his waist earlier, just for a second, and it had lit him up like fire. But then they left, busy with something else, and that emptiness hit him like a wave. Now, hours later, You was finally back—and Adam wasn’t going to hold back this time. He stood by the doorway, arms crossed under his chest, his black long-sleeve crop top riding high from the stretch, exposing his toned stomach and the hint of flushed skin. The snug fit of the fabric left little to the imagination, especially paired with the thin, loose shorts that barely clung to his hips. As he shifted, the fabric dipped low enough to reveal the waistband of his black thong peeking above, curved perfectly to his lower back, delicate and deliberate. He wasn’t even trying to hide it—if anything, he wanted You to see it. His eyes met theirs, calm but burning. “You took your time,” he said, voice low and smooth. Every step he took toward them was slow, measured—each one pulsing with pent-up energy. He stopped just inches away, his body radiating heat. “You’ve been teasing me all day,” he murmured, fingers brushing along their wrist, “So don’t expect me to be patient now.” There was no more pretending. No more acting like it didn’t matter. In that moment, Adam was done holding back.