32

Aidan

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I kiss her.

I don’t even think about it, I’m just acting on instinct. The hand on her hip slips around to the outside of her arm, up to her shoulder, her neck, fingers curling into her nape. She doesn’t move, doesn’t look away from my mouth, and the soft flutter of her lashes is the last thing I see before my lips touch hers.

She makes a tiny sound when our mouths meet, and I feel a tremor roll through her, like a frisson of energy arcing from her body into mine. I fumble behind me to stick the spoonful of melting ice cream back into the carton, only fifty percent sure I manage the task, a hundred percent sure I don’t care.

I cup her face with both hands, feel her silky hair teasing my fingers, the softness of her mouth, her breasts pressed against my chest. The tip of her tongue touches my bottom lip at the same moment her hand comes up to stroke my cheek, and I leap away like I’ve been electrocuted.

Aster yelps in alarm. “What—what happened?” she demands, one hand clutching her chest. “Was it a mouse? They said they got them all—”

“I—” I bury my face in my hands. I’m so fucking mortified.

There was no mouse, of course.

It was Aster.

“Aidan?” she asks, coming forward. She reaches out tentatively, fingers touching my wrist. “Are you all right? Did I...do something?”

I peer between my fingers, but she’s not mocking me, not being judgmental or duplicitous. She genuinely doesn’t know.

“I thought you were going to slap me,” I admit.

Her jaw drops, and for a long second she just gapes at me.

Then she starts to laugh.

“What? Why?” She sobers. “Did you lie about something else? What is it? Tell me.”

“No!” I exclaim. “I haven’t done anything. I just...” The truth is, the second I let my guard down last time, she Trojan horsed her way in and tried to destroy me. I may have deserved it, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“I wasn’t going to slap you,” she says. “Honest.”

“Last time...”

“Last time you’d paid a prostitute to blow my boyfriend. Have you done that this time?”

“Of course not.”

“Anything comparable?”

“No. Fuck.” I rub a hand over my face. “I’m embarrassed.”

“Yeah, well, that was really embarrassing for you.”

“You hit me really hard.”

Her face softens. Maybe it’s compassion. Maybe it’s guilt.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” she says. “I still think you deserved to suffer for what you did, but I should have just stepped on your foot or kneed you in the balls or something.”

I wince. “Don’t joke about that.”

“Okay.”

“And I’m really sorry about Jerry,” I say. “I’d like to tell you my motives were pure, but they were not.”

Her mouth quirks. “I know.”

I clear my throat. “They’re still not.”

The words are a warning shot, a last ditch opportunity for Aster to say she’s changed her mind, on second thought, let’s just do the interview, but she doesn’t move an inch. Doesn’t even blink when I step forward, backing her into the desk, stepping too close so she has to boost herself up, legs parting to make room for me between them.

I touch my forehead to hers and rest my hands on the desk on either side of her hips, the position forcing her to lean back on her arms. It arches her spine, her breasts flush against my chest, and cranes her neck, putting her mouth in just the right spot.

“You want this?” I ask, my voice rough. I know she can feel my hard-on through my jeans, pressing against the inside of her thigh. I want to be sure this time. I want to know we’re on the same, honest page. Having learned a little about her family, I understand why Aster doesn’t forgive and forget. She has a fucked up past; a semi-fucked up present. Well, so did I. But unlike Aster, I have two parents who love each other despite the drama, and unlike Aster, I think there’s a way to make things work.

If we want them to.

She watches me for a long second, the cornflower blue back in her eyes, hiding nothing, seeing everything. And then she nods.

It’d be great if she cried, “Yes, Aidan, give me everything!” but I’ll take the nod.

I kiss her. The second our lips touch it’s like a match being dropped into a pile of kindling. Forget the fucking spark—it’s like tossing the kindling into a raging inferno. Everything around us vanishes, consumed by heat. I forget the room, the ice cream, the interview. All I can taste, touch, feel, smell, is Aster. She whimpers against my mouth, tongues too tangled to say anything, and pushes herself up straighter so she can wrap her arms around my neck. I press my hands against the small of her back, drawing her into me, lodging my cock between her legs and nearly dying from the sensation of being so close but still too far away.

Her fingers are twisted in my hair, short nails scraping my scalp in a way that feels better than it should. I slide a hand over her hip and under her T-shirt, finding soft, warm skin and the scratchy lace of her bra. When she doesn’t stop me, I seek out the clasp between her shoulder blades and work it open. She smiles against my mouth and I can’t help but smile back.

“Shirt off,” I murmur, snagging the hem and tugging it up.

“You too,” she replies, lifting her arms.

I pull the T-shirt over her head and she lets the bra fall to the floor at our feet. For an endless moment I just absorb the moment. Aster Lindsey, topless and willing and right in front of me.

Finally.

“C’mon,” she mutters, yanking on my shirt. “Your turn.”

She strips away the Henley, and if I thought I was hard looking at her, seeing the way she bites her lip as she studies me, the sexy way her cheeks flush, I nearly come on the spot.

All this time I’d been thinking about how much I wanted Aster.

I never realized how much I wanted her to want me.

I tug her onto her feet and get to work on her jeans. She shimmies out of them, leaving her in a scrap of black lace that’s supposed to be panties and is far sexier than anything I’d expect her to own.

“What the...?” I murmur, stroking my thumb over the front of the lace. “These are fancy.”

“Look around,” she says, gesturing to the sparse room. “I’m a fancy girl. Plus, I got tired of prison panties.”

I growl. “Stop trying to turn me on.”

She laughs as I bear her back onto the bed, shucking my pants as we go. Then we’re skin to skin and mouth to mouth, and I feel like a kid at a carnival, trying to figure out where to start and how to never stop.

She fumbles with one hand to retrieve a box of condoms from the nightstand, never breaking our kiss. The box falls and a colorful array of shiny packages spills across the floor, a buffet of possibility.

I nip her lower lip and trail kisses over her jaw, down her throat, across her chest. When I reach her breasts it’s like the culmination of a three-month hike, finally reaching the pinnacle. I want to take a selfie and plant a flag with my name on it.

Aster clenches my hair as I cover her nipples with my mouth, my tongue, my hands. Everything I’ve got, I’m giving her. I work her panties down her thighs with a free hand and she lets her legs part. I feel the heat from her center against my belly, and I tell myself to take my time, make every second count.

I’ve never invested so much in a girl. Never needed to.

Never wanted to.

I trail my fingers up the inside of one smooth thigh, feeling her tremble beneath the touch. When I find the damp folds of her pussy I gauge the expressions rolling across her face as I stroke her, closer and closer, thumb finding and seeking her clit, rubbing carefully.

Her lashes flutter in an effort to keep her eyes open, losing the battle altogether when I work one, then two fingers inside.

Inside Aster Lindsey.

She flops back onto the mattress, hips arching, and I stop watching her face and start watching my fingers. I place damp kisses on the straining skin of her inner thigh, see the flesh turn pink where I suck, moving closer and closer to my pistoning fingers. I can hear her harsh breathing, feel the fumbling hand that clasps my head and tries to drag me to where she wants me, then I acknowledge her unspoken request and fasten my lips over her clit.

“Argh...gah...ohmywhaaat...” She mumbles incoherently, agony and ecstasy, pleasure and surprise in the sounds. I wonder if Jerry ever did this for her. If he—

“Aster?”

A sharp knock at the door makes me freeze. Aster bolts upright on the bed, elbows digging into her pillow.

Another rap. “Aster? Are you in there?”

It’s a male voice, young-sounding. 

Do you need to get that? I mouth.

“Um...Aster...I need a condom,” the kid whispers anxiously.

Aster sighs, exasperated.

“Ignore him,” I murmur, preparing to resume my work.

A louder knock.

“Aster, it’s really urgent!”

“He’ll go away.”

“Aster, I know you’re in there! Please help me!”

I scramble off the bed, scoop up a handful of condoms from the mess on the floor, and thrust them through the gap at the bottom of the door. “Do not fucking knock again!” I snap.

I hear a rustling on the other side as the condoms are collected. “Got it!” the interrupter replies. “Thanks, man!”

I turn back to the bed where Aster has now covered herself with a sheet.

“You need to get another job,” I tell her.

“Is the library hiring?”

“I’ll put in a good word for you.”

I shuck my boxers and crawl under the sheet, on top of her. She opens her legs for me, her arms, her mouth. She gives me everything.

I nod back down her body. “Do you want me to...?”

“Nuh-uh. I’m ready. Do you want me to...?”

“Nuh-uh. I’ve been ready since January.”

From this close up, her smile nearly blinds me. I scoop up a packet from the floor and roll on the condom. Aster doesn’t even blink as I nudge my cock against her center, pushing gently, feeling her body give way. I hear her breath hitch and I stop breathing too, not daring to inhale until I’m buried all the way inside.

My chin bumps her shoulder, and I try to hold myself up on my elbows but it feels too good. I’ve never done it like this before. Never done it when it wasn’t fucking, when it wasn’t just a means to an end, a three-act play, beginning-middle-orgasm.

Aster moans and my body starts to move instinctively, hips retreating then forging back in, tentatively at first, then more aggressively. She kisses me, nails scoring my back, heels digging into my ass, spurring me on. 

“Aidan,” she mutters, more yearning words lost against my mouth.

I don’t know how much time has passed, but it feels like forever. I’m sweating, I’m gasping, I’m trying so fucking hard not to come first.

“Aidan,” she moans again.

“What...do...you...need?” I grunt out. Sensation is rocketing up and down my body, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, things I’ve never felt before and don’t know what to do with.

When I first saw Aster, first thought of fucking her, I didn’t think it would be like this. I thought she’d be prim and proper, maybe ride me like a dainty cowgirl. I thought I’d dirty her up, scandalize her a bit.

Now I don’t think I could scandalize Aster if I tried. She fucks like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like my hands pulling her hair is the thing she likes most. Like my mouth on her nipples and my cock plowing into her is something she lives for. I want to earn those responses. I want to hear them. I want to taste them.

I pull out and shift down the bed, splaying her legs wide and opening her pussy with my fingers. My mouth finds her clit again, sucking hard. I lash at her with my tongue, pressing two fingers inside and stroking until I find the spot I’m seeking.

She comes with a muffled cry, and a quick glance up confirms she’s got a pillow clutched to her face. I lick her until she’s spent but still squirming and trembling, then I pull myself up and press into her again. Her pussy clenches around me, drawing me in deeper. I start to fuck her when her eyes focus, when she knows what I’m doing, when I’m all she can see and she’s all I can feel. It only takes a minute before I’m coming, neck arched and teeth gritted, the orgasm so intense I collapse on top of her, a shuddering mess, my hips driving into her welcoming body over and over again until I have nothing left to give.

I shift to the side so she’s not bearing too much of my weight, our legs still tangled together. For a long time the only sound is our exhausted breathing, like we’ve finished a marathon and are bent over at the finish line, gasping for air. Our skin is slick with sweat, my body weak from the exertion.

Three months without sex is two months and three weeks and six days too long. I’ve forgotten how good sex feels. Or maybe it’s just never been this good.

“Wow,” Aster says eventually.

She’s staring at the ceiling.

“Wow good?”

Her mouth twitches. “Wow great. Wow you didn’t even need to soften me up with ice cream.”

“Seriously? That was the expensive stuff.”

“Total waste of money, pal.”

I smile into the pillow, then groan and push myself up. I stand and deal with the condom, keeping my back to Aster as I pull on my boxers. I hear the rustle of clothing behind me and when I turn she’s got her panties and T-shirt back on. I yank on my Henley, too, but ignore my pants, my greedy hormones whispering that there could still be a second round. There is, after all, half a box of condoms spilled over the floor. Someone has to clean them up.

Aster yawns and stretches, T-shirt riding up to expose her stomach. I just saw it—kissed it, touched it—but my opportunistic cock is ready to go again, right away.

Then Aster ruins it.

“Okay,” she says, looking at me seriously. “We need to talk.”