Hate Me

“Until I did the play, I was really afraid I wouldn’t be good enough. And that thing Annie told me about . . .”



“The nationwide search?”



“Yeah. It was for a lead role. I’m not ready for that.”



“Trying to be like Abby Johnston would be a lot of pressure for your first role.”



“Exactly. So, today, I didn’t really have a hair appointment. I had a screen test. It’s for a really small part.” I’m practically bursting with excitement. “I did good.”



“Of course you did.”



“Aiden, just because I did well in a little play, doesn't mean I have what it takes.”



He shrugs. “Whatever. I know what I saw.”



I smirk at him. “And the fact that you maybe had a little crush on me didn't affect your opinion?”



“You're wrong. It was a big crush.”



“Oh . . .” I say as his lips crash into mine, giving me such a hot kiss that it makes me want to tell him a secret every day.



Even after weeks of kissing him, I still feel that same crazy flutter in my stomach the second our lips meet. I still feel the god-like power of his lips. I still feel like I should be showered in glitter as a fairy godmother grants me my wish.



But this kiss could not go in a fairy tale. It’s way too deep.



Way too passionate.



Like, I’m pretty sure my thong just caught fire.



When his lips trail down my neck, I say, “I think I need to celebrate.”



He kisses just under my earlobe and whispers sexily, “I think what you need is a good screwing.”



Ohmigawd!



I do.



I so do.



And what a way to celebrate!



He takes my hand and places it on his zipper. “This is for you. What do you feel?”



“Hardness,” I practically whimper.



“Maybe you should unzip my pants. Get a better feel.”



Jeez, this is sudden. I mean, I want to do it, but my hair’s probably a mess from the wind and drizzle outside. And I'm not wearing the new bra and panties I’d hoped to seduce him in.



Stop scripting, Keatyn.



He wants to screw.



You want to screw.



Sorta.



Except, I don’t. I don’t want just that.



I want him to tell me he loves me.



But what the hell?



I give him a sexy grin, slide my hand down into his pants, and wrap my hand around . . . a box.



“What the heck is this?” I ask, pulling it out.



“Open it.”



I take the lid off and find a pair of earrings. Beautiful gold earrings, each with an amber stone. Hanging from each stone is a golden screw.



The construction kind.



“I did a little shopping today. Saw them. Couldn’t resist.”



“Very cute,” I say, removing my earrings and putting on the dangling screws. “Just for you, I'm going to wear them every day. So while we’re in class, you’re gonna see them and think of us hammering, nailing, and screwing.”



“I already think about that every day in class. And don’t forget drilling.”



“So, what do you imagine? Me, naked, right there on my desk?”



I notice that there is new hardness where the box used to be.



“Can you imagine it?” I whisper in his ear. “I’m lying naked across my desk, waiting for you to get done with your French test.” I slide my hands down the front of his shirt. “But you're having a hard time concentrating, because je suis tellement excitée que je me touchais.”



“Touching yourself?” he gulps.



“I said, I’m so horny, I’m touching myself.”



He lets out a big breath, and I can tell I’m not the only one feeling excitée.



“That’s really hot.”



I smile at him, deciding that I want to make him even hotter. I want to do something to him that I’ve yet to do. At least, not like this. I slowly sink to my knees, diving my hands into the sides of his unzipped pants and pushing them down along with his sliders, until I am face to face with the Titan.



I take a moment to admire it.



And then to tease it a bit with my tongue, and then my mouth.



He seems fine with it at first, but then his hips start rolling toward me.



“You're teasing me,” he groans.



I want to make him feel as good as he always makes me feel.



Or better.



I want him to know how much I want him.



And adore him.



And, well, love him.



I pick up the pace and soon feel his weight shift.



He touches my head and says raggedly, “I’m about to . . .”



I nod and keep going, noting that it was really sweet of him to give me the option to pull away.



He shudders and groans, then stays perfectly still for a few seconds.



Then he grabs my hands to help me up and squeezes me to him tightly.



Putting his lips on my neck, he says, “Wow.”



“When you talk on my neck it makes me excitée.”



“Oh really?” he says, doing it again while he stifles a laugh.



“Did you like it?” I pray he did. I’m hoping he thought it was good. No, I’m hoping he thought it was so fucking good that he never wants another girl to touch it. Never wants to have another mouth within a 500-foot radius of it.



He says seriously, “Every kiss. Every touch. Every single thing we do feels a hundred times better than anything I've ever done before. Because it's with you.”



I practically want to cry. “But what do you like? Is there anything that really turns you on?”



“Yeah,” he says, kissing my nose. “You.”



“That's not what I meant.”



“I’ve realized that even though it's hard to wait—pun intended,” he laughs. “It's causing us to focus on other ways to please each other. To explore each other's bodies. This weekend, I intend to do just that.”



“Really?”



“Yeah, starting now.” He leans me up against the counter, then gets down on his knees and kisses my stomach. Tiny little kisses just under my bra line.



Then he stops at my side and goes back to where he started, following the same path a few inches lower, over and over until he's kissing across the top of my thong.



I will him to go down farther, my hips jutting toward him of their own accord.



He pulls my thong down, letting it drop around my boots, and continues his slow, methodical kissing.



I feel like I'm bursting at the seams. My body is begging for him.



When his kisses move lower, I start praying to the gods.



Who is the god of the underworld? Was it Hades?



Or is Hades the name of the underworld?



Although, as wet as I am now, I should probably be begging for Poseidon to give me his Triton.



Aiden's fingers find their way between my legs and feel what he’s doing to me. He smiles against my stomach, obviously taking pleasure in the knowledge that he turns me on.



Immensely.



His finger glides across the edges of my thong, and I’m about to start begging.



He stands up quickly and says, “Turn around” in the hottest voice ever. Then he roughly bends me over the counter.



He’s acting like a guy out of one of Mom’s romance novels. That hot, hard, burning Alpha male. All he needs is a black leather jacket and a motorcycle.



I have no idea what he's going to do next, but I love the way his now-naked chest is pressing hard against my back, holding me in place.



“Oh my god,” I breathe out, surprised as his finger dives into me.



I’m torn between silently whimpering and screaming out loud.



My breath is ragged and my heart is beating wildly as he continues the assault.



It feels so good, I want to cry.



I push back against him, willing his fingers to do it faster, harder, to never stop. My hips move in a rhythm completely controlled by him.



Until I moan out, “Oh,” and then my Ohs come faster as he pushes me to places I've never been before.



My body goes limp on the kitchen counter.



He kisses my shoulder sweetly. “We doing okay?”



“We’re doing fine. Just don’t ask me to stand up. I’ll just lean on the counter here for a bit.”



He gives my shoulder a little nip, laughs, then picks me up and carries me to bed, where he lies on his side next to me.



I throw myself against his hard body, my lips landing on his, kissing him, thanking him, and maybe even asking for more.



Aiden must know intuitively what I want—possibly that is another benefit of being with a god.



His hand finds its way between my legs again. “More?” he asks.



I don't reply.



I just kiss him and kiss him while he makes me feel amazing again.



And again.



Something up his sleeve.



9pm



I must've fallen asleep.



I’m blinking, trying to focus, when something catches my eye. It’s that damn glow-in-the-dark moon.



I want to be mad at the moon, rip it off my ceiling and throw it in the trash.



But I can’t.



It looks perfect where it is.



I look down at myself. I’m wearing nothing but a cashmere throw and my boots.



I’m wondering where Aiden is when my nose perks up at a wonderful aroma. I wrap the throw around me, wander out to the kitchen, and find him surrounded by a mess of pots and pans.



He looks adorable.



All I want to do is curl up in this moment and never come out. It's moments like this one that give me the strength to keep doing what I'm doing.



I know that Vincent's going to find me eventually.



We can keep the initial filming under wraps, but once they start the big action scenes in March, I’ll be easy to find. And once I announce that I've taken over his company and scrapped the movie, he’ll hate me even more.



But not until I’ve taken away everything he loves—then and only then—will we be on a level playing field.



Me against him.



“Whatever you're doing out here smells amazing,” I say to Aiden.



“I thought I'd cook dinner, since you were conked out.”



“Sorry,” I say, even though I'm totally not.



He wipes his hands on a towel, pulls my cashmere throw open, and smiles. “Naked and wearing cowboy boots. That is straight out of my dreams.” He pulls me into a hot kiss that tastes of red sauce.



“What did you make?”



“Chicken Parmesan. Salad. Cheese bread. Want some wine?”



“I’d love some.” I love you, I want to say, but a softly playing song catches my attention and stirs up a childhood memory. “Hey, that song. Can you play it again?”



“Sure,” he says, hitting repeat on his phone.



I listen to the lyrics. A man is saying that he should have been a cowboy.



I can see it in my head.



Daddy and me in the barn at Grandpa’s ranch. We’re brushing his horse after a long ride when this song comes on the radio. Dad is singing it to me and Grandpa is laughing. Daddy picks me up and twirls me around, still singing.



“Earth to Keatyn,” Aiden says, startling me and making me realize he’s now standing directly in front of me.



“Oh, sorry. I was kind of stuck in a memory. My dad used to like that song,” I say, smiling as the singer continues to croon.



I close my eyes again and savor it.



Aiden pushes my chin up, so I open my eyes. “Tell me.”



“Every summer, I go to my grandparents’ ranch in Texas. When I was little, my dad went with me. This song, I remember him singing it in the barn. Us dancing. Him telling me he loved me and would miss me on his trip. It was . . . um . . .” I take a deep breath to steady myself. “It was the trip. The one where his plane went down . . .”



Aiden caresses my face. “What did your dad do?”



“He was a mod—,” I say without thinking. “A, um, moderator. He worked for my grandpa.”



“Oil and gas? Like your mom?”



Shit. I can’t remember what I told him my mom does. What if that’s not what I said? Shit. Shit. Shit.



But why would he say that unless it’s what I told him?



Then I remember telling him about possible oil in the Ukraine.



I take in a deep breath and change the subject. “Wow. That smell is killing me. Can we eat soon?”



“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay to just tell me.” He smiles sweetly and kisses me. “And, yes, we can eat now.”



During dinner, he toasts. “To your amazing day. Winning first place in your small group dance. A team third place. And your first successful screen test.”



“And to a fun weekend,” I add, winking.



“I’ll toast to that.” We clink glasses and sip our wine.



After a cozy dinner at my kitchen island, he says, “Let’s go upstairs. We can watch a movie or something.”



There’s a little smile playing on his lips and his eyes look sneaky. Kinda like they did the day of my speech when he gave me the glass clover for luck.



He holds my hand as we walk through the living room and then gestures for me to walk up the stairs first.



He’s totally got something up his sleeve.



But when I get to the top of the stairs, I can barely believe my eyes.



In the corner, all lit up, is a gorgeous Christmas tree strung with the prettiest pastel garland and topped with a silver star.



Tears immediately spring to my eyes as I stare at it. The Christmas decorations have been up in our dorm for a few weeks, and Katie and I strung some lights around our window, but it’s just not the same.



This makes my loft look and feel even more like home.



“It’s beautiful.” I turn around and throw myself into his arms.