I wake up with a moan.
My legs are open wide and I’m tingling with ecstasy.
Holy shit.
My eyes snap open to find myself in pleasure land.
Literally.
Aiden has his face buried between my thighs as my ankles dangle over his shoulders.
The only thing I see is a dark, tousled hair as he laps at my sensitive core.
“Oh…” My back arches off the bed as his wicked tongue glides up and down and thrust inside me.
He certainly knows how to drive me wild with that fucking tongue.
As if that isn’t enough, he adds a finger to the mix. I grip his hair, my fingertips digging into his skull.
Oh, God.
I can’t last when he does that double thing with his fingers and his tongue.
“Aiden…”
“Hmm, sweetheart?” The rumble of his husky voice against my most intimate part nearly throws me over the edge.
“Oh, God, don’t —” My voice catches in my throat when he nibbles on the sensitive skin.
He tugs at it with his teeth.
Soothes it with his lips.
Sucks it into his mouth.
I’m a goner.
An absolute goner for the orgasm he’s wrenching out of me.
I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to.
Aiden breaks the spell and lifts his head. A wicked grin animates his devilishly handsome face. He licks his glistening lips.
My breathing crackles.
“Don’t?” He wraps both hands on my legs over his shoulders.
“Don’t stop…” I pant as if I’m coming down from a marathon. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”
“I love it when you demand your pleasure, sweetheart.” He smirks before he’s back to devouring me.
My eyes roll to the back of my head.
My whole body tingles, aching — no, begging — for that release.
Hell. He fucked me until I couldn’t move and he had to carry me to my room last night.
I’m also sore as shit, but I can’t resist his tongue, teeth, lips, and fingers.
The devil gives it all when he goes down on me.
It’s like I can’t get enough of him touching me hard enough or burying himself deep enough.
It’s not the sex that blows me apart, it’s his raw intensity.
The glint in his eyes, the tick in his jaw, and the diligence of his touch.
My heavy breathing fills the room. All I can smell is us.
Both of us.
I can’t sleep anymore without smelling him on the bed and amongst my sheets.
“You want me to make you come, sweetheart?” he speaks against my clit.
I nod, arching my back.
“With my tongue or with my cock?”
Can’t I have both?
When I say nothing, I can feel his smirk against me. “You want me to take that decision, sweetheart?”
I answer with a moan when he slowly works his finger inside me.
“You don’t want to let me have the decision because I’m tempted to give you neither.”
Wait. What?
“B-but why?” My voice is so breathy I can barely recognise it.
“I’m still pissed off about yesterday.”
“Aiden! Didn’t you take it out on my body all night long?”
“Not enough.”
He pounds his finger into me and hits that spot. Stars form behind my eyelids as they flutter closed.
I scream and muffle the sound into the pillow.
My entire body shivers with overwhelming bolts of pleasure.
And I know, I just know that it’s not a matter of physical connection anymore.
I wish it was.
I wish he was only owning my body.
When I orgasm, my entire being is tuned to him.
Every fibre of my body and soul are drawn to him in ways I can’t stop even if I wanted to.
It’s scary as hell.
It’s dangerous as hell.
But it’s impossible to end.
When I come down from my orgasm halo, Aiden is already wrapping his arms around me.
It doesn’t help that he’s hugging me a lot lately.
Like he needs me close, and not only for sex.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” he rasps in that sexy as hell tone.
“Morning.” I bite my lower lip before I tell him to wake me up this way every day.
Best wake up call ever.
He stands up and carries me to the bathroom and runs the bath for me.
“Why do you always run me baths?” I ask as he sits me inside the bathtub and pours in my coconut bath bubble. He smells like it sometimes from the number of times he sits with me.
“I told you. Warm baths help when you’re sore.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How do you know I’m sore?”
He stops to stare down at me. There’s that strange gleam in his eyes again. I would call it care if I didn’t know that Aiden doesn’t do that.
“I know I don’t take it easy on you. I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. I can’t control myself with you, Elsa. I tried and it’s impossible.” He grins. “I can, however, run you baths and give you massages.”
“That’s so fucked up.”
“I was always the fucked up type, but you already know that.”
Yeah, I do.
I guess I’m fucked up, too, if I can’t escape his orbit.
Souls are attracted to each other.
Kim’s words hit me like an arrow to the chest.
Aiden steps behind me and wraps his legs around me so I’m nuzzled against his semi-hard cock. I swear the thing is never soft.
At least not around me.
The scent of coconut lingers in the air as Aiden lathers my skin. He draws those usual circles on my back.
It’s like he’s scribbling something.
Warm water and his soothing touch cover me in a halo. I let my head drop back against his chest.
His fingers stroke my hair, then the pulse point in my throat, then my scar.
The three parts he’s so obsessed with.
Then he goes back to holding me against him.
I close my eyes wanting to continue sleeping. Can we skip school today?
We have about an hour before we need to go, but I’m too comfortable to move.
“Did you sleep last night?” I ask, still closing my eyes.
“No.”
“What did you do all night long?”
“Watched you, sweetheart.”
I bite on my inner cheek. I’ll never get used to that no matter how many times he says it.
“That’s stalkerish, you know.”
He says nothing, and I can almost imagine him shrugging his shoulders. Aiden would never be apologetic about this part of him.
“So I know you like chess, football, swimming and working out,” I say. “Is there anything else you like doing?”
“Fucking you, sweetheart.”
My eyes fly open as my cheeks heat. I elbow him without looking back. “Something else.”
“Sucking on your little pussy. Fingering you to orgasm. Teasing your tits. Take your pick.”
“Aiden!”
“What? You asked what I like doing. You’re my favourite thing to do.”
You’re my favourite thing to do, too.
I pause at my sudden thought. I didn’t mean that.
I can’t mean that. Aiden isn’t my favourite thing to do. That’d mean he’s my favourite person and that’s not true.
…right?
“Something that doesn’t involve me,” I nudge.
“Hmm. There aren’t many of those.”
“How about your hobbies? Your favourite music? Your favourite film? Your favourite book?”
“You know about chess, football, and swimming. Those are hobbies, I guess.” He pauses. “I don’t listen to music. As for films, it’s probably Twelve Angry Men. It was the last film I watched with Alicia and Jonathan. Books. Hmm. I have no favourites, but the ones I remember the most were written by the renaissance era’s French philosophers.”
“Because Alicia read them?”
I feel his nod.
“If you didn’t watch that film with Alicia or read the books with her, would you still have favourites?”
“Probably not.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t understand why people obsess about favourites. It’s a matter of preference and shouldn’t be given so much weight.”
That’s his lack of empathy speaking. I honestly think he doesn’t know why people are emotional about things he considers trivial.
But he based his favourites — or what he thinks are his favourites — on his mother.
There’s something there.
Something deep and raw that I wish to uncover. If I figure out Alicia’s exact relationship with Aiden, I might figure out why he’s become the way he is after her death.
“How did you spend time with Alicia?” I ask.
“How did you spend time with your mother?”
His question catches me off guard.
“You know I don’t remember that.”
“Then maybe I don’t remember either.” The closed-off tone means that he’s done opening up.
I remain quiet despite the frustration rising inside me.
My eyes get lost in his arms surrounding me and his arrow tattoos covering the scar.
“Tell me something,” I murmur.
“Tell you what?”
“You went down on me. That counts as oral sex and you have to tell me something in return.”
The silence stretches for longer than comfortable.
I slowly turn around and find him peering down at me with narrowed eyes.
“That doesn’t count, sweetheart. It’s a continuation of last night.”
“Nope, Aiden. You’re not manipulating me on this. New day, new story.”
“Hmm. Still doesn’t count. You asked me not to stop. Demanded it even.”
“My reaction doesn’t matter. Our deal does.”
He watches me with that cold calculative streak and I know he’ll manipulate himself out of it like usual.
I place a hand against his mouth before he can speak. “Don’t even think about it. That deal means a lot to me. If you don’t keep it, I won’t keep any of your rules.”
He wraps a hand around my throat. “Careful, sweetheart. You know I don’t like being threatened.”
“Then keep your word,” I’m glad my voice comes unnegotiable.
He lets his hand flop in the water. “Only this time.”
I bite my lip against a grin. I got him in one of his games. That makes me so proud.
“Turn around,” he tells me.
I noticed this the other time and it solidified yesterday. Aiden doesn’t face me whenever he tells me these stories.
Yesterday, he said that he doesn’t want to look at my face because he’s pissed off. Is that what he feels whenever he tells me these tidbits?
Angry?
I face ahead, but I let my hand fall under the water. I wrap it around his hand that’s holding me to him by the stomach.
“Those two friends always had women at their disposal, but they got bored of easy women. So they had a bet to marry a mentally unstable woman and make her fall in love with them.”
“That’s an odd bet. Did it work?”
“It did. Until they got bored and moved on to their next bet.”
“And what was it?”
“That, sweetheart, is for another day.”
“Ugh. Aiden.” I face him. “You can’t keep throwing me crumbs like this.”
He smirks. “Sure can.”
“You’re such a sociopath.”
“Hmm. Are sociopaths born or made, sweetheart?”
I crane my head against his shoulder. “Why are you asking me?”
“You’re smart and you psychoanalyse me a lot in that head of yours.”
“I do not.”
“Sure do, or you wouldn’t have been able to thwart my plans.”
I thwarted his plans? When the hell did I do that? I need to commemorate the moment on my wall.
“Sociopaths are made,” I say. “It’s the circumstances and the upbringing that makes them what they are.”
“So a good upbringing can kill their sociopathic tendencies?”
“Sometimes, yes.”
“Only sometimes?”
“Well, yeah. Some people remain sociopaths no matter what type of upbringing they have.”
“Hmm. Interesting.”
“What are your thoughts about it?” I ask.
He lifts his hand, strokes my hair back and swipes his thumb along my lower lip.
“Monsters are born.” He leans over to bite my lower lip then whispers in dark words. “As they grow up, they either deny it or fully embrace it, but it doesn’t change what they are.”
