My stupid heart is clunking like a car with cinderblocks for wheels. “Oh, um…yeah. They’re messy in the morning, so I twisted them back.”
He seems to have forgotten about the broken egg on the ground. “Your eyes look bigger. You look…oh boy. Wow.” He comes toward me in a daze, stepping right in the egg, seemingly without realizing it. “Ahh sweetheart. You’re wearing my shirt, too.”
Tingles run the entire length of my body when he just keeps coming, closer and closer until our mouths are locked. Peppermint and spicy deodorant envelops me, his full lips slanting over mine, those big hands settling on my hips, tugging me close, my head tipping back to maintain the kiss—a kiss that immediately grows desperate. Eager. We break apart to draw in a shuddering lungful of air and dive back toward each other with a groan, tongues twining together, his fingers gathering the hem of my shirt, stripping it off and tossing it away.
His hands run over every inch of my naked body, memorizing every swell and valley, every spot that makes me whimper. And when they find my backside with a rough squeeze, jerking me up onto my toes, it occurs to me that my hands have carte blanche, as well, and I should definitely be taking advantage of that.
Head swimming with anticipation, I rake my palms down his heaving sides, traveling around to his hotly muscled back and down. Oh yes. Down. I plunge all ten of my digits into the waistband of the pajama pants and grab hold of that glorious bare butt—and oh my God, if possible, it’s even better than I imagined. To the naked eye, his buns look hard as boulders, but not so. Not so. There is some definite give. Some extra flesh that makes it even hotter.
I moan into his mouth and knead him hard.
But my eyes pop open when Aiden breathes a laugh into our kiss.
“You enjoying that, Stella?”
“Yes,” I say honestly, trailing my middle finger down the split of his cheeks. On the way back up, I press a little deeper and Aiden’s eyes darken, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Between us, his sex turns noticeably bigger. More erect. “Am…I supposed to be enjoying this?” I whisper.
“Believe it or not,” he rasps. “I was just asking myself the same question.”
What exactly we’re doing isn’t clear, I just know neither one of us has been here before and the shared unknown drops an anchor of lust in my stomach. I’m confident with Aiden, missing my usual self-consciousness. And it feels ten kinds of right to go down on my knees in front of him. To untie the drawstring beneath his navel and tug down the garment to mid-thigh, revealing his arousal to the morning light. Feeling his fingers sink into my hair and grip. I’ve never done this. I don’t know what I’m doing. But the light being cast on Aiden somehow makes me braver, because it hides nothing. There are springy hairs and ruddiness and moisture pearling on the tip. Human. We’re both human in the daylight. Two people who want to give each other satisfaction and I will figure out how to do that for him because, right now, it’s the only thing I want in life.
“Stella,” he begins thickly. One second he’s guiding my mouth toward his hard flesh, the next he’s using my fisted hair to hold me away. “No. You can’t. I’m…we didn’t, ah…relieve each other last night. And that’s totally okay, sweetheart. But I’m so sensitive now. You understand? I almost came when you walked into the kitchen with your bangs off your forehead.”
If I didn’t know Aiden, if I wasn’t positive he doesn’t play mind games, I would think he’s using reverse psychology on me. Because him telling me his erection is extra sensitive is making a blow job nine times more appealing. “Just a little,” I whisper, scooting forward on my knees, rolling my forehead side to side on his abdomen and wrapping both hands around his long, heavy manhood, reveling in his hissing intake of breath.
“God help me,” he says through his teeth. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
My heart skips and lands, going faster than before. There’s a whisper of some important truth in the back of my mind, but I don’t want to acknowledge that I’m in love with this man while I’m about to service him on my knees—at least not the first time—so I shoo it away for further examination later. This is about pleasure. His. Ours.
Not wanting to miss a single reaction, I look up at Aiden from below, bringing him to my mouth and pushing his salty abundance of flesh past my lips. Closing them tight around the pulsing trunk of him, sliding them up and down. When he’s wet, it’s easier to glide, so I’m able to take another inch of him on the next bob of my head—and now I add suction, my hands beginning to stroke the part of him I can’t reach without choking.
Aiden slaps a hand down on the edge of the counter and curses. “Stella. Stella, please.”
Is he asking me to stop or keep going? I don’t even think he knows. But I’m enjoying myself too much to end this so soon. I have a front row seat to watch his straining stomach muscles. And when I look up, I see him bite his bottom lip, eyes squeezed shut, his stifled moans filling the kitchen and the combination is such a powerful turn on that my mouth becomes hungrier, eager for his reactions.
“Felt so guilty thinking about this. For weeks,” he slurs. “Especially this. Fucking your mouth. Hated myself for thinking of you kneeling. Licking it. Loving it. God help me.”
His words incite a fervor. I can’t stop thinking about how his eyes glazed over when I had my fingers back there. I want that again. Again. Before I can question myself, I leave my left hand to steady his erection and bring my right hand up between his splayed legs, palming his backside from below, massaging him with my palm, feeling the way his buttocks flex every time I tunnel him toward the back of my throat.
“Ohhh fuck. Stella. I’m going to come. Don’t do this to me.” Even as he begs me to quit, he’s beginning to pump his hips. My God, it’s the hottest contradiction. This man, the master of doing what’s right and morally sound, is captive to his lust. He can’t stop pushing his thickness into my mouth, over and over again, his groans getting louder. And he likes when I squeeze his ass, likes me touching the crevice between. I know because his pumps grow more desperate. “I’m serious.” He’s growling at me now. He’s losing his grip on willpower, control and it’s only serving to excite me more. Make me want to watch it happen. “That sucking little mouth is about to blast me off.”
I moan around his erection, my throat opening with the sound to bring him deeper and I just want to touch, touch him everywhere, feel him all over. And with that goal in mind, I press my fingers between the cheeks of his backside, feeling for the puckered opening and I rub him there, my sex clenching when he lets out a shocked sound, beginning to pant.
“Stella…I…” The edge of the counter creaks in his grip. “Christ. Don’t stop.”
A shudder goes through his powerful thighs and there’s a corresponding pulsation between my legs. Like I could have an orgasm just like this. From watching this man come apart for my mouth, my touch. He’s so heavy and stiff in my mouth now, I know instinctively that he’s not lying. He won’t be able to last much longer. And I’m more than okay with that. I’m craving that moment he loses the fight. Because of me. The anticipation is making me bolder, braver, my middle finger pushing against his rear entrance until it allows me in—and then I take him as close to the back of my throat as I’m able.