Window Shopping(37)

I want to go to bed with you. Badly.

Jesus. Jesus, I’m hard as a rock.

There has never, ever been a time in my life where lust or anything this remotely selfish got the better of me. Tonight is different. It’s Stella. I need to be inside of her. I need to lick her skin and feel her orgasm grip me. Watch her shatter and shake and sweat. I need to fuck her. Rough. Like she wants it. Like I need it. But once I know what it’s like to taste her, to pin her down to the mattress and take, I’m going to want more. More than I’ve even come close to wanting with anyone. More than sex. I already do. And I’ll have sold this relationship short. I’ll have turned her into a dirty little secret and I’ll be too addicted to stop coming back for more. There won’t be a chance in hell of her doing this right once we do it wrong.

“It’s okay, Aiden,” she murmurs, studying my face. Dropping her hands away from my stomach. “I mean that, it’s okay. You’re…” She steps away. “You’re a good guy. A nice guy. I respect that—”

I catch her wrist, those words ringing in my head. You’re a good guy. A nice guy. She’s said things to this effect before. The urge to prove her wrong has always been there, but it’s a physical demand now. Heavy and consuming. It’s unacceptable to me—Stella thinking I don’t have the right disposition for her. That maybe I can’t satisfy every need she has because I’m not selfish enough. Not mean and demanding and gritty enough.

That guard I’ve never dropped outside of the bedroom hits the deck. Fast. And I let it. I let the demand for physical pleasure—hers and mine—bleed in and blur the line of what’s allowed. What’s appropriate between me and Stella.

Blood pounding in my head, I pull her toward the dark corner of the roof that is the farthest out of view from the bar. She gasps when I press her up against the brick wall with my body, letting her feel every hard inch of her effect on me.

“Aiden,” she breathes, going pliant, eyelids fluttering.

I drop my mouth to her ear, inhaling the singular scent of her. “Do you want some proof I can be more than a nice guy, sweetheart?”

Stella nods, letting her head tip back and hit the wall. “Yes. Anything. Yes.”

Anything.

Permission granted, I reach down and yank up her skirt.

As soon as I get the garment bunched up around her waist, my hand is delving down the front of her tights and panties. My middle finger parts the flesh of her pussy, finding her hot and slippery. Perfect. She’s already whimpering when I slide that digit high and tight inside of her, so firmly and without warning, she shoots up onto her toes, her thighs dancing around my hand. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

“Nice guy?” I slip my middle finger out, almost the whole way, then push it back in accompanied by my ring finger. “I’ll fill this tight, little thing up so full, you won’t know whether to open wider for it or slap me across the face.”

The awareness that transforms her features is satisfying. I’ll admit that. I lust for this girl more than I’ve ever lusted in my life and now she realizes I have what it takes to gratify her. That’s not to say she was totally skeptical before, but she can’t know how close I’ve been paying attention to try and determine her preferences, painting a picture of what it would take to get her off good and hard. She gave me a hint the night I carried her up to my office, her eyelids turning leaden when I settled her butt on the edge of my desk and let myself linger between her thighs for a few seconds. She arched her back and panted once, twice, like she’d die for that quick, dirty release. A boss going to town on his employee after hours, right there on top of the profit and loss statements.

And again this morning in my car, her pulse ticked faster, more insistently when I grazed her lips or jawline with my teeth, the tighter I fisted her clothing, the more anxious she became. No soft and slow for Stella. Yeah, I’ve got her number. It’s the same as mine.

I curl my fingers inside of her and rotate them, watching her pupils dilate in the moonlight. Her mouth opens in a soundless O and then her tits start to labor up and down. “Please, Aiden.” She fists the front of my shirt, half tugging me closer, half pushing me away. And she’s turning slicker by the second. “Please, please, please.”

“Tell me I’m your type again.”

“Y-you’re my type,” she gasps.

“Not that tattooed child.” I enunciate every word and feel her pulse around my digits in response. “Not anyone else, either. Just me.”

“Oh. Ohhh my God. J-just you. Yes.”

Gratified as hell by that instantaneous agreement, I pull my fingers halfway out and sink them back in fast, hard and watch her mouth form my name without a sound, feel the clench of her little muscles around my digits. “That’s it. Good girl, Stella.” God, I need to experience that tightening on a much lower part of my anatomy. Need to feel her milk me.

Need her now.

I’m taking her home. There’s nothing else to it. There’s a warning in the back of my head telling me I’ll regret letting my hunger for Stella trample my willpower, but right now all I can think about is getting her alone and planting myself so deep inside of her, her thighs will still be shaking on Christmas morning. I can only think about getting rid of the density gathering in the deepest regions of my loins. Calming her inner frenzy as well. Letting my guard down the rest of the way. A way I’ve never done with anyone. Physically. Mentally. All of it.