by R. J. Lewis
“Aidan,” I moan. “Aidan.”
In that moment, I don’t care what version of Aidan is between my legs—there’s no difference to any of them—
I suck in a breath and open my eyes, shocked as I repeat that thought.
There is no difference.
He’s the same.
It’s Aidan—rougher, sure, more demanding, more brooding, but he’s Aidan—my Aidan—the same Aidan.
His tongue drives into me, sucking at my clit, sending me over the edge, and even after I’ve come down from my high, he doesn’t leave. He continues to taste me, groaning into my sensitive flesh like he can’t get enough.
By the time he’s standing back up, the water’s run cold, but he looks down at me, lips swollen, intense eyes burning into mine.
He drops his head to mine, bumping his forehead against mine. He continues to look at me, his need pressing against my hip. “You steal my breath,” he whispers, running his thumb along my bottom lip. “You…you are so fucking easy to get lost in. I can hardly find my way back.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and he wraps his around my hips. He picks me up, turns the water off, and takes me back to bed. We fall into the sheets, wet and cool, his mouth on mine, his body against mine. He spreads my legs and drives into me, those same reverent kisses skirting along my neck as he takes us both over the edge.
His strokes are softer.
His eyes remain on mine as he gets lost in me.
Twenty-Nine
Aidan
My fingers running through dark hair.
Rainfall. Standing under a tree. Pressed into a warm body. But I can’t touch her…I shouldn’t touch her…but I want to. Dear God, I want to so badly—
A messy apartment the size of a shoebox. And she’s sleeping there. On a soiled couch.
Beer bottles, a man’s face and—
Plane seats.
Then…
A cupcake and starry skies and—
And a golden bangle.
I inhale sharply, opening my eyes in the darkness. I clutch to those fragments of my dream, trying desperately to hold onto them before they fade away.
I run a hand down my face, feeling a vicious wave of sadness tear through me. My throat constricts, and I want…I want to fucking cry.
I am bereft.
Like a piece of me has been ripped out of my chest, I clutch at it, groaning through it.
I’m in pain.
A body twists beside me, and an arm reaches out, resting over my hips. I raise my head, confused for a moment, and then I smell her.
Fucking Ivy.
She’s fast asleep, curled into my side, gripping me tightly even as she dreams.
I watch her for a while and run every moment since she showed up at my door.
I was cruel to her. Dismissive. I knew she was attractive—there was something very alluring about her the second her eyes looked into mine, but nothing prepared me for the truth.
And now…now I am deeply pained.
“Ivy,” I whisper, voice thick. “Beauty.”
She is a light sleeper. Her eyes flutter open and she groggily searches for me. When she looks up and into my eyes, she stiffens straight away. “What’s wrong?”
There’s a flash of fear in her gaze, and I’ve seen this look before—I saw it when she ran to the door of my office right before I had her kneel—I fucking made her kneel before me like she was…
I suck in a breath. My head is pounding with regret. I swallow nervously, but my chest feels like it’s pressed down with pain. The fear…her fear…I understand it now.
“I was cruel to you,” I whisper sorrowfully. “I’ve been hurting you the moment you showed up at my door. I see it now. The looks, the pain of watching Nina the morning you found her in my bed, the women at the party…I can’t stop thinking about it. You were…devastated, and yet you stayed. I was…tearing your heart out of your chest and you didn’t run.”
Her eyes well up, but she blinks rapidly to stop her tears from falling. “How could you have known?”
“Because I should have known,” I say determinedly. “I should have known, and yet…I’m not sure I would have believed I ever loved you.” Her face flashes with hurt. “It’s not that I wouldn’t have believed I could have fallen in love with someone like you.” I quickly say. “Fuck’s sake, you’ve been nothing short of incredible. It’s just…I wouldn’t have believed someone could purposely stick around long enough and truly love me. I would have held back, filled my head with doubt and had you leave.”
“Well, I did. I loved you,” she says to me then, lips trembling. “I loved you so much, Aidan. You were my everything.”
I watch her carefully. “Were?”
She hesitates, looking away. “It’s been difficult because…You’re different and…I’ve never seen this side of you. I mean, you warned me—”
“I did?”
She nods, frowning. “You said I would have hated you.”
My heart clenches in my chest painfully. “Is that how you feel?”
“No,” she says. “You’re not…You’re nothing like he said you’d be. I think he was just hard on himself.”
She’s referring to me as him like I’m not the same man, and I can’t describe the pained weight that settles in the pit of me. “I’m the same man, Ivy.”
She sits up now, completely woken up. “I understand.”
“But you don’t think so?”
Her lips press together, and I suddenly wish the light was on so I could see her completely and read her emotions. “You’re not him,” she finally says. “You’re not the man I fell in love with…” Her eyes shut and she presses a hand to her face like it physically hurts to express that. “I’m sorry, Aidan. I’m tired, and I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s been hard, and…you know, in the shower, you looked at me with so much…transparency, and I got hit with this realization that, yeah, you’re him, you’re the same man, and yet…I’m struggling to process that. I just need a bit of time.”
I don’t answer her for a while. I sit up and slide to the edge of the bed. I drop my legs down and rest my elbows on my knees. Running my hands through my hair, I consider her words. I want to argue with her—tell her she’s wrong, I’m the same man, and yet I can’t do that because she’s not wrong.
“Don’t be upset with me,” she says.
I tense as those lost dream fragments dance behind my vision.
Don’t be upset with me. Please, Aidan, I can’t bear it. You’re all that keeps me going…
“You’ve said that to me before,” I whisper. “I remember…I remember feeling like you were hurting, and it made me ache—ache to remove that hurt.”
When I look back, Ivy’s gone completely still in bed, watching me with wide eyes. “Yeah,” she finally breathes out. “You helped me straight away.”
I wait for her to continue, but she withdraws, looking away from me. I continue to wait, expecting her to explain, but she doesn’t.
“What did we do for you to plead to me like?” I prod.
She sighs. “We kissed, and we shouldn’t have.”
“Why?”
Now she’s tense, drawing circles on the blanket. “I was married.”
I should feel surprised, and yet I’m not. Instead, I feel like I already knew that. “You mean, you were… separated.”
She pauses again to look at me. “You remember?”
“No, but I wouldn’t have pursued you otherwise. I can’t think of a version of myself that would have been okay with it. Or am I wrong?”
“You’re not wrong.” She looks exhausted. Her shoulders slump as she runs a hand through her hair. Perhaps now is the wrong time to discuss this…
“Go to sleep,” I tell her. “You need it.”
Then I get up and disappear into the closet. I pull out a pair of shorts and sweatshirt. I leave the apartment and run, and this time I’m not running away from everything.
I’m running back—back t
o the boy I was before the money, before the company, before the success, before the emptiness and apathy.
I run toward the little boy that hoped and dreamed and wanted more.
Thirty
Ivy
I wake up to his length between my legs, pushing into me. I’m on my side and his face is buried in my shoulder, his tongue lapping at my skin as he sucks it fiercely, his hand needily grabbing at a breast.
In other words, it’s just another morning in Aidan’s bed.
I writhe against him, feeling heat prickle my skin as he fucks me hard, each thrust punishing and pulsing. He turns my face to him and kisses me languidly. His hand slides down my body slowly, burning a trail to that spot between my legs he has gotten to know very well.
I buck beneath his touch as he rubs me the same time he fucks me. I come quickly and he grunts with approval, demanding, “Your mouth, Ivy, give it to me.” He kisses me again, deeply, then he kisses down my neck and shoulder, and then he’s flipping me on my stomach and covering my entire body with his, fucking me from behind without pause.
I am bruised inside, I know it because I ache. It’s a good sort of ache, though. The kind that reminds me how thoroughly satisfied Aidan makes my body feel.
When he hits his peak, face buried in my hair, groaning hot and heavy over me, I realize he’s done so inside me. Which is a first. I don’t know what this means, or if it is intentional, and I’m not entirely sure I want to ask.
But I do, anyway, because that’s just me. “For once, no mess to clean up,” I muse, voice still thick from sleep.
“You haven’t stood up yet,” he says lightly, kissing my shoulder once before slipping off the bed.
I grin as I turn and watch him walk naked around the room, gathering a fresh pair of clothes to wear. Instead of the suit, though, he wears a jogging pants and a plain t-shirt. His biceps bulge in the shirt, and I ogle him for a while before muttering, “Where are you going dressed like a ho?”
He pauses in his step and looks at me, a smile tugging on his lips. “I’d like to blend in today.”
“Blend in where?”
“We’re going out, Ivy.”
I prop myself up on my elbow, rubbing my eyes. “Going where?”
“Just…out.”
Then he leaves before I call out, “Breakfast?”
“There will be waffles.”
*
We are out the entire day.
We have breakfast nearby at a popular breakfast joint, and then he takes the car Gaston drives us around in and we drive. We drive out of the city and keep going. He doesn’t tell me where he’s going because I don’t think he even knows.
We drive, and we don’t stop.
I play music and the windows are down and the weather is just…amazing. The sun is out and it’s t-shirt weather. We stop at parks along the way and walk a few trails, but nothing is as serene as his land on the island. It leaves me missing that house and Tilda and Alex and maybe even Philotes.
We grab coffee at two different cafes along the way. We pump our veins with caffeine, music thumping, car speeding down the road as he grins at me mouthing lyrics and blowing my bubble gum.
By the time evening falls, we are hours outside the city, and we grab a quick dinner at a hole in the wall fast food joint. We eat fries and burgers sitting on the hood of his car as I stare up at the night sky, at the blanket of stars twinkling down at us.
Every Other Freckle by Alt-J plays, sending shivers down my spine. Aidan’s sitting next to me, shoulder to shoulder, watching me smash my food with a soft curve of his lips.
“What?” I say.
“You are in every button I press,” he murmurs.
I pull my brows together, confused for a quick moment before I realize he’s referring to the lyrics. “Can you stomach me, Aidan?” I play along.
He laughs, swiping a fry off my paper plate. “I can stomach you. I can pour you into my veins even, feel you run through my blood, and I’m not sure there would still be enough of you inside me.”
I blink, surprised by the depths of his words. “That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
He smiles at me, his eyes soft. “You deserve to hear good things, Ivy. You’re…” He pauses. “You’re sweet. Just sweet. Every inch.”
I feel my cheeks heat. My throat feels thick as I mutter, “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“What do you like the most about me, Ivy?”
“Lately? Your dirty mouth,” I answer lightly.
“You mean when I tell you I want to paint your skin with my come?”
My body tightens. “Precisely that.”
He looks amused by my reaction—it’s obvious I’m having trouble eating now. “My dirty mouth is there for you whenever you want to hear it.”
Always.
I want to hear it always.
As we toss our food out in the nearest bin, we return to the car and I watch him—all six feet something of him, muscled and beautiful, hair short, stubbled cheeks, deep brown eyes mesmerizing even in the darkness. We’re about to slide into the car when I pause and look up at him, saying, “You’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met.”
He looks back at me, his mouth forming a firm line. “I was cruel, Ivy.”
“You were hurting, and even then, you were still reaching out.”
“Reaching out for what?”
“For someone to take your hand.”
His chest sinks in slowly as he gapes at me. Is that…shock? I’m not sure what I said to evoke it.
I don’t let him look too long before climbing into the car. He follows, but his movements are slower, his body heavier than it was moments ago. He starts the car, and we sit there for a few moments. He stares out the window and then at me, and this time I see the peace in his expression.
“I feel…I feel like we did this, too,” he murmurs. “We drove.”
I smile softly at him. “Yes, we did.”
His face eases. “I’m glad.”
It’s really late at night when he begins to drive. We’re too far away from the city, and he winds up pulling into a sad looking motel. It’s in the most random spot just outside a tiny town, or maybe it’s in the middle of the town—it’s hard to tell what’s what right now.
It’s called Moose Lodge, and I think people come here to die.
“The sign says Open,” he tells me.
“Lovely,” I cheerily say through my utter apprehension being here.
I run my fingers through my hair as he checks us in, but checking in requires ringing what seems like a doorbell? I think…someone lives in the office or something because the greasy guy that answers the door is in his pajamas and looks suspiciously at Aidan, like Aidan is the one he should be wary about. What…Where even are we?
He’s in there for a while, and by the time he comes out, he looks disturbed.
“Come on,” he says to me urgently. “Grab everything, even the things you don’t need. Out, beauty.”
I fill everything into my purse and step out. He shuts the door for me, locking the car tight.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Weird as fuck place. Let’s just get inside before we’re jumped.”
I start to laugh, but he’s being serious. Oh, dear.
He takes my hand and leads me up the grungiest wooden steps I have ever seen. We climb them and something shoots past me—a rodent as big as my foot. Gah! I shudder, holding in a scream. Ew, ew, ew.
There are some rooms at the top, and as we walk past them, I can’t help but notice how eerily quiet it is, and yet…I see the flash of a television screen behind the crease of blinds through one window. There is something fucking weird about a television blaring on mute late at night in a grungy motel. From my peripheral, another window’s blinds flicker, and this room is so black, I can’t see the eyes staring out at us as we walk. My heart lurches—this is either too creepy, or I’m just tired and not thinking straight.
Aidan stops in fro
nt of one door and sticks a key in. It takes considerable effort to open it. He slams his foot at the bottom of the door, and it finally swings open. He gives me a blank look, and I just press my lips into a fake smile. We walk in, the pungent waft of aged wood and musk slamming into us like an actual physical object. I dry heave as he flips on a nearby switch, lighting up the room, but this light bulb is impaired, because it flickers on and off rapidly.
“Dear God, Aidan,” I groan. “I wish we’d had better forethought when we left this morning.”
This room is disgusting. There’s a creaky queen bed in the center of the room decorated with ancient floral covers from the ‘70’s. The carpet is red and frayed and there are stains everywhere—one might be blood, the other…I don’t want to know. The wallpaper on the walls is golden in color and scratched to shit, like…they’ve been clawed? I don’t want to know—I really don’t.
Aidan chuckles as he walks to a cabinet that has a microwave situated on it with a tray of forks and spoons and another tray of plastic plates. “He was pretty chuffed with himself, said this room had a kitchenette in it, even charged me more for it. Cheeky fucker.”
He sets his keys on the “kitchenette” just as I kick open the bathroom door and very slowly stick my head in. The toilet seat is cracked, the actual bowl stained and black. And because these are filthy assholes frequenting the place, the sink is surprisingly in one piece. I shudder, any desire to shower tonight has evaporated into thin air because…I’m not even going to think about whatever stains are on the yellow tub.
“Hey Aidan,” I say curiously, re-entering the room. “How does it feel to be a billionaire and still have to frequent shitholes like this? Surely you can wave a wand and whisk us out of here.”
Aidan is grinning. “I could.”
“But you don’t want to?”
“This is part of life’s adventure.” He kicks his shoes off and sits down on the edge of the bed. It creaks loudly beneath him, and this time I can’t help the laugh that escapes my mouth. His shoulders shake as he laughs too. “I don’t know if this bed will support my weight—”