Risking It

by Angela Quarles

  He was a charmer too. Knew how to make me laugh. Like Aiden.

  No, not like Aiden. Brett would never have had an adult conversation like this.

  “What did the fucker do?”

  I laugh, and somehow it makes it easier to spill. “One night, I was working a double at my waitressing job. It was a common occurrence. I was picking up as many shifts as I could to save up money. But that night it was unusually slow, and I was the first cut. Even though I needed the money, I was excited to get home because Brett and I could finish our Arrested Development binge-watch. I stopped on the way home and picked up his favorite beer and snack food. When I arrived at our apartment, he wasn’t hanging out on the couch or in the kitchen. His car was outside, so I knew he was home, but I figured he must be taking a nap, so I queued up a different show I was binge-watching on my own.”

  I take a deep breath. “I was respecting his privacy, you know? That was one thing he was great about—we could do our own thing even when we were living in the same space. Anyway, I settled on the couch, with my cushions just right, when I heard a thump.”

  Embarrassment washes through me. God, I can’t believe I’m about to tell him all this. I continue before I can think better of it. “I thought maybe he woke up and tripped, so I stopped the movie in case he came out.” I clear my throat. “And then I heard another thump. And another. And another.”

  I give a thready laugh. “Even then, I didn’t get it. It was just so outside of the realm of possibility, you know? I was starting to worry, I don’t know, that maybe he was thrashing in his sleep? Some nightmare? So, like an idiot, I went down the hall. I opened the door and heard someone say, ‘Fuck. Yeah, Brett. Give it to me good.’ And there on our bed, he was screwing the downstairs neighbor from behind. They were so into it they didn’t even notice me. He’s…he’s pounding away, and a rage I’d never felt propelled me forward.” I stop and stare off into the distance, reliving that horrible, mortifying night.

  Warm hands clasp mine, and I look back at Aiden. His eyes are hard, and the muscle in his jaw’s ticking. “What an asshole.”

  “Yeah. And you know what he did? Called me a bitch. I mean, yeah, I’d rushed forward and pushed against his shoulder with everything I had so that they toppled to the bed, all tangled up. After they stared at me in confusion, both breathing heavy, for what seemed like forever, I turned away, ready to get out of there. That’s when he starts ranting, calling me a bitch, and basically twisting the whole thing into my fault. That I was supposed to be working, and that I was working too much so he had to get it somewhere, et cetera. He was good at shifting anything that reflected negatively on him into my fault. Arguing in a way that would tie me up mentally and verbally. Took a while for me to see that.”

  “I’m sorry he did that to you. Fucker didn’t deserve you.”

  I smile at that. “Thanks. Yeah. Took me a while to see that too. That it wasn’t my fault. I thought I was over him, but now I’m not so sure.”

  He starts and straightens, placing his hands on his thighs. “You’re still in love with that asshole?”

  “God no. I just mean that I thought I’d moved past the pain he caused. But looking back, I think I let it color how I view men, and myself, if I’m being honest.”

  “Because of one guy?”

  “Not just him. See, Brett was a charmer. A smooth-talker.”

  Aiden makes a face and rubs his hands down his thighs and back. “Like me.”

  I shrug and nod. “And my dad. And, well, when you didn’t show any interest in me that night, I think deep down it verified a fear I didn’t even realize I had.”

  “What’s that?”

  It’s telling that I have no trouble confessing all this to him. “That I’m too off, too boring, to interest someone like Brett, or you, or even my dad.”

  “Your dad?”

  I shrug again. “He just seemed to tolerate me. He talked a big talk, made all these promises to me, but he just…couldn’t seem to be bothered to follow through. Stupidly, I saw that situation with Brett as my fault in the beginning. That’s how good he was at manipulating me—that it was my fault because I couldn’t hold his interest. Turns out he and that neighbor had been carrying on for a good while. Any time I worked nights.”

  “I’d like to find this Brett and twist his dick off for you.”

  I laugh, but when he doesn’t chuckle, I stop. He’s serious. His fingers are gripping his knees so hard the knuckles are white. And it warms me to see this guy who’s usually smiling and laughing and keeping everyone entertained so deadly serious.

  “Thanks, but I’m sure he’s gotten what he deserved. I kicked him out of the apartment, of course, but then all he did was move into that chick’s apartment. It wasn’t too long after that I saw all his stuff piled in front of the building. I never saw him again. Then I was offered the job here and moved.” I shrug, glad to have that all out there, for him to make what he will of it.

  I’m tired of hiding.

  Chapter 22

  Aiden

  Jane and I are about to enter an elevator again, this time in the team’s hotel in Atlanta. Unlike how I felt two nights ago in Daytona Beach, I’m not nervous or feeling awkward at the artificial intimacy of spending the night in the same room.

  Luckily, Jane booked a room before she left Macclenny, so we’re spared having to scramble to find one for ourselves. No way am I not spending tonight with her, and no way are we bunking with Paolo.

  Shortly after she told me about what that fucker Brett did, we left the giant peanut because of invading gnats and mosquitoes. I found a branch for the rental agency nearby, and so after I dropped the car off, I jumped into hers and up we came.

  Perhaps because we shared a shit ton under that gazebo, we were quiet on the drive. Instead, we listened to an audiobook, and sharing that with her made me feel as if I’d made it inside her quiet space.

  I think we also knew that if we even once did anything like kiss or touch, we’d be on each other. And no way did I want our next time to be a desperate, roadside fuck. So we were keeping everything on a low simmer.

  But as the elevator doors ding shut, and we’re the only ones inside? It’s like a sound of permission, because the next thing I know, I have her delicious body pressed up against the wall, and her legs are gripping my hips. I have no clue which of us initiated. The elevator dinged, and here we are, my hips grinding into her while my tongue thrusts inside her.

  Her nails scrape against my scalp, and she moans and strokes her tongue across mine. And as always, it’s a feedback loop. The more I touch her, the more I smell her, feel her, the more I want her. And the more worked up she gets too.

  The elevator dings again, and Pepper’s voice says, “Aiden?”

  We spring apart so fast my back smacks against the opposite wall. We’re both panting, looking at Luke and Pepper as they push onto the elevator and hit the button for their floor, one above ours.

  Pepper just looks intrigued. Luke? Storm cloud brewing on that face. “Are you Jane, Claire’s friend?” he asks her.

  She nods, and Luke whirls on me and points his goddamn finger at me. “I told you to keep it in your goddamn pants.”

  Anger surges inside me, and I’m about to lay into him. He’s my teammate, sure, but he’s not my fucking dad.

  But before I can say anything, Jane pops away from the wall and pulls on his arm. It does nothing to budge him in any direction, because, well, he’s a former Navy SEAL, but Jane’s not deterred.

  She marches around until she’s blocking him from me.

  I think my heart just about bursts right then. It’s an embarrassing feeling. And I’m glad it’s not visible, or Luke’d be taking my man card for sure.

  But you know what? I don’t fucking care.

  The only person I care about what they think of me is standing like a tiny Valkyrie, ready to fight for me.

  She points a finger at him. “I don’t know who you are, but I didn’t ask you to defend
me, did I?”

  Luke backs up, and I’d laugh at the comical look on his face, but he could take me. Not easily, but c’mon. He’s a SEAL. I’d go down.

  At first, I’m as startled as Luke, but I recover faster. I’ve been seeing her transformation into her more confident self all along, haven’t I? I can see she’s trembling though. Not so much that it’s obvious to Luke and Pepper, but it is to me. And, Goddamn, I want to scoop her up and whisper, it’s all right, but I know that’s not what she needs.

  Jane’s not done. She steps forward. Pokes her finger into his chest. “I’m a grown woman, and I can take care of myself.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says.

  Pepper’s got a huge grin on her face. “She’s got you there, sweetie.” She elbows Luke out of the way and holds out her hand. “I’m Pepper. I think we could be great friends.”

  Thank-fucking-God our floor finally arrives. I snake an arm around Jane and pull her through as she’s saying, “I’d like that.”

  Pepper says, “You coming to the game tomorrow?”

  And Jane answers, “Yep,” before the doors finally close on the cock blockers.

  “You’re coming to the game?”

  She smiles and rubs my chest. “Of course I am. Miss a chance to see you run around on a field, doing…whatever sport you do, and getting all sweaty?”

  That sounds gross to me, but she says it like it’s a turn-on. “It’s hurling.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  I pull her hips to mine. “I’ll tell you what I can’t wait for.”

  Her eyes go all big, and she bites her lip. “I can’t either,” she breathes. Then she grabs my hand, looks at the room signs, and starts hightailing it down the hall, practically dragging me.

  I hike my duffel bag onto my shoulder and get a firm grip on her carry-on handle, and soon we’re both running to the room.

  Jane

  We collapse onto the bed, laughing. Our sprint down the hall’s left us a little out of breath. Okay, I’m a little out of breath. Jeez, I need to exercise more.

  As my head hits the soft pillow, Aiden swings a jean-clad leg over my hips, pinning me. Wow. He’s a glorious mountain of muscle sitting on top of me, a huge grin across his handsome face. The neon lights offered up by Atlanta’s night sky highlight the strong, angular lines of his face and body, even with all his clothes on. His hair’s all mussed from our make-out session in the elevator when I couldn’t get close enough.

  He rubs his hands down his muscular thighs, and his eyes track up and down, stopping first on my lips, then down my neck to my chest, then down my stomach.

  Dang, just his gaze grazing my body heats me up everywhere. I push up with my hips. His eyes snap to mine and darken. Holy cow, he looks as if he could just eat me up.

  Yes, please.

  I do another hip swivel, though my range of motion is pretty much nil due to his weight. He gets the message, though, and grabs the edge of my shirt, his knuckles skimming my stomach and making me shiver from the contact. I lift up, and he whips it off over my head. My shirt is still floating to the ground when his warm, strong hands caress my waist. He brushes his palms up, slowly, so that all my senses have time to gather and then concentrate where he strokes my skin. I arch my chest in invitation, but he skims back down to my waist. Up again, and then back down.

  “Aiden!” My voice might have come out sounding a tad needy.

  “What, baby?”

  “Breasts.”

  “Yes? They’re quite lovely. What about them?” He looks his fill but doesn’t stroke his hands higher.

  “Your hands. On me. My breasts. Now.”

  His eyes flare with heat. “You’re bossy.”

  “You love it.” I gasp as his fingers skim the sensitized skin just above my bra. I’m awake for him everywhere.

  “I do,” he rumbles.

  And I do too. I lever up and grasp the clasp at the back, my fumbling fingers stretching out the unclasping business muuuuch longer than usual. Stupid tiny clasps. Finally, it pops free, and I fling my bra across the room. Just as I settle back against the cool sheets, a wet warmth clamps around one of my nipples and tugs.

  “Holy shit.” Heat spears from that point and arrows straight down to my clit, flooding me with sensual heat. I clasp his face to hold him there, but he edges away with a slight chuckle. I glance down in time to see his tongue flick my now-hard nipple.

  Oh God.

  He cups that breast and plumps it up. “God, you have great tits. Did I tell you that?”

  “No,” I gasp as he feathers a kiss across the peak, teasing me, the light puffs of his breath caressing my skin.

  His hooded gaze catches mine. “But your tits aren’t your best feature.”

  “They’re not?”

  “Nope. Your ass.” His voice dips lower on the last word, rumbly and drawn out with heat, conviction, and a touch of—oh my gosh—reverence. “It’s so nice and round and firm, I just want to bite it.”

  Suddenly I get it. Because, yeah. “I want to bite yours too,” I whisper. Just thinking about his cuppable ass and how good it looks in jeans has me flushing with heat again. He must sense the shift in me, because while he’s still grinning, his eyes have pinned mine, and they’re intense.

  I pull in a sharp breath at what I see in their depths—raw need, mixed with tenderness.

  He grabs the back of his shirt, and I sit up and help with removal. Mainly I just want to skim my hands up the contoured muscles of his chest and then up his biceps and forearms as we clear the fabric from his head and arms. His scent—masculine, clean—surrounds me and gets me even more worked up. I didn’t know scent could be such a turn-on. Basically, anything associated with Aiden is a turn-on.

  He pulls his wallet from his back pocket, thumbs out a condom, and tosses the wallet next to us, holding the packet in his teeth. Then he rises up on his knees, the powerful muscles of his thighs bunching with the fluid movement under the fabric of his jeans. I fall back and feast on the visual—his blunt fingers flying to the snap of his jeans, the quick tug to undo them, then pushing his jeans and boxer briefs off his hips, and his erection springing free.

  I pretty much get wet right there. There’s a bit of moisture down there, just sayin’.

  While he’s on his knees, I quickly undo my pants and shove them down. I’m still trying to kick them free of my ankles when he sweeps them away, shifts until he’s kneeling between my legs, and grips himself. I watch in awe as the tendons on his forearm stand out, his whole body a sculpted study in tensed masculinity. He strokes once down his length and pinches the tip, hissing.

  And suddenly I’m jealous of his friggin’ hand.

  I reach out, but he snatches the condom packet from his teeth. “Hands beside your head. Jesus, Jane, I swear, if you touch me right now, I’ll come all over you.” Desperation laces his voice.

  That outcome shouldn’t turn me on, but it does. Oh, it does. I’m also past worrying about what turns me on. Aiden turns me on, period. And I don’t care what I might say or do either—I feel free to be myself with him.

  I obey, though, and slowly draw my hands back, the sheets brushing coolly against my skin, until my fingers graze my ears.

  He tears open the package and deftly rolls on the condom, his forearms and biceps bunching with his efficient movements. He leans down, resting his weight on one hand next to my shoulder, the other hand guiding himself.

  All the tension and anticipation that’s been building ever since we sat at the picnic table and realized we both wanted more seems to ratchet higher now, the moment weighty with significance.

  He slides the crown through my already slick folds, the slide a delicious feeling. I widen my legs and arch, cool air kissing me down there, because God, I can’t wait for him to slide inside, to fill me up. It’s an ache, this need for him to be inside me.

  His jaw clenched, he strokes up and down my cleft with the head of his cock and then circles my clit, pressing with just the right amo
unt of pressure. Down again and back up to do a tight circle.

  Oh my God, my whole being is concentrated in that tight bundle of nerves, and I think my legs are thrashing, and I’m mumbling something, but I have no idea what. I do know this—I’m staring down my body, seeing him stretched out above the length of me, all his muscles tightly defined, and his hand pushing that thick cock of his through my folds and teasing my clit, up down around, and then a tight little circle, and then I’m grabbing his wrist that’s by my shoulder and bucking as an orgasm sings through me, its notes pulsing, beautiful, but not enough.

  He moans. “Jesus. That was hot.”

  I roll my head back, eyes clamping shut, because that rumbly, silky voice curls right through me, prolonging the pleasure, amplifying the pulse. The sensual waves are just receding, relaxing and releasing my muscles from their hold, when he thrusts, fast and hard, into me.

  Delicious invasion. I gasp and snap my eyes open. He’s stretched above me, his weight on his elbows, and his head back, eyes closed, his expression almost pained.

  Instead of whipping my legs around him like my body urges, I stroke my hands down his broad back, feeling each bump along his spine. I reach the little indentation at the base, and then graze my fingers up the curve and cup that firm butt.

  His gaze finds mine, hooded but intense. I grip him. All right, I squeeze his butt cheeks, okay? And watch in fascination as it makes his abs clench. I do it again, this time pulling him down further, grinding him against that bundle of nerves. Just having him inside me, his heated length stretching and filling me this way, I almost don’t want him to move—I want to savor it so much. But there’s an insistent need to move too. My heart wants to get all soul-connecting mushy, while my body’s like, c’mon with the friction already, dangit.

  I tell my body to pipe down. Because this is a moment. Oh my God, is it. And I do want to savor it.

  He does too. I can tell. His eyes are full of it, though I think we’re still too scared to voice it just yet. It’s still so new. I’m horrified to discover I’m about to cry. I swallow and blink, tamping that feeling down.