STEALING IT

by Robinson, Rachel

  Magnolia narrows her eyes. “But it won’t. It can’t. I’ve lived it. It will always be mine.”

  I shake my head. “That’s the deal. Once you’ve spoken it, I’ve taken it from you.”

  “How much are you paying for my dumpster fire?” She smiles, assuming I’m joking. I look around, wondering how much she leases Magnolia’s Steals for. She interrupts my thoughts. “Why in the world would you do anything for me? You barely know me,” she says, shakily setting her wine glass down on the desk. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It doesn’t have to make sense. I can handle your dumpster fire times a thousand. Give it to me.”

  She leans forward without realizing she has. Keeping my distance is difficult, the need to comfort her warring with common sense. If I hug her, I’ll kiss her, then I’ll fuck her on this desk and she’ll still be upset when I leave. If she talks to me about this, there’s a chance of her truly getting over the fuckwad, or at least moving on. “Consider it part of the relationship training,” I offer, opening my hands, and clasping them again. “I’m teaching you how to have a relationship in this century, right?”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’m not that out of touch.”

  “Tell me,” I say.

  “Where does it hurt?” she asks, wincing. “Everywhere.” Magnolia folds her arms around her stomach. “How will I ever trust a man again? How will Kendall move on? A father is supposed to be a role model for their daughter. The type of man they grow up and seek out as a partner.” She lays a hand on her forehead. “If he ruined her, I’ll kill him. You’ll have to do it for me. You protect your kids at all costs and I couldn’t protect her from this.”

  “Children are resilient,” I say, hesitant to give anything that might lead to questions I don’t want to answer. “You are a good role model. That’s what she needs. She’s old enough to realize what he did was wrong. She won’t seek out a cheater, or a liar. She’ll want a real man. She’ll be able to sniff out lies better than her peers who haven’t had this particular experience. He gave her that gift. The ability to know the difference. Your daughter will get over this. Now, will you? Put her aside for just a second and tell me what you’re afraid of outside of parenting and Kendall. Trusting again?” I ask.

  Magnolia closes her eyes, and I can see her compartmentalizing. When her gaze meets mine, I see a fire there. “You know when you’re young, before you’ve been burned at all?”

  I don’t. That was a luxury I wasn’t granted, but I nod anyway. Magnolia goes on, talking with her hands. “Paul was with me since then. There was never a second I didn’t trust him. It was always him and I, us. We learned how to be adults together. It was this fragility built from childhood into adulthood. When he cheated,” she says, blowing out a breath, “that ruined everything for me. That magic you think is exclusive doesn’t exist. It was wiped out with a tsunami of grief.”

  “You grieve. You move on,” I add.

  She shakes her head. “I have. I’ve grieved. How is it fair he gets to have that magic? Without me? We created that together. Does that make sense?”

  I clear my throat. Entering awkward territory. “Do you miss him?”

  “No. Yes. No. I miss how simple it was when we were together.”

  “Simple. You used the word simple, Magnolia. True love isn’t simple.”

  “What do you know about true love?”

  I look away. More than I should, that’s for sure. I’m only in touch with the cruel, masochistic side of love. I know exactly what it’s not supposed to be. “This isn’t about me. You can have that feeling again. It may not look the same. Or feel the same. It can be different and be just as satisfying. But you don’t want different, do you?”

  “I want him to suffer like I did.”

  I correct her. “Like you do. You’re obviously suffering now.”

  She covers her eyes with both palms and rubs back and forth. “That’s the thing. I thought I was over him, Aidan. Last night with you. I felt so much. It was an awakening. For stupid news about Paul and Pamela to crash in and ruin everything is devastating. I’m angry he has power over me.”

  “You’re giving it to him.”

  “You’re right,” she counters, sighing. “How do I take the power back? Tell me how not to care. I can’t feel like this anymore. It’s sucking away all my happiness.”

  “Last night,” I say, raising one brow. “How did you feel?”

  She opens her eyes wide as she lets memories trickle back in. “There was no pressure. It was easy. I was free.” She licks her lips. “I wasn’t with you to forget him or get over him. I was merely with you.”

  “Because it was casual?” I prod.

  She looks away. “Because of you.” Magnolia shakes her head and looks down.

  “What? Tell me.”

  “You called me your girlfriend in front of Polly and I hoped you meant it. I know how crazy that is given we’d only texted a bit and had dinner, but I wanted it to be true. I’m ready for that. I feel like a different person with you. When you just said it can be different, but just as satisfying I knew exactly what you meant. I felt that. I feel like a dope admitting this to you. I barely know you, you don’t know me other than I’m a mess,” she continues, slurring her words a bit as she moves her hand up and down her body, attempting to highlight the mess she thinks she is. “I know I don’t want Paul.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t know I could want someone like I want you.”

  My heart pounds a bit, and it’s the first indication that I might feel something that’s not altruistic—an actual blossoming of an unrecognizable emotion. “You’re not a dope and I know that you’re a brave woman. A strong woman. You’ve lived through a blow that could take a human down.”

  She waves around the room. “Is this not me down? Looks bottom feeder status to me. Sobbing into a dusty wine glass, whining to a stranger about my ex-husband.”

  I shake my head. “You’re strong when it matters. Everyone reaches a breaking point. I’m not a stranger, Magnolia. I can still taste you. We are far from strangers.”

  A blush creeps up her cheeks. “I do feel better now.”

  “Because you got it all off your chest?” I ask.

  “No. Because you cared enough to stay and listen.”

  My throat clogs with emotion. “I’ve taken Paul from you,” I say, clearing my throat halfway through my sentence. “That fucker is owned by Aidan Mixx. You understand?”

  “For what price?”

  “My manhood,” I counter, grinning. The big one, I know she’ll respond to. Her tongue flicks out to wet her lips. Perfection.

  “Manhood?” she asks, voice low.

  “Will you be my real girlfriend, Magnolia Sager? Not for pretend to get the chicks off my jock, but because I like you. I like that you’re complex—that you tell me what’s on your mind even if it might make me uncomfortable. I like that you put your daughter first. I like that you want magic after being hurt. I like that you’re good.” I shake my head. “I’m not going to let anyone else ruin you. You’re not going to fix me,” I deadpan. “Let me try to fix you and maybe your magic will rub off on me.”

  Her full, wet lips open a touch to expose her white teeth. “I’m drunk, but you’re serious right now, aren’t you? This is real life?”

  “You’re a cheap date,” I say. “I’m nothing if not serious.”

  Magnolia stands from her stool and crooks her finger at me. “I’d sit on your lap right now, but we’d break that chair. It’s a mid-century Bentwood.”

  Standing slowly, I let out a deep breath to clear my head and the nervous energy in the air. “You’re so hot when you talk antique to me,” I drawl, stepping closer to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her against my body. She’s warm and her reaction to my touch is immediate. Her flesh bristles and her breath catches. “Tell me more,” I rasp, my cock straining against my jeans.

  She goes on her tiptoes and presses her lips up to meet mine. I groan when the first taste hits my
senses. Relief. Sweet, blissful relief. I’ve craved this in unquantifiable amounts. Her lips smack as she pulls away to say, “One owner. Nice patina. 1940s. Maybe 30s.”

  “Fuck yes,” I growl, taking her lips again. I get carried away easily—lifting her body to set her on the desk. Her legs wrap around my waist, and I’m hit with the frantic need to be inside her. There’s a desperation I’ve felt only a couple of times before. Once was when I returned home from a year deployment. A year without sex. It was the longest I’d ever gone, and my brain crossed so many wires I wasn’t sure where to begin when I had a woman in my bed the day after I got back in the states. I had to hold back the urge to go caveman on her and fuck a hole in the mattress. The sex ended with me having a girlfriend. It was as if I’d tricked myself into thinking the sex was something special when really it was my first wet pussy in a long ass time. The woman was a narcissist—an opportunist. I figured it out eventually, but not before I gave a little more than I wanted to.

  Right now, with Magnolia, the desperation is in opposition to that relationship. It’s a need to show her that I can fuck Paul away. That I can give her more than he can. I’ll make her crazy. Prove that her ex is a bad memory that isn’t worth being haunted over. I’ll make sure she knows I’m capable of being the man she needs. Does it appeal to my need for a challenge? Yes. It doesn’t change the fact everything I said to her is truth. I do like her. I want her.

  “Is this going down right here?” I ask. “The chair is safe, but I might break the desk.” My lips are speaking against her mouth, but she’s watching my eyes. “Where can I make love to you?”

  Her breath catches, and her arms slide from around my head to push against my chest. I think I’m being shot down completely until she smirks and takes my hand. “Come with me.”

  “I hope to,” I say, letting her guide me out of the room.

  Chapter Six

  Magnolia

  THE OLD, WOODEN STAIRS creak loudly as Aidan’s large frame weighs on each step. “It’s hot up here,” I say as we reach the top landing and the humidity hits us like a right hook. “But, I know I have a fan in here somewhere.” Reaching into a coat closet, I pull out a fan. Aidan takes it from me and waits for me to direct him where to go. We enter a room across the hall. I use it for storage, but there is a bed. Rephrase that, there is a bed frame and a mattress standing against a wall.

  I wince when I see the state of the room. “Sort of looks like a room used for prostitution. Or a squatter’s residence. Or something really seedy and related to a trap house. If you want to go to your place, we can,” I offer, fumbling for the correct words. He’s being so understanding about everything, and I feel like the weak link who can’t get anything right. “It is really hot,” I repeat. Tell me where it hurts. A phrase I’ve said to Kendall a thousand times. You say those words when you care so much that you’d do anything, anything in the world to ease the pain from the place it exudes from. Surely the words don’t mean the same thing when Aiden says them. Do they? “And it’s not romantic in any way,” I add, wondering if I’ve gone absolutely crazy.

  “Stop,” Aidan says. “Move out of the way.” I do as he says, the feral look in his eyes not to be challenged for fear of it diminishing even a miniscule amount. He wants me, and I can hear it in every word he says, in every move he makes. I back into the doorway, out of his way, as he plugs in the fan, and turns it on high. He grabs the mattress and tilts it so it falls directly on the wooden frame. “I’ve been meaning to get this to my house for the spare room but didn’t want to ask for help getting it down the stairs and into my truck,” I explain.

  Hands on his hips, he surveys the bed, then turns to look at me over his shoulder. “Tell you what, once I’ve fucked you on it, I’ll put it in your truck? How’s that sound?”

  I swallow down the huge ball of anxious nerves. He has turned my jagged cry fest into a sexual tension so great I can barely stand still without vibrating out of my clothing. Aidan pulls on the back collar of his shirt and slides it off. He’s sweating—beads of sweat sliding down his neck, sluicing down his chest and abs. My mouth waters. Aidan watches me watching him, his smug grin fading into something more serious. “This isn’t rebound fucking, Magnolia. Do you understand? You have to look me in the eye tomorrow and not feel embarrassed about everything you confessed tonight. This isn’t casual anymore.”

  I wasn’t planning on ghosting him, but now that he’s mentioned it maybe I was. I slide my shorts off and strip off my tank top. “Isn’t that my line?” I ask, unfastening my bra and tossing the sweaty fabric aside.

  “Leave the panties on,” Aidan barks when I tuck my thumbs into them. “Those are mine to take off.”

  They are black lace, different than last night, but still just as amazing. I had some intuitivism to wear decent undergarments when I got out of the shower in a haze of emotions this morning. I nod. “I’m going to look you in the eye tomorrow. This isn’t me rebound fucking,”

  Aidan says, shaking his head once. “We clear?”

  My stomach flips. His maleness is prominent—his needs on display. His heart on his sleeve. “You wouldn’t be a rebound even if that was my plan, Aidan. You’re too good at giving me orgasms. I’ll always want more from you. I’m afraid that you’re going to tire of me after.”

  Aidan fishes a condom out of his pocket, tosses it on the bed, and he steps out of his jeans. His dick springs free and I lose my breath at the magnificent specimen in front of me. “It’s fine if I hook you with my bedroom skills, but I want you to stay.” He wraps a hand around his hard-on and the sight of his fingers gripping the girth laden shaft makes my head swim and my knees weak. I wasn’t granted this view last night, no. It was all about me and my pleasure. Aidan played my body with deft hands and a skilled tongue. His words praised me just as much as his body did.

  Even right now he’s saying all of the right things. Aidan isn’t making me forget Paul. He’s erasing him completely by being everything he never was—Aidan is different. He crooks his finger, the same way I did to him earlier. I close the distance between us as more sweat beads on his shoulders and neck.

  “You’re hot,” I say.

  “You are making me hot, Magnolia,” he says, taking my panties in his big hands and ripping them off. “Not the weather.” I gasp from the shock of the force but settle into full-fledged passion a moment later, consumed by how frenzied he is with feeling my body—his palms grazing my breasts and shoulders, sliding a bit because a sheen of sweat glazes my entire body. It’s not uncomfortable heat, just enough to make me self-aware of every breath, every beautiful drop of wetness on his muscles, bringing out the scent of masculinity—of Aidan. He takes my chin in his hand and jerks it up so I’m gazing into his hazel eyes.

  “You’re perfect,” he says. And even though I’m not, I believe it when he says it. “Kiss me.”

  Throwing my arms around his neck, I bring our warm bodies together and obey his command. It’s a desolate kiss that ends with me on top of him on the bare mattress. There is a desperation in the way his fingers glide over my skin, the way he breathes rapidly, the flex of his abs as he exerts self-control in a scene that reeks of two people who have no control whatsoever.

  I trail my hands over his muscles, memorizing the feel—the curve, the hardness. “Aidan,” I say, speaking the word into his open mouth while catching my breath. I remember what he told me about letting go, being in the moment, and feeling it, so that’s what I do. I close my eyes as he reaches between my legs and strokes me with deft, experienced fingers. I slide off his sweaty body a bit and have to reposition myself to gain purchase.

  “Does that feel good?” he asks, taking my earlobe into his mouth. He sucks once or twice and releases it, creating chills despite the warmth at all angles. “I want to make you feel good.”

  I’d respond if I wasn’t on the brink of orgasm—I’d tell him being this close to his body gives me life, passion, a whole new destiny, but I keep that vested in favor of moan
ing for him to press harder. I open my eyes before I come and he’s watching our entwined bodies in an old mirror that covers almost the entire wall next to us. “Watch me,” he commands. “The mirror. Watch us.” With my hands sliding on his chest, he lifts me up farther on my knees and pushes me back as he handles his dick. He grabs the condom next to us, rips it open, and slides it over his shaft while looking directly at me.

  I watch the hazy reflection as he slides me forward and positions himself, tilts his hips up so just the tip enters my body, and then turns his head to the side to meet my gaze in the mirror. “Are you watching?” he asks, eyes flickering with an emotion I don’t fully understand.

  I’m transfixed. It’s as if I’m watching two other people in the throes of passion, yet my body is on fire. “I can’t look away,” I confess.

  His smile at my words is lackadaisical at best. “Ride me,” he returns, setting his hands on my hips, a light touch. “Like you mean it.” He was all business while we were talking downstairs, straightforward and practical. The man in the mirror doesn’t even seem like the same person. The man beneath me, the one who is currently entering my body as I slide down, inch by inch, is someone else entirely. An entity granted for my pleasure—the man is made for this. I wanted this last night more than I care to admit, but now I’m glad I had a warm up. The slick feel of his hands on me guide me to a pleasurable pace—one that makes him groan, and my eyes roll back in my head. Feeling him fill my body is sensational, the connection unlike anything I have ever felt. I watch him in the mirror while he watches me in real time, his eyes narrowed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

  He lets me ride him up and down a few more times, muscles coiled in restraint, and then he slides me off him and lays me back on the mattress, parting my legs with one of his knees. Aidan settles between my legs, thrusting into me in one, core-clenching push. “That feels good,” I cry, tipping my chin up to receive his fiery lips. Sweat, his and mine, mingles, creating a slippery friction that lights the air with the scent of sex. Leaning away from our kiss, he buries his face in my neck and breathes heavy, his free hand wrapped around the base of my neck, a reminder who is running things right now.