by R. J. Lewis
“Jesus, Aidan.”
He shrugs. “I’m not trying to feed you a sob story, Ivy –”
“No, I know that.”
“But that’s the kind of shit I grew up around. You know, they drank their lives away, snorted their shit. My dad overdosed when I was twelve, and my mom was sick with lung cancer. Was a shitty, shitty end for her. Thankfully by then we were with Ruth anyways. They lost their custody of us for a long time.”
“Your grandmother was there early on then.”
“Yeah.”
“She helped?”
“She did what she could, Ivy, but I was way lost by then.”
“Got into the wrong crowd, you mean?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I was the filthy garbage boy. I had no social circle, except Steven, but only because he was from the same shitty neighborhood as me. We coasted together. He’s Polish, family were fresh immigrants, but they were good to him, and they were good to me. We got buried in technology because his dad was right into it. Got acquainted with programming and that’s how it all started, us fucking around in his dad’s shitty basement man-cave. When I say it was too late, I mean I closed myself off from an early age. I didn't allow anyone to get through to me, as awkward and pathetic as I was.”
I listen intently, trying to envision him as a kid. “You weren't pathetic, Aidan. I’d like to see pictures of you that young.”
“I looked like a scrawny nerd.”
“Oh, please.”
“Well, I was.” He smiles faintly as he reminisces. “I loved my comic books, loved to read and game and fuck around anywhere that wasn’t out there in the real world. Was easier to bury my head in something than have to integrate in a social scene around a bunch of snobby little shits who took great joy in making me miserable. Growing up was fucking rough.”
I draw circles on his chest, curious. “How the hell did that awkward boy become the Asshole of the East, the arrogant man with a slew of women under his belt –”
“I fake it,” he interrupts quickly, peering down at me now with solemn eyes. “It’s a mask, Ivy. I pretend. It’s all I know.”
I move my hand to his face and brush my fingers over him. “Take it off,” I urge quietly.
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I have. With you.” His lips turn down now. “Why do you think I’ve been holding back, Ivy? I’m scared shitless right now. You’re under my skin, running through my veins. You’re all I fucking think about.”
My heart skips a beat. I sense his melancholy and his fear.
I feel it in me, too.
I look at him, wanting him to see the sincerity in me, the deep gratitude, when I say, “Thank you for allowing me to see you, Aidan.”
Twenty-Eight
Ivy
We shower together the second the sun comes up. I’m exhausted to my bones, but I’m on such a high, I barely care. He showers me with light kisses and helps me wash myself.
“I’m covered in you,” I note, smiling tiredly at him.
He grins down at me. Of course he doesn’t look shattered. Of course he looks like a fucking model compared to me. His grin makes my pulse jump because it lights up his entire face. He’s got stubble on his cheeks, and his hair is in all directions. I’ve been seeing Aidan in this state often lately, and I’m liking it.
“I intend to keep you covered in me,” he muses, playfully. “It would be a serious disservice to mankind if my temptress is not covered in her man’s scent.”
“I think I’m covered in a lot more than your scent.”
“Good. I want to keep you marked.”
“Tapping into your primal male self?”
“No, this is just me wanting the world to know you’re taken.”
He always knows what to say. I melt against him.
After our shower, I wrap myself up in the towel and collapse back into bed. Aidan wears the towel around his hips. He wears it low, and I can’t stop ogling him. He leaves the bedroom for a bit. I grab my shitty phone off the dresser and throw on some light music. Then I look over my messages. Nothing from my mother. Nothing new from Ana. This is good. No news is good news. I set the phone back down just as Aidan walks back into the room with a cup of coffee.
“For you,” he tells me, passing it over.
I grin at him. “You’re earning some mad brownie points, Aidan.”
He chuckles. “I take it I’ll need them for later?”
“When you’re on the shit list, yes.”
His eyes are bright as he regards me. “Something tells me I never want to be on your shit list.”
I pat his arm. “You’re getting the hang of this boyfriend thing.”
He stands there longer, processing my words. There’s a content smile on his face. “Boyfriend sounds juvenile, don’t you think?”
I bury my face in the mug, not looking back at him now. “For now, it’s what you are.”
Right?
Is that his title? At least until I officially get divorced, but then he’s still my boyfriend. I’m not sure if he’s implying he wants to be more, but what would more be? I stop mulling this over. I can’t linger on these thoughts. I’m not ready to.
“Hey,” his fingers suddenly graze my cheek. I look up at him. He’s solemn because he knows what I’m thinking. “I don’t care how long it takes, okay?”
I swallow and stiffen a nod.
He leaves the room and I stare after him, wondering why my chest is in knots. He just eased me, told me he doesn’t care how long the divorce process will be. I count on my fingers how long I’ve got until I can officially file.
It just sucks because I feel like I’m not free yet. It’s like I’m still holding my breath. I’m assuming Derek won’t contest it. Why would he? We have no major assets together. There was a reason all along I’ve been reserved about investing in anything as a couple. A part of me always knew this was coming.
Aidan returns carrying a coffee of his own. He sets the mug down on the dresser and rummages through the drawers.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
He pulls out sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. “I need to maintain this boyish figure,” he answers, smirking at me from over his shoulder.
“Any fitter and I won’t be able to catch up with you.”
“That’s okay. You can just lay there, in my arms, and I’ll pump you good, baby.”
My skin heats at the searing look he shoots me next.
He drops the towel and changes in front of me. This guy is a fucking beast. I ogle him shamelessly. After all, he’s mine now, right? The second he’s got his shirt on, his phone starts to blow up on the night stand next to my phone. He walks to it casually and swipes his finger across the screen, silencing it.
He’s back to ignoring his phone.
“You keep doing that.”
“The world will turn without me,” he responds. He bends down and kisses me. “Is it bad I miss you already?” he whispers against my mouth.
“I miss you too.” Then I lay back into the pillows. “Stay here. You can use me as your workout.”
He’s grinning again, sending my pulse into overdrive. “You’re not heavy enough, temptress.”
Then he’s strolling out of the room and I feel this miserable ache when he’s gone.
Back to being alone. To hearing my pulse beat in my ears. I raise the volume on my music and slide off the bed. I feel antsy. My legs are busy and there’s a weird ball in my throat. I rub at my neck, concerned with the strange feelings coursing through me.
Why do I have the urge to sob? To bury myself under the hot spray of the shower and hold my knees to my chest?
Stop, Ivy, stop. It’s not real.
I need to be busy, I think. That’s all it is. I’m not used to sitting idle.
I slip into an oversized shirt I find in Aidan’s gym drawer and tidy the room up, make the bed and leave.
Next thing I know, I’m standing in the kitchen and rummaging through the cupboa
rds. Aidan is well stocked up. I imagine his chef is also responsible for this. I’m sure all this stuff is for her to use, but I’m inclined to think she won’t mind me grabbing some things. I need something soulful. Some sort of comfort food.
Didn’t I promise Aidan a home cooked lasagna?
“Yes, I did,” I answer myself.
I gather my hair and throw it up in a messy bun. Then I fetch all the ingredients, hunt down the breadboard and begin chopping away. It’s early. Like super early. But we can have this as an early lunch. I don’t know how long it takes for him to work out, I assume a while because you don’t get that big doing the bare minimum.
I mince the garlic cloves, chop up the bell peppers, dice up some onions, and find a brick of minced meat in his fridge. I scroll through my Spotify, hunting down the perfect song.
6’s to 9’s by Big Wild later and I’m grooving, rocking my hips, humming.
See, I’m okay!
The oven is really fucking fancy. I have to Google: how the fuck do I operate a posh oven?
I figure it out an embarrassingly long time later.
The kitchen is a bombsite by the time I’m ready to throw the tray in the oven. I’m covered in sauce and I smell like garlic. I pull out my French Press because I don’t know how to use Aidan’s fancy coffee machine and Google is an asshole that won’t answer my questions. I make another cup of coffee for myself, and the aroma of lasagna mixed with coffee beans is to die for.
I’m scrolling through my phone, looking up more meal ideas when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around. Aidan’s standing just outside the kitchen, staring at me and then the oven. He’s all sweaty and shirtless. There’s a towel wrapped around the back of his neck, and he’s still panting. An odd expression forms over his face as he takes in the sight.
Did I do something wrong?
“I’ll clean everything up,” I tell him. “Don’t worry about the mess.”
“Couldn’t give a fuck about the mess.”
“Oh, good.”
“You’re making food.”
“Lasagna, like I promised.”
His chest slows as he gapes at me. I don’t think he’s mad, not at all. He’s…something else. He looks away before I can analyze him some more. “I’m going to rinse myself off.”
“Okay, no problem. Lasagna should be ready soon.”
He disappears for a shower.
I pull the tray out not long after and set it on the island to cool. My stomach grumbles as I salivate over this sad mess. It's not long before Aidan reappears in another pair of sweats, his hair wet, his bare chest damp. He approaches the island and looks down at the tray, a thoughtful smile spreading along his lips.
“Is it better than it looks?” he asks, amused.
I gasp in dismay. “I warned you I’m no Gordon Ramsay.”
He laughs lightly. “Literally.”
I muster a glare and point a finger at him, stifling my laugh when I say, “You know what, you cheeky fucker, you’re having none of this.”
He takes my hand and kisses it. “No, don’t be that way.”
“Too bad.”
“I want your sad lasagna.”
“My lasagna is not sad. It’s just a little confused.”
He kisses me, silencing me. “I can’t wait to eat it, Ivy.”
I press a hand to his chest, accepting his kisses. When I pull away, I can’t help the way my eyes dance along his bare torso. “Are you trying to torture me, Mr West?”
“I thought the suits tortured you.”
“You’re half-naked. That would drive any woman mad.”
He looks me over quickly. “And you’re in just a t-shirt.”
I bite my lip. “How do you know I’m not wearing anything underneath?”
“Because I stood outside the kitchen for a few minutes, watching you bend over, staring into the oven.”
“Oh, God.”
“Yeah, I said that same thing. I said to myself, ‘Oh, God, she’s flashing me her pussy.’ I need that pussy now, Ivy.”
“You can’t have it.” I wrinkle my nose. “I smell like garlic.”
“I don’t give a fuck. I want you now.”
“I have to rinse off first –”
“Ivy,” he cuts in, and I recognize that look in his eye. He really does want me now. “Turn around and bend over the island for me.”
There’s no way I’m going to fight this. I want it, too. I want everything he does to me because it means having his dick buried in me. I need that distraction today more than ever.
I turn around on shaky legs. I can’t believe I’m still feeling nervous. Aidan got acquainted with every inch of me, and yet this simple demand is making me shake all over.
I slowly bend over the island, pressing my front flat against the tabletop. I’m very aware of the way my shirt rides up. It ends just below my ass. I press my forehead against the wood and shut my eyes, listening intently as he approaches me. Both of his hands slide up each leg. I hold my breath when he gets to the hem of the t-shirt. He pulls it up, revealing myself to him. His hands roam my ass cheeks, his fingers dig deep, caressing my skin.
“Fuck, you’re already wet,” he groans. “I can see your pussy glisten, Ivy. You want this?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Speak up,” he demands firmly.
“Yes,” I say louder.
He slaps my ass suddenly. “Yes, what, baby?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Aidan pushes his pants down. I feel his cock resting over my ass. He’s harder than ever, teasing me as he roams his tip along my crease. The room is silent and I’m hardly breathing. Then, he presses the head of his length against my entrance, working his way inside me slowly. My body doesn’t resist. It opens to him, welcoming him in as far as he can go.
He lets out a big breath like he was also holding it in his lungs.
Then he says, “Hold tight, Ivy.”
I raise my arms, gripping the edge of the table as he pulls out and slams back into me. Pleasure explodes from my center, and I let out a deep moan.
Aidan isn’t holding back. He fucks me hard and fast in that way I’m beginning to anticipate from him. He grips my hips tightly, dominating me, forcing me in place as he pumps into me without a single break. He gets lost in these moments, possessed even, and I can’t help the way my body bends to him, allowing him to get lost inside me. I like when he puts himself first because it’s rare and deserving. He fucks me looking after his own cock first and it sends me fucking wild that I’m being used for his enjoyment.
"You like that, Miss Montcalm?" he rasps tensely.
"Yes, sir."
He slaps my ass. "Louder."
I moan. "Yes, sir!"
He comes hard, dropping his chest against my body. I can feel his heart beating riotously through his chest as he rides through his orgasm.
But his dick, his dick is not softening. He pulls out of me and when I turn around to look at him, I see his eyes still glowing with need, still wanting.
It’s going to be a long day.
*
Aidan’s appetite is concerning. Maybe he has a medical condition. His dick should have fallen off by now, but it’s still hard and ready. I don’t understand this. We’ve fucked everywhere.
He bent me over the couch and rammed into me, smacking my ass until I came. Then he spent a solid hour with his mouth buried at my pussy, building me up like he had all the time in the world. My whole body trembled. Let’s just say, thank goodness he has an entire top floor to himself because the neighbors would have been throwing holy water at our door for all the sinful ways he’s taken me.
I’ve unleashed a beast.
He fucked my mouth after that and then slammed into me in front of the large, floor to ceiling windows. He pulled my hair, bit my shoulder, smacked my ass raw and kissed me until my lips hurt. I really need to sit on a cushion for the next few days because my ass is still burning.
There isn’t a place he hasn’t
touched, and all the promises he made – “I’d fuck you in ways you can’t imagine” – is coming true. Because he has taken me in ways I can’t imagine, and I’m sore and battered by mid-afternoon.
We’re hungry and tired and we shower again. But this time he’s only rubbing my clit lazily as he washes my body, and I’m too numb to feel pleasure.
I want to tell him, you’ve broken me, Mr West. But I don’t want to give him that satisfaction.
When we’re out, I wrap a towel around my body, not bothering to change into anything. He’ll undress me anyway. What's the point? Aidan has the same in mind, but he doesn’t even bother with the towel. He struts nude around the apartment, not a care on his mind.
“Are we going to have this lasagna or are you going to keep delaying, Miss Montcalm?” he asks playfully.
“I’m the victim here,” I return lightly as I grab some plates from the cupboard. “I’ve been at the mercy of a very bad man.”
He sits at the island he fucked me perilously on this morning and smirks at me. “I’m a bad man?”
“When you fuck.”
“Mm.” Not even he’s denying it. “Can you blame me? I’m around the most beautiful woman and she’s mine.”
My cheeks heat from his words. Normally I’d say something sarcastic. I’d downplay his compliment and shrug it off. Instead, I look at him sincerely and whisper, “Thank you, Aidan.”
We eat together in comfortable silence. I watch him closely as he eats the lasagna, his face breaking out in surprise.
“Do you like it?” I ask.
“It’s amazing, Miss Montcalm,” he answers. “I might have to fire my chef.”
I laugh, eating my portion as I watch him demolish his. He must be telling the truth because he fills his plate again and eagerly eats.
“So this is what it feels like to be happy,” he murmurs to himself, glancing at me softly. “Eating a home cooked meal with a woman you love.”