by Lindsey Hart
Rin, when I glance over at her, has a hand clapped over her mouth. Her cheeks are pink, but not with rage. She’s trying to fight off laughter.
“You should really try some. It’s excellent, actually. I think they spent some real money on the icing. It’s not the fake shit at all.”
Brad storms off, muttering under his breath, probably in the direction of the washrooms so he can clean up. In my humblest of opinions, the world needs less Brads and more chocolate cake smeared Brads.
Rin sidles up, an odd look on her face. It’s her eyes, I decide. They’re shimmering in a way I haven’t seen them before. A shy smile tugs at the corners of her beautiful full lips.
I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. “Want to get out of here?”
“Honestly,” Rin whispers after a quick glance around. Funnily enough, no one is even looking at us. The whole chocolate cake mishap went, for the most part, unnoticed. “Yeah. I kind of do.”
That’s all the encouragement I need. I take a quick step forward, loop Rin’s arm through mine, and steer her the hell out of the extravagant center.
CHAPTER 13
Rin
I don’t know why I extended the invite because I should want to be alone at the moment, and even if I didn’t, being in my condo with Aiden Builder—just the two of us, after the greatest humiliation of my life—shouldn’t be appealing.
Half an hour later and an empty wine bottle on the counter between us, we still haven’t said much. He hasn’t asked me about what happened at the event, and I haven’t thanked him for what he did. Brad looked better wearing that chocolate cake than I’ve ever seen him look, but I decide to be tactful and not say anything even close to that.
Aiden leaves the kitchen inexplicably and begins to wander around the living room. I watch him, more than a little buzzed after a few glasses of wine. It’s probably more wine than I’ve ever drank in my entire life. It almost washes away the burn of shame that still clings to me after my showdown with Brad, but it hasn’t done a single thing to water down the strange smoldering feel in my belly with Aiden so close.
I can smell him. He smells good. Like hair oil and expensive cologne, but just a touch. Not too much. It smells more mysterious than anything, and I have the weirdest notion that if he stood still, I could sniff him in a few different spots to see where he put it. Not weird spots. Jesus. Just normal spots like behind his ear. The nape of his neck. His wrists. His jawline. His forehead.
The thought of getting that close to the real-life Achilles stalking around my living room sends jolts of heat racing through me.
Aiden stops in front of the glass coffee table perched right by the white sectional. He bends at the waist and produces my sketchbook.
Freakity freaks. I think I’ve had enough humiliation for one evening.
With a single flick of his wrist, he opens the cover and begins to thumb through the pages. When he glances back at me, it’s with a raised eyebrow and slightly parted lips. His indigo eyes burn a laser beam path right through me. I have to lean forward and grip the counter. My head swims, and I’m pretty sure it’s not the wine.
“For someone who never wanted to do this, you’re pretty good at it.”
“Yeah. Well. Drawings are one thing. Making things happen is a different matter. Like you heard tonight, it will—”
“No!” Aiden snaps the sketchbook shut, and I nearly jump out of my skin. “Don’t even go there. What that—that—bastard said isn’t worth repeating. I know you don’t want to answer this, and I don’t want you to answer this, but does the guy have a small penis? He must have a small penis because only guys with small penises tear other people down like that.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re right. I’m not going to answer that. It makes me look even worse.”
“It makes you look like a saint for putting up with him for years. I wish it hadn’t been chocolate cake on that plate. A pile of turds would have been much more apt.”
“You and Aria would get along much better than you know. She likes to mock Brad for having an inverse—er—well—package, and she also would love to serve him up a pile of turds. She’d like it even more if the pile was flammable.”
Aiden slowly grins, and seeing it makes me all warm and mushy inside, in all the places the wine hasn’t heated up yet.
“I guess some parts of me are my mother’s daughter.” She stared at the sketchbook in his hand. “Even if I don’t like it.”
“The things you made here are really nice. Is that dress…”
“No. It’s not from my line. I—I’ve never worn a dress we’ve made. I never— that is—my mom never—she never designed me one. Not once. I guess I’m no better because I haven’t designed myself one either.”
“You will. Promise me you will.”
I bite down on my lip and chew before I realize what I’m doing and release it. “Flip to the back.”
Aiden did. I watch him, fascinated by the movement of his hands, his sure, strong, incredibly masculine hands, as he opened up the sketchbook and thumbed the pages again. He perused everything until he reached the last few pages. When he did, he spent more time studying them, like what I’d drawn actually mattered to him. Finally, long moments later, he closed the book. He walked in slow, measured strides back to the kitchen, and set the sketchbook down on the island next to his empty wine glass.
“They’re nice. You have quite a talent.” I snort, because yeah. I know that can’t be right. Aiden’s eyes narrow. “Seriously. You do. Just because no one bothered to tell you that before doesn’t make it any less true.”
My mouth gapes open, and Aiden takes a step closer. And another. I want to move, to back away, but I can’t. I’m frozen in place. My hand on the island is the only thing keeping me upright. I feel totally drunk, but the wine—despite the few glasses I’ve had—has nothing to do with it. It’s not the kind of drunk that comes from a bottle. No. It’s the kind of drunk that comes from being in the presence of a gorgeous man who just happens to be looking at me like he thinks I might be something special.
My mouth goes totally dry, and when I try to say something, the words don’t come out right. Aiden doesn’t stop. Suddenly, he’s right in front of me. Towering over me. He’s so close that his smell envelopes me in a heady, delicious rush. I notice he’s left the top two buttons of his shirt open. It’s black. Just like the rest of his suit. Expensive. Like it was tailor-made for him. He isn’t wearing a tie, and just above those buttons is a tiny cut where he nicked himself shaving.
I focus on that small flaw like it’s a lifeline.
Because I’m looking at his throat and trying to keep myself on my feet, I miss when his hand moves. Suddenly, it’s grazing my chin. His warm, incredible hand is touching me. He tilts my chin up, and I blink up into those incredible blue eyes.
“Aiden, I—”
He cuts me off, his face lowering, his lips getting closer. Dear, sweet Jesus, his breath puffs out on my lips, rich and sensual and delicious. One hand sweeps to my waist, and he pulls me in, not roughly, but with the utmost tenderness. He guides me to him, and I go willingly, taking one small step into him. We collide, my much smaller body dwarfed by the sheer size of him. I’m all curves and rounded soft spots, and he’s hard. Granite. Endless muscles. Hard. Did I mention hard? He’s hard everywhere.
I let out a breathy little gasp when my belly collides with what is unmistakably a boner. Yup. A. Boner. For me. He actually has a hard-on. For me.
His hand encircles my waist, and I don’t have time to stop and think about why we shouldn’t be doing this—that’s the wine I’m sure, going to work on my inhibitions—or to give myself a pep talk about how he’s way too hot for me. I don’t even have time to process that he might be doing this out of pity or some misguided sense of duty. His lips don’t crush mine. They don’t take. They don’t claim. They don’t plunder. He kisses me slowly, like a gentleman.
It’s no less exciting and no less hot. And no less hungry.
His hand cups the back of my head, and his fingers entwine through the strands of my hair. I’m a little shocked when his fingers press a little possessively into the back of my neck. No one has ever touched me like this. He tilts my head back, and his kiss changes tempo. His lips are alive on mine. Furious, tender, exploring.
Everything, all the good sense I had or might have had, my excuses, my protests, all of it flies out the window. It’s not just the fact that he’s kissing me. It’s not just the kiss, but at the same time, it is because no one has ever kissed me like this. Like they want to get lost in me. Like they want me to lose myself too.
I let out a little moan, and my body melts against Aiden’s. My hands scrabble at his neck, his shoulders, his shirt. Suddenly, his tongue presses past the seam of my lips and enters my mouth. He’s spicy and minty and so masculine, it makes my knees watery. I have to clutch his jacket just to stay upright.
As if he senses that, Aiden shifts, pinning me between his granite body and the island. I’m wedged there and not going anywhere unless I spontaneously combust into a pile of goo. Which might happen. Because his tongue is stroking mine. Long, amazing, hot strokes that just about induce something else rather spontaneous right in my erogenous zone. And by erogenous zone, I mean my lady bits. They’re vibrating. Humming. The rest of me is humming too. Like I’m some finely tuned instrument, and I’ve been waiting my entire life for someone who knows how to make me sing.
It’s a stupid thought, imagining myself as a violin or a cello or something, and I nearly laugh into Aiden’s mouth, but then his tongue does something particularly naughty, and any ability I had to even make a coherent thought evaporates. His tongue strokes mine, tangles, caresses, hot and heady, and wild, and I know I’m losing control.
My hands are out of control. They’re working to remove Aiden’s jacket, and when that’s gone, they start to fumble with the buttons on his shirt. Frustrated at my own inability to get them off, I keep trying, keep fumbling. I would have played nice and made sure his shirt survived my onslaught, but then Aiden’s tongue flicks against mine, and he makes a low sounding moan in my mouth. His hips thrust against mine, or maybe mine jerked forward. I don’t actually know, but I can feel him. His hardness. Pressing into my belly. Throbbing. He’s throbbing. And groaning into my mouth.
Before I realize what’s happening, there’s a sound. The sound of fabric tearing and buttons raining down all over my kitchen floor with little plops and plinks.
I break the kiss, gasping for air, which is suddenly vital to my burning lungs, and stare at Aiden in horror. Did I seriously do that? My eyes flick down to where his shirt is gaping open. Yes. Yes, I seriously just did that. I just ripped buttons off in my haste.
I still don’t know what I’m doing, because this isn’t me. I’m not bold like this. Usually. Tonight though…tonight is different. Tonight, my hands reach out, and they deftly undo the remaining four buttons. They push Aiden’s black dress shirt from his shoulders—broad, muscly, manly, sexy shoulders—and down the length of his arms until it falls away, and he’s standing there, his expensive black pants riding low on his hips.
My eyes travel down inadvertently, and I practically hear the noise my jaw makes as it hits the floor. Aiden has one of those bodies built for both worship and sin. He’s angelic in his perfection, but that same perfection is also blasphemous. I’ve seen pictures of him without a shirt on before. The entire world has. But this, well, they don’t do him justice.
He’s all muscle. Right from his bulging arms and shoulders, down over hard pecs, down further to his eight packs, and lower still, to the delicious V-shape that muscled men have.
I’m pretty sure I might actually be leaking saliva out of my gaping mouth, and I shut it quickly, so hard that my teeth clank together. I flush hotly from just looking at him. Everywhere. The flush spreads everywhere. I can feel my pulse hammering at the base of my neck, and lower, in my breasts, my belly, and between my thighs.
He’s good enough to lick.
I want to lick him.
That’s just wrong and creepy, I know, but I barely stop myself from leaning forward and running my tongue over the length of his chest, from his shoulder to the delicious V of his lower abdomen.
“Rin?” Aiden’s soft voice draws my eyes back to his face. He’s smiling at me. Not a mocking smile, but a knowing smile. His eyes are soft and alive with mirth, but his pupils are a little bigger than they should be.
“Can we not say anything and just go back to kissing?” I pant. I actually pant.
For a heartbeat, Aiden doesn’t move. His eyes remained locked on mine. Then, in the next instant, with catlike grace and reflexes that would make even a star athlete weep with jealousy, Aiden’s hand grips my waist. Okay, it was more like my hip and a little bit of my ass. He hauls me up against him. Our bodies slam together, and a second later, his lips crash back down on mine. This kiss is nothing like the first one. It’s hot. Needy. Desperate. Our teeth knock together, and our tongues battle it out.
His other hand skims down the length of me, brushing down the dress, past my breast, to my waist. He doesn’t stop there. This time, both hands curl into my ass. He cups it, and as I let out a gasp of surprise as he hauls me up higher against him.
My dress is form-fitting. It’s strapless, and it hugs my breasts tightly before falling away at the back. The whole thing is held up by like, friction and a miracle. It’s tight at the waist and flares out just a little at the hip and butt area. From there, it travels down in a very pleasing silhouette, tight at my thighs, with more fabric at the bottom. It’s simple yet elegant, the kind of thing I feel like I’d actually design. It’s beautiful. Or at least, it was. Because when Aiden lifts me onto the island, he lifts me easily with all the brute strength of his deliciously muscled arms, and yeah. The dress isn’t made for that kind of motion. It defies the laws of gravity and the laws of fabric.
The seams give way, splitting with a violent scream of fabric dying a hard death.
“Shit…” Aiden curses, breaking the kiss. “Your dress…” He stares down at me in horror.
I glance down at my dress too. It’s gaping open, split right up to the tops of my thighs, nearly exposing the black lace thong I have on.
The Rin I’m used to would tug the dress down and hop off the counter and run. She’d run into the bathroom or something and lock herself in there. She’d turn scarlet and tell Aiden they couldn’t do what they were doing and list off a thousand reasons why. The Rin I know doesn’t do things like let a gorgeous, hot Adonis haul her up onto her kitchen island and split her dress in two.
I have no idea who this new Rin is, the one who reaches for Aiden’s shoulders and draws him back. The one who grasps his jaw with her hand, and the one who crashes her lips to his like it’s going to be her last kiss ever. That Rin—she spreads her legs too, wrapping them around Aiden’s gloriously muscled waist and locking them behind him. That Rin kicks off her shoes and digs her heels into his ass. That Rin throbs everywhere. Everywhere. This new Rin—she’s on fire.
Aiden bends me back a little, and I go with the flow, scooting further on the counter and pressing my heels a little harder into his ass. My dress bunches up around my hips with the movement, but I don’t stop. Aiden doesn’t stop. He grinds against me as I jerk my pelvis forward. My hips rock and grind against the really hard bulge in his pants. The really large, really hard bulge in his pants. I’m pretty shameless as I rock my hips, letting his bulge hit my molten core in spots that send shivers racing up and down my spine and liquid fire racing through my veins.
I’ve never done this before. First, I went to an all-girls boarding school, and I was never one to sneak out and try to find a member of the male species. I was way too shy for that. I didn’t lose my virginity until college, and I was nearly twenty. It was nothing like this. There was no grinding through clothes. It wasn’t desperate or feverish. I didn’t feel that same all-consuming desire.
What I’m doing r
ight now makes me think maybe Aria was right. Maybe I’ve never truly had good sex because nothing I’ve ever done in my life has felt as good as what I’m doing now.
Just when I think it can’t get any better—the flames licking up my ankles towards my thighs—Aiden brings his hand between us. Still kissing me wildly and biting my lips every single time he pulls back to take a breath, then coming back for more, Aiden runs his fingers over me. There. Right there.
My hips arch helplessly against his touch. Even if I wanted to control it, I don’t think I could. His fingers slide over me, and I’m shocked at how wet I am. I break the kiss, and my eyes fly open and look down. I want to look at what he’s doing to me. Even if the old Rin disliked having sex with the lights on, and anywhere but in the bedroom, this new Rin is surprisingly less vanilla. It’s like I’ve been a caterpillar my whole life, but one single touch from Aiden transformed me into the butterfly I always should have been.
My butterfly wings aren’t the only things blooming under his touch. When I glance down, I realize I’m so wet the counter is freaking moist below me. Not only that, my eyes flick to Aiden’s pants, and I’m shocked and embarrassed to see a wet stain there, right where I was just grinding on him.
At my horrified intake of breath, Aiden glances up at me. His eyes meet mine, and I’m sure my cheeks are scarlet. He can read my mortification. Slowly, he moves his hand away. Just when I think he’s done, grossed out, and going to leave, he raises his hand to his lips. Slowly, methodically, he inserts the finger into his mouth. His eyes close with pleasure as he sucks on it. He slowly pops it back out a few seconds later with a purposeful noise. His heavy lids slowly lift to reveal his gorgeous indigos and his enlarged pupils.