Window Shopping

I stop his words with my mouth, drawing him into a long, reassuring kiss that leaves us both panting, his fingers rubbing in the exact right spot, turning me sodden, his erection thick and hard against my buttocks. “I’m not thinking about the fact that you’re my boss right now. Or that we work together at all. You’re just Aiden.” I circle my hips, making his breath stutter, his pupils expanding to block out the green. “And I need you.”

The town car pulls to a stop outside of my building.

We can’t stop kissing for long, dizzying moments, my thighs beginning to feel funny, like jelly. Am I going to have an orgasm now? In the backseat? No. No…I want to make it inside. I want this out of control feeling to continue. “We’re here,” I whisper, dazed and laboring for air.

“I know,” he growls, jiggling his middle finger against my clit, right through the damp wool. “Come on, sweetheart, give me one.”

Oh God. Oh God.

I’m the one who said she didn’t want a plan, right?

I’m getting my wish.

My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip and I stare up at the spinning ceiling of the town car, reaching through the opening of my jacket to play with my nipples, imitating Aiden’s movements from before, my lower body moving more and more restlessly, dragging my bottom side to side on his arousal. Sensation gathers, familiar but different for all the intensity. For the fact that Aiden is the one bringing this down on me. And then he presses two fingers tight, tight, tight to that bundle of nerves and I let out a strangled sound, pleasure coursing down my middle with the power of white water rapid, pulling up roots and annihilating me.

“Christ, that’s beautiful. You’re so fucking beautiful.” His voice doesn’t sound natural, doesn’t sound like classic Aiden, but the Tennessee in his voice makes him familiar, welcome, regardless. Maybe even mine? At least for tonight? I don’t know, but I find myself wrapping my arms around his neck and clinging my way through the climax, hiccupping into the minty sinew of his throat. Letting him kick open the door of the car, exit onto the sidewalk and carry me into the vestibule of my building. “Your bag is in my hand, Stella. Take out the key.”

What is a key?

What is a hand?

I don’t know these words right away, but thankfully my vocabulary comes rushing back and I fumble to do what he asks, letting us into the building with shaky hands. I’m still floating on a river of bliss, but when we pass a sign that says, “Hey apartment ten. Please stop pissing in the hallways,” it hits me that I’m bringing this man, this wealthy honey entrepreneur turned department store owner, into my tiny, messy rent-controlled apartment full of second-hand furniture and unreliable Wi-Fi. “Um…oh.” I tap his shoulder when we reach the door of my apartment and he slowly sets me down, keeping a big hand settled in my hip. His mouth lands on the side of my neck, raking upward toward my ear and I whimper, crushing my keys in my fist. “I-I don’t know about this.”

His hands leave my body immediately, settling on either side of me on the doorframe. “Okay. Damn. That’s okay.”

“This apartment…it belongs to my uncle. Most of the furniture belongs to him. It’s not what you’re used to, I’m sure. I can’t even remember if I made the bed and our neighbor never stops smoking weed, so my bathroom smells like a dispensary—”

“Stella.” He exhales in a rush, head tipping forward. “I thought you were going to tell me it doesn’t feel right because I’m your boss.”

“No. No, I’m just…” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder toward the apartment. “I guess I’m a little self-conscious.”

Aiden nods, a corner of his mouth ticking up on the way to kiss my forehead. “Well, don’t be,” he says, right up against my temple. “Aunt Edna didn’t even have indoor plumbing until I was in seventh grade. Had to walk across the yard in the middle of the night to use the john. If your weed bathroom is indoors, this might as well be the Four Seasons.”

My self-consciousness drains out through my fingertips and toes, leaving me boneless between him and the door.

Three things hit me at once.

One. He’s not just saying those words. He means them. Aiden Cook will find a way to find the apartment behind this door wonderful, because that’s what he does. He sees the good. The bright side. And somehow I sense our economic differences will only be an issue if I allow them to be. If I dwell on them.

There’s no way he’ll let me.

Two. I am now turned on by Aunt Edna stories. God save my wretched soul.