He seems to have forgotten about the broken egg on the ground. “Your eyes look bigger. You look…oh boy. Wow.” He comes toward me in a daze, stepping right in the egg, seemingly without realizing it. “Ahh sweetheart. You’re wearing my shirt, too.”
Tingles run the entire length of my body when he just keeps coming, closer and closer until our mouths are locked. Peppermint and spicy deodorant envelops me, his full lips slanting over mine, those big hands settling on my hips, tugging me close, my head tipping back to maintain the kiss—a kiss that immediately grows desperate. Eager. We break apart to draw in a shuddering lungful of air and dive back toward each other with a groan, tongues twining together, his fingers gathering the hem of my shirt, stripping it off and tossing it away.
His hands run over every inch of my naked body, memorizing every swell and valley, every spot that makes me whimper. And when they find my backside with a rough squeeze, jerking me up onto my toes, it occurs to me that my hands have carte blanche, as well, and I should definitely be taking advantage of that.
Head swimming with anticipation, I rake my palms down his heaving sides, traveling around to his hotly muscled back and down. Oh yes. Down. I plunge all ten of my digits into the waistband of the pajama pants and grab hold of that glorious bare butt—and oh my God, if possible, it’s even better than I imagined. To the naked eye, his buns look hard as boulders, but not so. Not so. There is some definite give. Some extra flesh that makes it even hotter.
I moan into his mouth and knead him hard.
But my eyes pop open when Aiden breathes a laugh into our kiss.
“You enjoying that, Stella?”
“Yes,” I say honestly, trailing my middle finger down the split of his cheeks. On the way back up, I press a little deeper and Aiden’s eyes darken, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Between us, his sex turns noticeably bigger. More erect. “Am…I supposed to be enjoying this?” I whisper.
“Believe it or not,” he rasps. “I was just asking myself the same question.”
What exactly we’re doing isn’t clear, I just know neither one of us has been here before and the shared unknown drops an anchor of lust in my stomach. I’m confident with Aiden, missing my usual self-consciousness. And it feels ten kinds of right to go down on my knees in front of him. To untie the drawstring beneath his navel and tug down the garment to mid-thigh, revealing his arousal to the morning light. Feeling his fingers sink into my hair and grip. I’ve never done this. I don’t know what I’m doing. But the light being cast on Aiden somehow makes me braver, because it hides nothing. There are springy hairs and ruddiness and moisture pearling on the tip. Human. We’re both human in the daylight. Two people who want to give each other satisfaction and I will figure out how to do that for him because, right now, it’s the only thing I want in life.
“Stella,” he begins thickly. One second he’s guiding my mouth toward his hard flesh, the next he’s using my fisted hair to hold me away. “No. You can’t. I’m…we didn’t, ah…relieve each other last night. And that’s totally okay, sweetheart. But I’m so sensitive now. You understand? I almost came when you walked into the kitchen with your bangs off your forehead.”
If I didn’t know Aiden, if I wasn’t positive he doesn’t play mind games, I would think he’s using reverse psychology on me. Because him telling me his erection is extra sensitive is making a blow job nine times more appealing. “Just a little,” I whisper, scooting forward on my knees, rolling my forehead side to side on his abdomen and wrapping both hands around his long, heavy manhood, reveling in his hissing intake of breath.
“God help me,” he says through his teeth. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
My heart skips and lands, going faster than before. There’s a whisper of some important truth in the back of my mind, but I don’t want to acknowledge that I’m in love with this man while I’m about to service him on my knees—at least not the first time—so I shoo it away for further examination later. This is about pleasure. His. Ours.
Not wanting to miss a single reaction, I look up at Aiden from below, bringing him to my mouth and pushing his salty abundance of flesh past my lips. Closing them tight around the pulsing trunk of him, sliding them up and down. When he’s wet, it’s easier to glide, so I’m able to take another inch of him on the next bob of my head—and now I add suction, my hands beginning to stroke the part of him I can’t reach without choking.