Page 83 of When in December

Honestly, so was I.

You know what? Maybe he was right. Professionalism? I really couldn’t see its virtues. I could barely see my own.

My hand cupped the back of his neck, and suddenly, there was no longer any hesitation. His mouth was back on mine. I hauled him as close as I could get him.

Where I was timid, Aaron didn’t hesitate. My hands glided over his neck and all through his hair, messing up any sort of effort that he’d put into it. He shifted himself further toward me, moving the couch that didn’t creak. It was good stuff, durable yet classy. I’d chosen it for that reason. I hadn’t chosen it for this, but everything was multiuse in the cabin.

I thought my nervous system might overload from all the sensations I was feeling right now. His hips were heavy against mine, and his chest was pressed flat on me. When I leaned my chin forward for a little more, a sound emanated from the back of his throat—a moan that rattled my bones—as he deepened the kiss.

I had never heard Aaron Hayes like this. Not in his laughter. Not in his glares. Not in his anger.

This was pure want and pent-up desire.

I’d never wanted anything more. At least, not that I could think of when he was holding me, kissing me.

The only thing I could think of was,Please don’t ever let this be over.

There was no space between us to spare for any other worry or anxiety that usually coursed through my head.

Aaron moved with a peck at the corner of my lips until he was peppering my jaw with tiny, wet kisses. His mouth trailed over my jaw and under my ear, continuing what he’d teased at before. I gasped, and his hands slipped to my hips, pulling mine against his.

“You look so good in my shirt,” he murmured huskily and almost a little mischievously.

For a second, he almost sounded like the Aaron I’d once overheard with his friends. Only he was older now, and I couldn’t help but think that maybe I liked Aaron better now than the one I’d held like a tightly kept secret in the corner of my mind. I liked his messiness he used to hide behind the golden boy persona. I liked the gruffness, surrounded by edges so sharp that I sometimes questioned whether I’d cut myself if I got too close.

All of him.

I cried out against his mouth from how much I suddenly wanted. Heat grew under the thick knit blanket that was tangledover us, making everything even hotter until I was sure I was about to break into a sweat from our feverish touches.

“Shh,” Aaron warned me, breathless. “God, why do you have to be so sexy?”

I had never been called sexy before in my life. Not ever. The idea of it made me bold.

I slid my hand up his shirt, feeling his muscles contract. I could feel the scars and puckered skin I had seen from a distance before. Aaron’s hands held me tight, gripping me against him. He pulled away again for air and came right back, as if he needed me to breathe as much as I felt like I needed him right now.

For so long, I’d been alone. Going from project to project. Working and combating problems, like mold or unruly clients. But now, like that night years ago, on top of a pile of coats, when I’d first kissed the boy that I convinced myself I was madly in love with at the age of fifteen, I never felt less alone.

But he hadn’t known that. He still didn’t know.

Something in my chest yanked hard, and it wasn’t from the lack of air.

When we pulled away the next time, my nose grazed his. Our eyes flickered toward each other’s and then back down to our damp, swollen lips. Mine parted, but not to kiss or quietly beg him for more.

Should I tell him?

I swallowed. What was the point? This was just a kiss. This was just a little more than a kiss. But that was all. That was all it could ever be. Right?

He was still going to leave. I was still going to be done with this project and?—

Aaron’s hands loosened from around my waist, sliding over my hips until he released me altogether.

Our breaths were deeper as I stared at him. He stared back at me, though the room seemed even darker than before. It was kind of perfect. The room. The scent of gingerbread. Him.

Aaron’s eyes started to close. I couldn’t tell if he forced them to or if they were simply too heavy to remain open any longer.

“You’re pretty good with them too, you know,” I whispered.

His eyes opened again, blinking a few times until he seemed sure that I’d said anything at all. “Huh?”

---