Page 62 of The Romance Rivalry

He presses his entire body down onto mine and kisses me. I’m suddenly very aware of the wetness between my legs and try to squeeze them closed, embarrassed he might notice, too. But he pushes his knee a little bit in between them, our legs alternating between each other. He deepens the kiss, and this time he grinds his lower half into mine. His hardness meeting my wetness, mere pieces of fabric the only thing separating us. Can he feel it through my jeans, I wonder.

One of his hands makes its way to my waist, where the side of my shirt has lifted to expose the skin at my stomach. Without taking his eyes off mine, Aiden drags his hand across, and it disappears up under my shirt. He pushes his thumb under the band of my bra, and suddenly the sensation from my nipple bolts through me. I gasp. Or maybe it was a scream. I’m not sure at this point. My heart pounds in my ears, and between that and the moans coming from my mouth, I can’t hear anything else.

His lips kiss my mouth relentlessly as his hand explores my breast and his denim-clad lower body pushes and scrapes against mine.

I think in this moment I very much understand the superiority of the “just one bed” trope. I don’t want any more space. In fact, I’d be okay with less space, and less clothing, between us.

I wonder how Aiden will handle the question of consent. Will he ask me with words? Will he read my body movements? Am I being clear enough with my willingness, or does he sense hesitation? Will that stop him? Will he...

“Do I even want to know what’s going through your head right now?” His voice brings me back from the freak-out happening in my thoughts.

“I’m sorry. I was just... thinking. Um, but still very much enjoying all of this, obviously. I mean, my body is fully capable of responding even though my head is a little preoccupied.”

He starts shaking as the laughter rolls through him. “Not holding your interest, am I?” he asks through his last chuckles.

“Oh my god, you totally are. It’s just, well, this is kinda the first time I’ve ever gotten this far with anyone.”

Aiden pulls back a tiny bit, just enough so he can look into my eyes and I can look into his. It’s almost physically painful how warm his gaze makes me feel. His voice is soft and gentle and kind. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Oh no, not at all. I just wanted to make sure you knowthat I’m, um, very much consenting to it,” I say.

He nods his head. “Thank you for making it clear. I appreciate that.”

“You know me, all roads lead back to romance novels. And I like books where consent is handled in an honest and direct way.”

He smiles and kisses the tip of my nose. “You’re amazing, you know that? How did I get so fucking lucky?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the lucky one,” I say.

Aiden continues to kiss me, on my eyes, my cheeks, my ears. I turn my head to give him access to kiss my neck. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror on his closet door. My hair is all over the place. The hem of my shirt is partially tucked into my bra. The button of my jeans is open and, oh god, there’s a wet spot. I’m a mess.

I cover my eyes with one of my hands and groan.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Uh, I just saw myself in the mirror and I look deranged,” I say.

He pulls my hand away. “You’re beautiful,” he says. He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses it.

His mouth meets mine again and I hungrily greet his tongue as it enters. I feel like I could do this, right here, with Aiden forever.

But a blaring sound from his desk shocks me out of my lust-filled haze.

“Shit. It’s my alarm. We have our Live.”

“Oh my god! Already? I can’t do a Live looking like this! I very clearly look almost-sexed-up. Everyone will know.” I’m in full panic mode. I pull all my body parts away from his body parts and sit up, patting down both sides of my hair, trying to put myself back together. I go to button up my jeans and look down. “What do I do aboutthis?” I ask, pointing to the wet spot.

Aiden tucks his lips between his teeth, trying to hold back a laugh.

“You did this!” I accuse him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, clearly not sorry. “But no one can see that. We’ll be sitting at the desk. They’ll only see shoulders up.” His eyes scan me and as they home in on my neck, they grow huge as saucers.

I jump up and stand in front of his closet mirror where an unmistakable, angry red spot decorates my neck. “Oh god, I have a hickey!”

“Here, wear this,” he says, throwing me a hoodie from the back of his desk chair. I pull it over my head, tug at both the strings, cocooning my head until only my face shows, and bunch the rest of the hood’s fabric as best I can around my neck area as a secondary defense.

“Okay, c’mon, c’mon, we’ve gotta log on,” he says, rushing me.

---