Page 7 of Stealing It
When I go to take a sip of wine, he catches my hand before the glass touches my mouth. “Enough of that. I want you to be alert when we go back there,” he says, hiking a thumb over his shoulder.
“Oh, are you my daddy? Telling me what I can and can’t drink?”
Another lip bite. My head swims. “I can be your daddy,” he says. “I’d rather not, but I can be whatever you want me to be. Casual dating,” he explains, raising both brows. “It’s impressive. Whatever you want.”
I set the almost full glass down with a shaky hand. “Point taken,” I say, nodding. “Show me your room?”
He grabs my hand and leads me out of the living area and down the short hall to his room. The space is darkened by curtains, Aidan hits a switch and a dim glow illuminates the space. The bed is…antique. It’s a double bed with a black, wrought iron frame. The finials on the corners of the bedposts are ornate, giving me all the clues I need as to age and make. As I take in my surroundings, I drag my hand over the beautiful frame. “This is nice. Where did you get it?” I ask, turning to meet his eyes.
“I acquired it when I became a SEAL. I needed a bed and this one was sitting on the side of the road with a free sign taped to it. Not the best story, but I’ve kind of grown attached to it, I guess.”
Another truth. “Well, I think it’s a great story and I’m glad you kept it. It’s in great condition,” I say, examining the grooves and notches where it’s been welded. The newer frames that try to replicate this style have cleaner lines. “It’s a small bed,” I say, offering a crooked smile. “Doesn’t that inhibit your hobbies?”
“Now is the time that I show you how much I am not inhibited by the size of my bed,” he counters, closing the space between us in two large steps. “Right?” he asks.
My breathing speeds and my stomach tightens. I’m in unknown territory, so even though I know this is a normal feeling, I can’t control my hands as they clench and unclench by my side. Aidan runs his hands down my arms and ends with my fists inside his palms. He eases them open using his thumbs, laying his forehead against mine. “Just feel it,” he says, leaning down to brush his lips against mine, shaking his head no.
“You lied,” I say. “Weren’t you supposed to kiss me for the first time out there?” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. “On the sofa. In front of the windows?”
He backs me up, walking toward the bed. “I did lie. Only because I wanted to kiss you on my bed first.”
“Why? Because I know how much it’s worth?” I say, grinning against his lips. We’re not kissing, our mouths are merely lingering close, sharing breath, making me light headed with the need for more.
“No, because I kiss all of the women on the couch first. You’ll be the first kiss in my bed.”
“Well, isn’t that romantic in a casual dating sort of way?” I counter, smiling in spite of the absurdity of it all.
“It’s romantic ineverysort of way,” he says, laying me back on the bed. He drops a kiss on my collarbone, and then my neck, his warm lips prickling my cool skin. Aidan holds himself off me as I scoot up on his bed until my head hits pillows. It smells like it’s been freshly laundered, but at this point, I don’t want to think ofwhy. I need to push his conquests aside if I’m going to enjoy myself.
He pulls his lips away and rises to his knees. He yanks his shirt off and tosses me a lopsided grin. My mouth goes dry as I stare at him. “Are you even real? I didn’t know muscles looked like that in real life,” I manage.
He flexes his abs and I count at least eight on first glance. “It’s part of my job,” he replies.
“Right. You don’t enjoy reaping the benefits of your job at all?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
His grin spreads, and my heart skips a beat. “It does grant me some privileges I might not have otherwise. Like havingyouin my bed.” Aidan unbuttons his jeans, keeping his gaze on mine. “So, you have less trouble later,” he whispers. A clear-headed Magnolia would tell him I’m a confident, capable woman who needs no help unbuttoning a man’s jeans, but Aidan does possess another sense. A sex sense and I would need help.
My skin feels like it’s fire and ice as he moves a hand under my tank top. I’d watch if I wasn’t so fascinated with how the lines in his biceps rise and lower under his skin anytime he moves even the slightest bit. My ex-husband isn’t bad looking by any stretch of the imagination. He’s long and lean and always stays in shape by running. Comparing Aidan and Paul would be like comparing apples and oranges—Chris Hemsworth to John Krasinski circaThe Office, a non-comparison, really. Aidan kisses my ear, gently nudging. “You’re overthinking it,” he says, sliding his hand up my stomach and under the front of my bra, his fingers splaying across my ribcage.
“How can you tell?” I say, my words a bit muffled by ragged breaths. “You’re right, but how can you tell?”
Aidan brings his face in front of mine, his eyes dark, his tongue dragging across his bottom lip. “I’m good at this. I can tell.” Another truth spoken with a rough, toe-curling edge.
I sigh, long and heavy. “I wish you weren’t so good at this,” I counter.
“Doubtful you’ll hold on to that wish once we get started,” he quips back, leaning down. “Close your eyes and part your lips.”
I do as he orders, and he slides his hand over my breast and makes a pleased sigh the second his lips meet mine. He tastes of masculinity, the formidable, heady scent that invades your head right before a man invades your body. Reaching up to twine my fingers in his hair, I pull him closer so his bare chest is against me and I’m fully consumed at all angles by him—his bulging arms by my sides, his pecs on my chest, his mouth against mine, captivating all of my senses.
Aidan’s tongue lashes out against mine and this kiss turns deadly—sucking away any chance I had at keeping a level head. His dominating presence takes away any preconceived notions that I’ll leave this room as the same woman who entered. My mind is a mottled mess, and my body is only attuned to his touch. He reminds me to keep my eyes closed, a murmur against my lips, in a brief pause, and he continues to kiss me and lavish me with his expert mouth and warm, purposeful touch.
The doorbell rings. Not in the cliché way in movies where a passionate coupling is broken up by a loud noise, it actually happens. Then again. And again, when he doesn’t respond right away. Aidan pushes a loud, annoyed breath through his lips and hops off the bed. I lean up on my arms, flushed and confused.
“Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be right back,” he says, eyeing me down from the doorway.
Of course, as soon as he disappears from view, I follow him.
