Page 41 of Heart Strings
Lo
Let it betemporary,Aidan said. I can do that. What other choice do I have, with him living in another country? I do deserve to feel good.
Aidan’s muscular thighs bracket me close to him. I slowly run my palms up them. They tense and his breath grows shaky. I can’t help but feel like the sweetness of being close to him now is worth the eventual sting I’ll feel later.
His eyes do that crinkly thing at the corners.
“What?” I ask.
“Just thinking about that questionable mnemonic device about butts I came up with for you.”
A shocked laugh bursts from me. It’s not what I expected him to say at such a charged moment. “Some say marry money, but my brother says big butts matter more,” I recite. That one was to help recall which cranial nerves are for either sensory or motor function, or both. The idea was that the more ridiculous the mnemonic device, the more likely the information was to stick in your mind.
Aidan’s grip on my ass is possessive as he draws me close enough to feel the heat of him against my stomach. “I’d marry you for that doctor money, too. Either way, it’s a win.”
He’s obviously kidding, but my heart still constricts at the word. This whole weekend is about two people promising to be there for each other. Forever. I can’t think about that right now. Aidan keeps bringing up the past, but I want to be in this moment.
His piercing blue eyes stay riveted to me as I caress up his bare thighs, skimming past his towel-draped hips, sliding up his sternum, until they rest on his chest. The scent of fresh water and grass still clings to his warm, tattooed skin. He leans in, stopping just before our lips brush to let his eyes drift closed.
Our kiss is tentative at first, but I revel in a give-and-take both exquisite and excruciating. Soon, any hesitation gives way to insistence. Aidan reclaims my mouth and my body. He’s possessive. Indulgent. Passionate. Aidan’s always made it so easy to turn off the relentless chatter inside my mind and tune in to sensory pleasure.
Somehow, I’ve carried a flame for him all this time. It’s burned on, the last glowing embers of emotion privately tended in the deepest recesses of my heart, even after I’d promised myself to smother it and stamp out the ashes. I’d been so afraid that flame would consume me, but still I hadn’t extinguished it completely. Couldn’t.
Temporary,I remind myself.
“Can I make a confession?” he asks. “Watching you tie knots is all I’ve been thinking about.”
Artfully binding him has consumed my thoughts, too. And my internet search history has gotten much more interesting.Mutual respect and communication always gave us the confidence to explore together. Discover new things about ourselves and each other. I want to re-learn everything about Aidan, starting with how gorgeous he looks bound and debauched. Fulfilling Aidan’s fantasies of light domination always made me feel powerful. His raw desire is palpable when I control his pleasure and my own. It’s intoxicating.
“I touched myself thinking about it. About you, helpless and submissive for me…”
Mischief glimmers in his eye. “Think this castle has a dungeon?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
The four-post bed in the center of the room is perfect for this scenario. I walk over to it, letting my towel fall to the bathroom floor before I cross into the bedroom. Aidan groans and hops off the vanity, tossing his towel aside before following me.
“There are some rolls of ribbon and scissors in my bag,” I tell him. “And a condom in the side pocket.”
“Bossy,” Aidan scoffs, but his rapid breathing betrays him as he fetches it.
“I’m going to remind you who’s the boss tonight.” I pluck the ribbon from his hands, but he holds on to the foil wrapper. I’d packed the wide, white satin ribbon to decorate Lark and Callum’s car for photos, but it can be multipurpose.
Strands of tousled auburn hair slide through my fingers as I gently tug to direct him to sit on to the bed beside me. He scatters kisses up my neck, lowering me into the mattress until he’s climbing over me. His weight is familiar and comforting, but not what this moment needs. With a hand on Aidan’s arm, I hook his foot with mine, then jerk to the side. We tumble acrossthe bed and I pin him beneath me. Bewildered lust colors his expression as he looks up at me. His abject awe makes me feel invincible.
“Did I just get manhandled?”
“Is it still manhandling if a woman does it?”
“Either way,” he says, “that was super hot.”
My fingertips trace up the underside of Aidan’s forearms, appreciating the softer skin and veins that run under their inked surfaces. He squirms and swallows hard, resisting the teasing tickle. I stop at his wrists, bracing them on either side of his head close to the bedposts.
With the insides of his arms exposed, I get a good look at the tattoo that so distracted me on the boat. A wickedly sharp pair of shears prepares to sever a piece of traditional Celtic knotwork. The image faces toward his heart, mostly unseen by others. Now that I’m up close, I notice a new detail. The crux of the scissors bears aC. My heart flips at the sight.
I regret how sharp I was to Aidan in our last conversation as a couple. Ending things cleanly felt like the humane thing to do at the time, even if his optimism was snuffed out alongside our future together.
I gently trace the curve of my initial. “This is for me?”
