Page 35 of Lust

“I would only be a burden.”

Aaron’s hand grasps my chin.

“Living without you all these years has nearly crushed me.” His mouth meets mine, first gently caressing my lips, then devouring them until I’m breathless. “No matter what baggage you bring with you, I’ll always levitate in your presence.”

His words spark something in my chest, a fluttering of wings against my ribs, like a moth straining toward a flame.

“Leave the cameras.” Aaron releases me and I head him move toward the front door.

No point pretending I don’t know they’re there.

“They’re for your safety,” he continues. “I have to be able to make sure that asshole doesn’t touch you.”

“Okay,” I say, wishing I had the guts to go with him.

Aaron opens the door, standing for a minute in the light. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small package.

“I almost forgot your Christmas present.” He hands it to me.

I unwrap the gift while he waits, my fingers trembling under the pressure of his gaze. Inside a small box, nestled in tissue paper, lies a simple metal key. Looking up at Aaron, I search his face for some explanation, but he just wears a feline smile that lifts the corners of his eyes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. It’s a fact, not a question.

Warmth floods through me.

“And every day after that,” he adds, then steps out into the night and closes the door behind him, leaving me sore, bemused, and indescribably happy.

Aaron

If I were the kind of person to sing and dance and click my heels, I’d be doing all of those things simultaneously as I leave Ruby’s house. I’d be skipping down the walkway singing a little ditty at the top of my lungs. But Aaron Luther doesn’t do those things. Instead, I stride. Right past the now-deflated vinyl shell of what used to be a giant slice of pumpkin pie. Right past Ruby’s SUV that sits alone in the driveway. Right past the gaudy mailbox with its strand of Christmas lights wound around the wooden base like a candy cane.

The memory of Ruby’s warm body in my arms, of her hot, tight pussy milking me dry, makes me growl with renewed lust. The fact that that slice of pie was losing its air while I filled her with my cum seems like a beautiful form of poetic justice. It almost makes me like the ugly thing. Almost. It definitely makes me smile.

My happiness is so distracting that it nearly drowns out the grumbling roar of an approaching pickup truck, one that’s unnecessarily noisy. One that’s jacked up much higher than any human needs. One that’s painted a ridiculous shade of lime green. One whose owner didn’t conveniently plunge off a precipice.

Fuck.

Luckily, I’ve reached my vehicle. I unlock the door, leap in, and duck down just soon enough to miss Brent’s truck as it careens past me and right up onto the lawn of his own damn house, knocking over the mailbox in the process.

Double fuck.

All I want to do is leap out of my car and beat the ever-loving shit out of him, but I know that would draw far too much attention to me and, worse, to Ruby.

He climbs out of the truck and stumbles over the post from the mailbox, falling flat on his face.

My fingers twitch in my pocket, stroking the folded steel of my knife.

He’s already down. Just a quick jab into the jugular. Drunk man accidentally stabs himself in the neck.

The longer he lies there, immobilized by his own stupidity, the better the idea starts to seem.

But then Ruby appears. She’s exchanged her silk robe for a pair of loose sweatpants and a t-shirt, covered with a long cardigan. Her face, illuminated by the light outside the garage door, looks furious.

I roll down my window.

“What the fuck, Brent.” Her voice maintains a lethal calm. Terrifying and awesome. Blood surges to my dick. My woman is fucking regal.

Brent groans an inaudible response.

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