Window Shopping, page 13
I stop his words with my mouth, drawing him into a long, reassuring kiss that leaves us both panting, his fingers rubbing in the exact right spot, turning me sodden, his erection thick and hard against my buttocks. “I’m not thinking about the fact that you’re my boss right now. Or that we work together at all. You’re just Aiden.” I circle my hips, making his breath stutter, his pupils expanding to block out the green. “And I need you.”
The town car pulls to a stop outside of my building.
We can’t stop kissing for long, dizzying moments, my thighs beginning to feel funny, like jelly. Am I going to have an orgasm now? In the backseat? No. No . . . I want to make it inside. I want this out of control feeling to continue. “We’re here,” I whisper, dazed and laboring for air.
“I know,” he growls, jiggling his middle finger against my clit, right through the damp wool. “Come on, sweetheart, give me one.”
Oh God. Oh God.
I’m the one who said she didn’t want a plan, right?
I’m getting my wish.
My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip and I stare up at the spinning ceiling of the town car, reaching through the opening of my jacket to play with my nipples, imitating Aiden’s movements from before, my lower body moving more and more restlessly, dragging my bottom side to side on his arousal. Sensation gathers, familiar but different for all the intensity. For the fact that Aiden is the one bringing this down on me. And then he presses two fingers tight, tight, tight to that bundle of nerves and I let out a strangled sound, pleasure coursing down my middle with the power of white water rapid, pulling up roots and annihilating me.
“Christ, that’s beautiful. You’re so fucking beautiful.” His voice doesn’t sound natural, doesn’t sound like classic Aiden, but the Tennessee in his voice makes him familiar, welcome, regardless. Maybe even mine? At least for tonight? I don’t know, but I find myself wrapping my arms around his neck and clinging my way through the climax, hiccupping into the minty sinew of his throat. Letting him kick open the door of the car, exit onto the sidewalk and carry me into the vestibule of my building. “Your bag is in my hand, Stella. Take out the key.”
What is a key?
What is a hand?
I don’t know these words right away, but thankfully my vocabulary comes rushing back and I fumble to do what he asks, letting us into the building with shaky hands. I’m still floating on a river of bliss, but when we pass a sign that says, “Hey apartment ten. Please stop pissing in the hallways,” it hits me that I’m bringing this man, this wealthy honey entrepreneur turned department store owner, into my tiny, messy rent-controlled apartment full of second-hand furniture and unreliable Wi-Fi. “Um . . . oh.” I tap his shoulder when we reach the door of my apartment and he slowly sets me down, keeping a big hand settled in my hip. His mouth lands on the side of my neck, raking upward toward my ear and I whimper, crushing my keys in my fist. “I-I don’t know about this.”
His hands leave my body immediately, settling on either side of me on the doorframe. “Okay. Damn. That’s okay.”
“This apartment . . . it belongs to my uncle. Most of the furniture belongs to him. It’s not what you’re used to, I’m sure. I can’t even remember if I made the bed and our neighbor never stops smoking weed, so my bathroom smells like a dispensary—”
“Stella.” He exhales in a rush, head tipping forward. “I thought you were going to tell me it doesn’t feel right because I’m your boss.”
“No. No, I’m just . . .” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder toward the apartment. “I guess I’m a little self-conscious.”
Aiden nods, a corner of his mouth ticking up on the way to kiss my forehead. “Well, don’t be,” he says, right up against my temple. “Aunt Edna didn’t even have indoor plumbing until I was in seventh grade. Had to walk across the yard in the middle of the night to use the john. If your weed bathroom is indoors, this might as well be the Four Seasons.”
My self-consciousness drains out through my fingertips and toes, leaving me boneless between him and the door.
Three things hit me at once.
One. He’s not just saying those words. He means them. Aiden Cook will find a way to find the apartment behind this door wonderful, because that’s what he does. He sees the good. The bright side. And somehow I sense our economic differences will only be an issue if I allow them to be. If I dwell on them.
There’s no way he’ll let me.
Two. I am now turned on by Aunt Edna stories. God save my wretched soul.
Three. I might be falling in love with this man. Real, authentic, no escaping it love.
Saying those words out loud seems like a far-off dream, way in the future. Maybe one that will never come to fruition. But for tonight, I can show him exactly what I’m feeling.
That’s safe. That’s what I have for now.
Wrapping a hand around Aiden’s tie, I slowly back into the apartment, pulling him with me.
10
Aiden
Touching Stella, kissing her, feels good in an indescribable way.
Feels like where I belong. Grounded and needed and accepted.
I’ve got her pressed up against the wall of her entryway. She’s unknotting my tie and I’m pushing the jacket off her shoulders, learning the shape of her tits through the material of her sweater dress. The way she arches her back for the downward stroke of my palms, the mewling sound she makes when I pinch her nipples, tells me she has sensitive breasts. Licking and sucking the peaks will help make her wet for me. Based on the frenzied way we’re kissing, she’s going to need that crucial slickness sooner rather than later.
God.
Goddamn. She wraps a leg around my hip and I dip, surge up between her thighs, pinning her to the wall and grinding into the heat of her pussy, making both of us groan. And I don’t think we’re going to make it any further than this wall, right beside the door. We’ve barely managed to twist the deadbolt on the door to her apartment—no, her uncle’s apartment—and I could come already from the feeling of her pliant curves molding to my muscle, the way her eyes implore me. Now, now, now. They don’t have to say it out loud for me to know what she wants. I want it, too. I need her.
“Aiden,” she whimpers, her fingers beautifully clumsy on the buttons of my shirt. She pops them open all the way to my waist and pushes the sides of the garment wide, her breath releasing like the steam of a tea kettle. “No. No, you’re . . . there’s muscles under here. I’m getting Clark Kent transforming into Superman vibes and I’m not mad about it.” We smile against each other’s mouths and that shared moment makes me think of china patterns and Vermont and the nine million other things I want to do with this girl.
Including fuck her so well her pussy clenches every time I walk into the room.
But you’re not only doing this because you want her. Need her.
You’re here to prove a point. Prove you’re not too nice.
I have an ulterior motive—and that’s not right, is it?
That unwelcome thought has me avoiding eye contact with Stella, dipping my head down to taste her incredible neck. Drag my tongue up the side of that smooth column and become drugged by her scent. Rich, girl musk and crisp night air and a hint of peach. If she tastes even remotely this good between her thighs, I’ll never come up for air, I swear to God.
But even as I’m reaching up beneath her dress to peel the tights and panties down to her knees, I’m looking at the apartment out of the corner of my eye. And it’s definitely not hers. It’s temporary. There is nothing artistic or feminine about it. Stella has only just landed.
In fact, it seems as though her belongings are gathered neatly in one corner of the tiny living room, as if she’s afraid to take up space. A hairbrush, phone charger, a bottle of lotion. My pounding heart wrenches sideways at the sight of them crowded together in one spot. I want to address it. Want to talk about everything under the sun with her. But that’s not why I came here, is it? More importantly, that’s not why she brought me here. I came to scratch our itch for each other and hopefully create a permanent one. The kind that needs to be appeased over and over again.
The kind that might inspire her to sign the papers to make this right.
Because I am definitely in an employee’s apartment right now. I’m not judging where she lives. God, no. It’s just that I can’t ignore the power imbalance between us when it’s staring me right in the face.
Yet I’ve got her tights and panties down around her knees now. She uses her feet to drag them the rest of the way off, kicking them aside—and Christ, now her pussy is bare. I haven’t even seen it yet and I’m already moaning, my hands fisting in the side of her dress to yank it up, get her naked from the waist down.
“Let me see how sweet it is,” I rasp, molding her hips in my hands, trailing my fingers inward toward her exposed flesh. “Let me feel how wet.”
“Please.” Her nod is disjointed, her eyes glazed over, locked on my face. “Touch me.”
I lean back enough to watch my fingers meet her bare pussy for the first time. We both watch as my middle digit trails through her dark, tidy strip of hair and disappear between the soaked lips. They close around my touch with a wet sound that tightens my balls painfully, her smooth heat dampening my finger more, more, especially when I find that bud and tease it, reveling in her choked intake of breath against my mouth. “You bring me here to fill this up with cock, Stella?” I add a second finger, rubbing them both up and back over her clit gently—until her thighs start to flex, then with more pressure. Faster. “You going to need me to push it in slowly or all at once, huh? What’s going to make you come the hardest?”
“I don’t know,” she says, gasping when I push my middle finger inside of her tight channel, flexing it, feeling her stretch around me. “I don’t . . . r-remember anything before this. Four years, no sex. No, longer. Longer.”
“Don’t do that,” I heave into her neck, fingering her roughly now, in, out, deep, like I sense she needs. “Don’t remind me I’m breaking your dry spell. Jesus, I won’t last five seconds.”
Her laugh is breathy, almost euphoric. “That’s such a man thing.”
“Oh yeah? You’re not turned on knowing you’re my first since before lockdown? Maybe longer, because I can’t remember a damn thing before you, either, sweetheart?”
“Fine. Maybe a little, yes.” She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, her cunt flexing around my knuckle. “Maybe a lot.”
This girl. I want to run away with her. Elope. Go on safaris. Sink down to the bottom of the ocean holding her hand. Just everything. And now her fingers are unfastening my belt buckle, stopping every few seconds or so to stroke her palm down over my straining cock, massaging and teasing it, scraping her fingernails down my abs. “You’re about to come on my fingers again, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” bursts out of her, just as she gets my zipper down.
“Go on,” I pant against her mouth. “You’re allowed to love getting fingered when I’m the one doing it. Get that wet stuff all over the man who brings you the fuck home.”
With my zipper down, my cock pushes out into the scant space between us, still housed in my white briefs. I’m hard as iron, so help me God. So stiff I’m leaking. I’ve never needed anyone so bad in my life and I never will again. That’s an intuition written in stone. And I just need to get Stella on her back. Now. I need her nails scoring my back and her knees hugging my ribcage. That’s what I need—but when she slides her smooth palms down my chest and stomach, gripping my erection and giving me a perfectly tight hand job through my briefs . . .
I look down at the part of her hair. My tie on the floor.
At some point, she dropped her purse. Her employee badge has spilled out onto the floor of the entryway. Stella has a lopsided smile in the photo. A nervous one. It’s her first day of work. First major chance, major leap she’s taken since being released back into the real world. And she’s taking it in my store.
My conscience rears its head.
No. Please.
It’s too late, though. I’m her boss. I’m her boss and there’s the proof, staring up at me.
I’ve stopped kissing her. My fingers are pressed deep inside of her, but I’m no longer moving them. She looks up at me questioningly, the pace of her breath frantic, her sex pulsing around my touch. There’s no way I can leave her unsatisfied. There’s no way. I just need to get out of my head about our imbalance of power. I need to trust what’s happening here. What’s between me and Stella. It’s the real deal. I feel that in my fucking bones. And the reason I am forgoing formalities, the reason I’ve bucked the rules and brought her home tonight, is so she’ll see me as more than a nice guy. So I’ll have a chance to make this last.
Plus, Jesus, I need her. I need her so bad, I can’t unclench my molars. The weight between my legs is pounding and unbearable. I want to be the closest to her anyone has ever gotten. Want to pump deep and watch her forget about anyone and anything but me.
“Aiden?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. I know,” I say hoarsely. Rallying. Focusing. I stoop down and throw her over my shoulder, striding to the back of the apartment. Entering the only room besides the bathroom. A small bedroom the size of a closet—and again, her things are neatly organized in one single corner. But I’m not going to dwell on that and make her self-conscious. Nope. Not going to think about packing her suitcase and moving her into my place and putting her things everywhere, on all the surfaces and in multiple drawers. Because we haven’t gotten there yet. This is my audition to be her boyfriend, right? As of now, I’m just her too-nice boss who she doesn’t even want to be attracted to.
That last thought has me pinning Stella down onto the twin-sized bed a little too roughly, my body coming down on top of hers. Giving her my full weight, watching those eyelids flutter, listening to her excited moan.
“Does that make you hot?” I push her knees open. Fast enough to make her suck in a breath. I savor the sight of her parting flesh. The telling sheen that runs from her slit to the pucker of her asshole. Gorgeous. “You like to be reminded that I’m not so nice once I get your panties off?” My hips drop into the cradle of her thighs, shifting slowly, the friction worth dying for. “You want this mean fuck?”
“Yes.”
I’m hard as nails. She wants this. All I have to do is peel down my briefs and give us the forbidden fuck we’re both dying for. I’ve worked her up so thoroughly with my fingers that she’ll probably come after one thrust—and if she doesn’t, there’s more where that came from.
“Aiden.” Her breath saws in and out, her fingers twisting in the sides of my open shirt. And I realize I’ve started to dry hump her, my teeth clamped and tugging on the lobe of her ear. “Please, please, please.”
I reach down, intending to lower the waistband of my briefs, take myself out and drive home inside of her. But it’s like an invisible force is stopping my hand from performing the action. I know if I peel away that last layer of material, that will be it. I’ll be inside Stella. I’ll have defied my conscience. Betrayed her trust, even if she doesn’t realize it now. Yet.
There’s a good chance I’m just overthinking this, right?
Yeah. Yeah, I just need a minute.
But she doesn’t have a minute. Her beautiful body is writhing beneath mine, she’s naked from the waist down—wet, so tight and wet—and before I register my own movements, I’m stripping her completely. I’m throwing her dress onto the floor and indulging myself in the sight of her bare skin, her dusky tipped tits, the swells of her hips and dips of her sides. Incredible, perfect girl. Stella. And she’s shaking with the need for relief.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Open your thighs wider for me.” I’m slurring, drunk with lust. My voice unrecognizable. But she hears me and does as I ask, as I beg, dropping her knees wider by another inch as I skate my tongue down the center of her torso, over her belly, parting the flesh of her pussy in a hungry lick. And my God. Her taste is nothing short of incredible. Peachy and female. For me. “Goddamn, Stella. If tight had a taste, this would be it.”
If possible, when she moans at my honest praise, her thighs flex violently and fall open even wider, her fingers tunneling into my hair. And this? I can do. I can fuck her with my mouth, because it’s about her pleasure, not mine. Fine, I’m letting myself get away with a technicality, but there isn’t a way in hell I can keep my tongue off of her wet, willing pussy when she needs an orgasm so bad. Regret wouldn’t even begin to cover how that would leave me, because she’d be unsatisfied and all I want to do is satisfy her.
To that end, I watch the planes of her nude body shift and undulate while I tap the tip of my tongue against her clit, push two fingers inside of her and start to lick that bundle of nerves in earnest. Eager, fast, thorough. I pump my fingers deep, quickening the pace along with her breaths, reading her, watching. Waiting. When her grip tightens on the strands of my hair, I purse my lips over her clit and apply gentle suction. In contrast, my fingers are twisting, searching for that spot and finding it. The proof is in the way she begins to speak in gibberish, her heels finding purchase on my shoulders.
“Aiden. Oh . . . oh God, Aiden. Please don’t stop. Don’t, don’t, don’t . . .”
I growl into the suction to let her know there’s no way in hell I’ll stop when she’s shaking like this. When her stomach is hollowing out and her nipples are in hot, little points and her sex is beginning to ripple around my fingers. Go on, sweetheart. Give it to me.
I’ve never heard a purer sound in my life than Stella’s scream of my name.
Never felt anything better than the twist of her fists in my hair. Her thighs draw up around my head, hips jerking, her relief wet and warm against my tongue and lips. Desperate to give her more, give myself more, I continue to stroke that place inside of her, teasing the pad of my finger over the coarseness and Stella gives and gives, body straining until she grows limp on the bed in front of me, the taste of her pleasure making me dizzy.
