It had been too fucking long since I’d had this. Since I’d even felt anything for a bitch. Aela was the exact opposite though.
She wasn’t a slut, a side piece, or a mistress.
She was mine. Born to be fucking mine.
When she pulled back, I almost sighed with disappointment, then she shocked me again by resting her head against my chest and whispering, “I didnotmean to do that.”
My grin was cocky, but she wouldn’t know that because she couldn’t see it. “I’d never have guessed,” I rumbled.
A sigh escaped her. “I needed that.”
“ThatI could tell.”
I lowered my hands to cup her ass, and deciding to try my luck, I kneaded the cheeks with my fingers, which prompted her to rock her forehead against my pec, before she whispered, “I can’t believe I did—”
“Does it matter?” I asked, aware I sounded serious. But fuck, I felt it.
“Yeah. It matters.” She blew out a breath then pulled back. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Well, technically, it was you who came over me.”
My smug statement had her narrowing her eyes at me, and I grinned at her, uncaring that she was a lot stronger than me right now and could totally knee me in the balls.
But her gaze just turned into a thin slit before it danced down my body. When she trained those eyes on my dick, I felt it fucking pulse in time to my heartbeat.
“Shit,” she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face. “You’re too sick for this,” she ground out, glaring at me like this was my fault. She compounded it by pointing her finger at me and prodding the air. “You probably can’t even have a boner for like six weeks or something.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint, but the second I saw you that first time I was home, and you bent over and I saw your tits, I had a boner. And when I saw your ass in those shorts you wore the other day?” I whistled. “Boner.”
She scowled. “You’re not supposed to. Everything with the body is six weeks, for fuck’s sake. Giving birth, hearts, I bet even surgery—”
Despite myself, I had to snicker. “Trust me, the dick is willing but the body is weak.” My snicker turned into a rueful smile. “I want to, you’ve no fucking idea how much, but I can’t. Just standing here is hard on me.”
That had her eyes widening again, bigger than when she’d taken in the lost Vermeer, and she instantly hustled to my side and dragged me away from the door and deeper into the room.
When we made it to the bed, she hissed, “This is so impractical.”
Because it was exactly that, I didn’t argue or get mad at her for dissing my personal taste. I just heaved a sigh, and requested, “Help me down?”
With a lot of grunting, we did it. It was easier than when I did it on my own, but she was glowering at me when I lay back, panting, amid the sheets.
“What?” I groused.
“Cover that up,” she retorted, wafting a hand at my nether regions.
I peered down and had to laugh when I saw that the tip of my dick was peeping up above the waistband of my shorts. “Trust me, I had no idea that was even manageable with how painful that was.”
A breath gusted from her lungs, and it made the hair that was clinging to her damp forehead budge a little with its strength. But her eyes were glued to my hand and my dick as I tucked the family jewels away.
It was nice to know she was interested. That was for fucking sure.
She folded her arms over her chest, then murmured, “Do you mind if I sit down? I’m still a little…”
When her words drifted off, I told her, “Sure. Be my guest.”
I expected her to go to the seating area over by the window, never imagining she’d climb onto the mattress with me. But she did. And I cut her a look, surprised and a lot happy that she’d done that.
The position, however, put her in the direct line of sight of the paintings—exactly why I’d had the room laid out like this—so I didn’t take it as much of a compliment. Not when I knew she just wanted the best view of the classical pieces that no one in the general public had seen outside of photographs for at least thirty years.