Calder tugs the zipper down the back of my dress and I shrug out of the sleeves, letting it fall to a pile at my feet. Working his jeans, I slide them down his hips before tearing his t-shirt over his head.
Within a matter of seconds, the two of us are stark naked, standing in the middle of a messy kitchen that somehow is the least of my concerns in this moment.
His hands circle my waist as he kisses me again, his lips fire and ice and my heart pounding so hard I feel it in my ears. A moment later, he scoops me up, carrying me to his sofa and pulling me into his lap.
I press my mouth against his bare chest, his flesh soft and hot and his body chiseled like cut stone. He takes a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a gentle twist and pull before tasting it with his tongue.
His cock brushes against my sex as I grind against him. I reach between my legs, wrapping my fingers around his thick shaft and pumping the length. Calder moans, his mouth against my neck now.
Reaching toward the coffee table, he retrieves a condom from a lidded agate bowl, and I force myself not to appreciate his preparedness and forget the fact that he would even need to be that prepared in the first place.
Peppering kisses from his chest to his abs to his veined cock, I slide off the couch and lower myself to my knees. Taking the tip between my lips, I swirl my tongue until his head falls back and he grips his hair.
A moment later, I take the foil packet from him, rip it with my teeth, and slide the rubber over his throbbing dick.
He pulls me into his lap again, kissing the tender space between my breasts as he grips his cock and guides me down one slow inch at a time. Resting my hands on his shoulders, I find my rhythm, stealing kisses from his soft, full lips.
Kisses that make him smile.
For the briefest of seconds, my conversation with his father earlier this week comes to mind, but I force it away.
I want to actually enjoy this.
I want to be present.
With him.
Rocking and circling my hips, I sense the build-up and ride the wave, and when he finishes, I collapse against his chest, the two of us breathless, our skin sticking together in parts.
“That was—” I begin to say.
“—don’t talk, Keane. Just be here. With me.”
I rest my cheek against his bare chest, listening to the soft thrum of a heart that just might beat a few degrees warmer than it did before.
Glancing up at him, he offers a half-smile and then brushes the hair from my cheek.
“You’re the only person I’ve ever met who admits out loud to being as fucked up as I feel on the inside,” he says before kissing the top of my head, his breath warm. “That thing I said on Monday? I’m sorry. You’re not just some girl I fucked in a bar bathroom. You’re so much more than that.”
I WAKE UP SATURDAY morning to the sound of water running in the kitchen, and for a split second, I forget that I had company last night—but only for a split second. A man doesn’t fuck a beautiful woman three times in one night and live to forget it.
The covers on the other side of the bed are pulled neat and tight, folded just beneath the pillow, and I waste no time disheveling them before I get up.
As soon as I slip into my boxers and grab a pair of clean sweats from a drawer, I make my way down the hall. The scent of lemon and lavender and chemical cleaners fills the air and the sink is filled with soapy water.
“Morning.” Aerin’s dark hair is piled into a messy bun on top of her head and her arms are submerged in the water, all the way to her elbows. My white t-shirt, which she must have found on the floor out here, covers her body, hitting just below her perfect ass.
“How long have you been up?”
I take another look around. The magazines on my coffee table are stacked neatly—and I’m willing to bet money they’re in order now. My dining table is completely cleared, save for a candle resting in the middle like some kind of freaking centerpiece. In the corner by the front door are my shoes, all of them paired and in color order: light to dark.
“Keane.” My voice is low and deep in my chest, and flashbacks of Bridgeforth Academy fill my mind like flickering photographs.
“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” she says, rinsing a glass. “Not trying to play house. I just couldn’t sleep and I wanted to do something productive, so I thought—”