The men turn to us as we approach, and I take a moment for re-introductions. They had met briefly at Erik and Blue’s wedding, but, this time, with my hand at her lower back, it’s clear we’re much more than just a one-off wedding date.
“What were you guys up to today?” Clarke asks.
I tell her about the food drive to feed the homeless at various shelters today, and yeah… I like the way her eyes warm at the knowledge and how it obviously endears me to her even more. Anything I can do to keep building up that trust so she can forget about the vile shit that douchebag did to her and realize not all guys are the same.
“In fact,” I continue. “We were just on our way to grab some lunch. Want to come with us?”
Clarke shakes her head regrettably. “I’d love to, but it’s just not possible.”
I look pointedly over at Veronica. “And yet, I bet Veronica wouldn’t mind you leaving for a bit.”
As if taking some pre-agreed-upon cue, Veronica nods a little too exuberantly. “She’d love to go with you. I can totally watch the store.”
Clarke cuts Veronica a chastising scowl. “Have you forgotten I asked you to come in to help me get the stocking done so I could leave early to cook for this big lout,” and here she slaps her hand into my stomach, “a nice meal?”
That she made the effort to handle her duties so she could leave work early touches me.
She did that for me.
Veronica laughs as she shrugs, shooting me a look that says, “I tried”.
Clarke reaches down, laces her fingers with mine, and gives me a squeeze. “I’d really love to, but I do want to get out early to hit the grocery store, and, well… I just want some extra time before you come over to make things perfect.”
She blushes the minute the words tumble out of her mouth, her gaze cutting over to Kane, Baden, and Veronica as she realizes she said something sweet with a little bit of innuendo laced in, and she did so in front of an audience.
“I just mean,” she blurts out, “that the dish I’m planning to make is complicated. It takes time, and I don’t want to be rushed.”
Chuckling, I lean over and put my mouth near her ear, whispering for her benefit and no other. “I cannot wait for you to feed me tonight.”
She blushes prettily, because while the words were innocent in and of themselves, the low rumble by which I delivered them so privately to her spoke of other things that might not be.
I bestow a kiss on the corner of her mouth and pull away, turning toward my friends. “You guys ready to go?”
Kane and Baden bid farewell to Veronica and I wonder if either might be hitting me up later for more info about her. While she is indeed beautiful and incredibly single, the one thing I noticed in the small interaction between Veronica and the guys is she hadn’t overtly flirted with either.
“Oh, Aaron… wait,” Clarke calls, causing me to stop and twist back toward her.
Kane snickers. “Aaron? No one calls him Aaron.”
I shove an elbow backward, catching him in the ribs. I haven’t had to explain to Clarke that most people call me Wylde because it was me living up to my reputation with the women.
Clarke moves behind the counter, bends to grab something, then comes back around toward me with a book in her hand.
I look down as she hands it over, proclaiming. “Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.”
I grin, taking it from her. Holding up the paperback, I examine the illustration. “Awesome.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Kane asks with a laugh.
Shooting him a glare, I reach into my back pocket for my wallet to fish out some cash for the book. When Clarke’s hand comes down on my wrist, my attention goes back to her.
She shakes her head. “My gift to you.”
I’ve never had a woman give me anything before, and the fact it’s from Clarke and there’s probably nothing more personal she could give me than a book hits me deep.
I drop a hand on the nape of her neck, then press a long kiss to her mouth, bending her slightly backward while doing so.
Baden gives an uncomfortable-sounding cough, and Veronica says, “Just so you two know… guys who read are hot.”
“Really?” Kane asks curiously.
“Really,” she affirms.
I let Clarke up from my kiss, watching her eyes flutter open. She gives me a dopey smile, and I like that I dazed her. She does the same to me at times.
“See you tonight,” I murmur.
Kane and Baden follow me out onto the sidewalk, discussing what books they’ve read and whether women would find it sexy. I ignore them, pulling my phone out and returning the call I got right before I walked into Clarke’s store.
He answers on the second ring. “Walt Nichols.”
“It’s Aaron Wylde,” I say into the receiver, although I’m sure he already knows from caller ID.
“Mr. Wylde… I got the information you asked for.”
I listen to the man as we walk back to my truck, Baden and Kane following just one pace behind me. By the time I’m unlocking my vehicle, I’ve heard enough to give me several ideas.
“Can you send everything to my email?” I ask Walt, the private investigator I’d hired to look into Tripp Horschen, the man who destroyed Clarke’s heart and confidence.
“Sure thing,” he replies before disconnecting.
I pull my keys out of my pocket, looking across the bed of my truck to Kane and Baden. “Let me ask you guys something.”
“What’s up?” Baden replies.
“If someone hurt a person you cared about—not physically, but mentally and emotionally—would you do something about it?”
“Without a doubt,” Kane responds even as Baden nods his agreement.
“How far would you go?” I ask, calculating my options.
Kane leans his arms on top of my truck bed, narrowing his gaze on me. “I wouldn’t do anything that would put my career in jeopardy.”
“So kicking his ass is out of the question?” I posit.
“Can you hurt him in other ways?” Baden asks, all of this being hypothetical thoughts among friends.
“Seems like I can,” I reply, eager to see the stuff Walt Nichols promised to send me.
Baden and Kane shoot each other knowing looks, because they know me. Know once I set my sights on something, I don’t give up until my mission is accomplished.
They’d have to be idiots not to understand I’m talking about something that happened to Clarke. They just had a seat, front row and center, to the slightly foolish and punch-drunk way I act around her.
Still, they don’t ask for details, which I appreciate, because I’d never share with them what happened to her. I might have revealed it to Tacker and Nora, but he’s my best friend and she’s a licensed therapist. Their advice was gold.
I don’t need advice now, though.
No matter what the future holds for Clarke and me, the one thing I’m most certain of is I’m going to make Tripp Horschen pay tenfold for what he did to her.
CHAPTER 14
Clarke
Aaron helps me out of his truck, which has become a natural event between us. We’ve been out every single night this week and outside of the one time I cooked him dinner three nights ago, we’ve gone out to different restaurants.
I have to say, I’m getting a little bit better about handling his fame. We haven’t had another incident like that night where the women swarmed him. In hindsight, I think that had to do more with the amount of alcohol they had imbibed.
But I’m finding the more time we spend out in public, the more often he’s recognized as a Vengeance player. Most of the time, people don’t even approach him, but I do see them pull out cameras to take pictures or videos. Those who do approach, for the most part, are polite and well aware they are intruding. There was only one occasion when a man interrupted us at dinner, and that was just this evening.
Aaron had chosen another small, out-of-the-way restaurant and even ma
de the reservation requesting a private table near the back. The restaurant was dimly lit with flickering candles and soft music—definitely for the romantics. The man himself was there with a woman, whom he left at their table to approach us while we were just starting the main course. I held my breath, wondering what Aaron would do.
He was pissed at those women and hadn’t minded letting them know it. Later, he’d told me it was the one girl knocking over my drink that had tipped him over the edge.
But tonight, Aaron obliged the man, although I could tell he wasn’t overly happy about it. He indulged the fan’s request for an autograph and a photograph, but when the man tried to start talking hockey with him, Aaron had merely held up a hand. The guy’s mouth had snapped shut, his gaze settling on me when Aaron nodded my way and said, “Look… I’m out for a nice dinner with this amazingly beautiful woman, so I’d appreciate it if you could respect our privacy now.”
The man was profusely apologetic as he backed away. I watched as he returned to his table, the woman he’d been with lit into him, and it was clear the tongue lashing he got would make an impression. He’d looked pretty hang-dogged after that.
But now, Aaron walks me to my door as he has the past two nights. He has been so low pressure I’ve been wondering if I’ve read him wrong. Maybe he only wants friendship, or maybe he’s being so cautious with me because he’s waiting on me to give him a sign.
All I really know for sure is I’ve been thinking about having sex with him way too much. Like I’m obsessing about it, to be honest.
I pull my keys out of my purse, preparing to invite Aaron in as I usually do. The night before last he accepted, and he came in to watch a movie with me. I’d ended up falling asleep on his shoulder.
Last night, he’d declined, stating he had an early workout planned with Tacker.
Before I can get the invitation out, though, Aaron takes my face in his hands—and I love so much when he does that because it puts me completely under his control—and presses his mouth to mine. As usually happens when this man kisses me, my circuits fry and go haywire. I have a hard time thinking, all rational thought melting into a puddle of goo. As always, my hands go around his neck to hang on as I simply kiss him back.
This is different. Usually, when we start to make out, it’s right before our evening is concluding and he knows he’s only going to let it go so far before he puts a stop to it. We’ve been getting bolder and bolder in our touches at night, and I know he leaves in some physical discomfort.
But Aaron initiates this kiss before we’ve even decided whether our date is over or will continue inside. The prospect that maybe he’s done waiting excites me, and I press in closer.
He moves a hand to the back of my head, grips a handful of hair, and slides his mouth to my neck. I shiver at the touch, his lips so damn skillful the barest touch causes a cascading ripple effect throughout me.
“Do you want to come in?” I gasp as his teeth scrape along the muscle running along the side of my neck.
His tone is low, soft, and barely audible. “You know if I come inside tonight, I’m going to take my shot at getting in your panties, right? I’m tired of wondering if my kisses make you wet.”
Oh, God.
Oh. My. God.
My legs turn rubbery. I’ve never heard Aaron be this direct before. He’s always been such a gentleman, keeping our conversations light and easy. He makes me laugh, and now he has me wanting to weep with desire. His dirty talk is so shocking I freeze with inaction. I have no clue how to even respond to that, except my body is demanding I accept his challenge. I can feel it right between my legs, the fact my panties are indeed damp right now is a testament.
All I can do is nod my understanding of the situation. It’s my tacit permission saying I’m more than willing for him to take that shot.
I take a deep breath and as I let it out, I turn from him to unlock my door. My mind races as I insert the key. Did I make my bed this morning? Are the sheets fresh? Should I excuse myself to brush my teeth first?
I open the door, then step across the threshold. Should I offer to open a bottle of wine? Do I bring out the Scrabble board?
No, wait… that’s horrible foreplay. Scrabble? Christ, you’re a damn dork, Clarke.
And oh my God… does he have condoms? Because I don’t…
Surely he does.
Think, Clarke. Think.
Okay, let’s start with wine… a glass to help me relax.
I turn to face Aaron, who’s shutting the door behind him. When I open my mouth to ask if he prefers red or white, he immediately fills it with his tongue.
Aaron is on me, inside of me. His hands hold tight to my waist as he turns me… backs me into the wall… and pins me there with the deepest, sexiest, most spine-tingling kiss I’ve ever received in my life. My fingers clutch his shirt, tightening and twisting the cotton between my claws for sheer leverage as I try to kiss him back with my best moves.
A low rumble sounds in his chest, then his mouth is on my neck, kissing down to my shoulder. His hands go around my back to slide under my shirt and stroke my skin.
Aaron’s mouth is magic, moving from my neck to my mouth. His tongue enthralls me, making me a slave.
My pulse hammers as he completely overwhelms me. Right here in my living room, pressed against the wall.
Somehow, his hands find their way to my lower back, then around to my hips where his skillful hands start to pull up the simple cotton skirt I’m wearing. Cool air hits my thighs, then Aaron’s palm is pressed right to my core.
I gasp, my hips shooting forward, and I can’t help the tiny grinding motion I make. Aaron laughs darkly at my response. With his breath on my neck causing shivers, his finger works under the elastic of my panties and strokes through my wet folds.
“Oh God,” I moan, my head falling back and thunking hard against the wall.
A long, thick finger slides into me and my muscles contract hard around him, gripping and sucking him in deeper.
“Christ, Clarke,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “So responsive, baby.”
He has no clue. I’ve never felt anything like this before, and I haven’t the foggiest idea why. He’s not the first man I’ve passionately made out with, nor the first to finger me.
I suspect it has something to do with the total package that is simply Aaron Wylde. The player who usually never gives the same woman his attention twice. The man who has listened to my darkest, most humiliating secret, and validated my feelings. The celebrity who is as down to earth as I could ever imagine someone famous to be.
And finally, the guy who has taken his time to make me so ready for this moment that I’m ready to climb him like a tree so I can ride his hand.
“More,” I manage to squeak out in a plaintive request or through harsh wheezing. I’m not sure which, but it didn’t sound pretty.
I get another dark laugh from Aaron, then another finger. His mouth ravages me again in a kiss so deep I can only hang on while letting him do his worst.
It’s when his thumb comes into play, alternately strumming my clit between the deep pump of his fingers inside me, that I start to get a little crazy.
“Aaron,” I moan, turning my face away from his kiss. “Please… I need you inside me.”
“Not even close to getting there, Clarke,” he mutters, his hand gripping my hair and holding my head still so he can claim my lips again.
Not even close? How can he say that? My body is ready. I have barely touched him, yet I can feel his thick erection intermittently pressing into my belly as my lower half wiggles and squirms around his hand between my legs.
It’s usually at this point when a man gets me worked up that I beg for him to get inside me… and he obliges.
Aaron doesn’t seem to be in any rush at all, though, and it makes me realize he’s definitely different from anyone I’ve ever been with. He’s not into instant gratification, and there’s something so alpha, so sexy, about that I can feel my orgasm
starting to brew just from the revelation.
Well, because of what his fingers and thumb are doing, too, but still… the knowledge Aaron is so strong, capable, and in control manipulates my body just as much as his actions.
I cry out when Aaron stretches me with a third finger, pushing them in deep and when he pulls them out, it’s to concentrate all that wetness he just pulled from me right at my clit. His fingers rub and flick and pinch. He flutters them quickly, exerting just enough pressure to keep my orgasm elusive, which forces me into a much more willing participant to torture than I care to be.
Now I’m practically humping his hand while gripping onto his shoulders. Aaron pulls back from me, giving me a respite long enough to look down in between our bodies. I watch his face darken, filling with a feral appreciation of how wild he’s driving me, then he growls, “That’s it, Clarke. Show me how much you want it.”
God, I want it so bad. There’s a slight flash of shame when I finally beg, “Please, Aaron, let me come.”
Aaron’s eyes snap to mine and whatever he sees on my face reflects back on his as sheer determination and focus. His head dips, his mouth covering mine as his fingers attack my clit. There’s no soft-as-petal caresses now—he all-out ravages me, right between my legs.
The force of my orgasm catches me so unaware I shriek when I come, and it sounds as if I’m in pain.
But I’m not.
I’m free and breaking apart so fabulously, so much harder than I ever have before. The world could end right now, and I’d go happily into the oblivion.
“Room?” Aaron grunts and while I hear the word clearly, I don’t understand it at all.
“Room?” I repeat dully, my body still spasming with ripples of pleasure as his finger lazily strokes me.
“Your bedroom,” he clarifies.
“Oh,” I reply with a dreamy smile. “Down the hall, last door on the right.”
And then I’m in Aaron’s arms, him having swept me up in a purely romantic fashion. I don’t even have time to be embarrassed my skirt is around my waist, or to care his shoulder careens off the corner wall where my living room meets the hallway, or how he fumbles with the light switch at the door until he ends up flooding the entire room with too-bright light from my overhead fixture.
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