It felt like an hour before she finally pulled back, lips throbbing, head swirling as if she were drunk. She realized she’d let all her weight rest against him, and had knotted her fists in the front of his hoodie, his heart murmuring beneath her knuckles.
The angles of his face were harsh, but his eyes were wide and soft. Desire. That’s what it was radiating off every inch of him. He wanted her.
It slammed into her, larger than life: Aidan Teague wanted her.
God, when had that happened?
She flicked out her tongue to dampen her lips and found them already slick from the touch of his mouth. A low, deep quiver started up in her stomach, a pulse of heat between her legs.
But things were happening too fast, and nothing could come to fruition, here in the yard, not while Helen was just inside lecturing Erin. The thought was a rush of cold water across her skin.
“Do you want something to drink?” she asked.
His head tilted back, clearly surprised. But he said, “Sure.”
She was touched with embarrassment as she climbed inelegantly to her feet. Why, she didn’t know. Kneejerk reaction, most like.
As she headed for the door, she caught sight of his cigarette lying on the concrete, a little flash of white in the night. It was still smoldering, thin finger of smoke curling up from the tip. He’d dropped it when he’d grabbed her, abandoned the taste of tobacco for that of her mouth.
That little bundle of shame burst apart and evaporated, as she stood rooted, staring at his forgotten smoke. He was the same Aidan he’d always been. But he wanted her.
And she’d always wanted him.
Fuck it, she was going to go for it.
“You alright?” he asked behind her.
“Perfect,” she said, and meant it, her steps light as she flitted to the back door and slipped inside.
She felt giddy as a little girl, suddenly, full of champagne bubbles. She wanted to giggle as she tiptoed across the old faded linoleum.
Aidan. Aidan and her. The two of them. Aidan.
She went to the threshold between kitchen and living room just in time to see Erin disappear up the stairs, Helen close behind her.
“She’s going to bed,” Mom announced in a dictatorial tone. “And I’m going to have a soak in the bathtub, and starting tomorrow, things are going to be different around here.”
Sam tried to hide her smile. “Good for you, Mom.”
“Is your friend still here?”
She nodded.
Helen watched her a moment, hand on the banister. Then nodded. “Okay. Night.”
“Night, Mom.”
Drink time.
A quick scan of the cabinets proved they had nothing in the way of alcohol save some cooking sherry, peppermint schnapps, and a new bottle of generic “white blend” wine from Leroy’s. Not even Chardonnay. White. Oh boy.
Deciding on the lesser of two evils, she filled two juice glasses with the white and managed to juggle them without spilling as she let herself back outside. “Sorry,” she said, as he eyed the glass she handed him. “It was either wine or schnapps.”
“Ugh.” He made a comical face of disgust.
“I went with wine.”
“Good call.”
Sam settled back into her chair from before, but noted that it was even closer to Aidan’s, the arms touching so that, as she sat, her own arm was pressed alongside his.
Just go with it, she reminded herself.
“My mom,” she said, smiling as she thought about the look on Helen’s face, “is sending Erin straight off to bed. And according to her, tomorrow there will be ‘changes’ around here.”
Aidan’s expression became one of amused contentment, laced with fatigue, humor, and something sweeter she could only guess at. “Take it she doesn’t put her foot down often.”
“Hardly ever.” Sam relaxed deeper into her chair, anchored by the solidness of Aidan’s forearm pressing against her. “It’s nice not to be the bad guy for once.”
“You should drink to that.” He clinked his glass against hers and they both took long, healthy swallows. The wine tasted cheap, but had a clean enough finish as it rushed down to warm her belly. She loved wine in that way; it did slow, sophisticated things to the bloodstream, just as potent without all the rage and fire of liquor.
“How bad was the scene at Hamilton House?” she asked, curious now that the crisis was over.
“Typical kid shit. Kegs, cups everywhere, loud music. Lots of making out and pretending they’re adults.”
“My sister…” She almost didn’t want to ask.
“She was standing with her shithead boyfriend when I found her.” So not locked in some sort of amorous embrace, thank God. “He tried to give me some shit, but it wasn’t a big deal.” He shrugged.
“Jesse’s such a little prick,” she muttered.
“And probably has one, too,” Aidan said with a quick grin. “The stunted ones are always the ones with something to prove.”
She snorted. “That’d be Jesse. Was his dealer there?”
Something shifted in him, some internal tightening that sent his eyes skittering across the yard again. “I didn’t find him, if he was. I got Erin and got out.” His gaze came back. “We called in a favor with Fielding and had him come break things up.”
“Sergeant Fielding?” The man wasn’t the chief of police, and wasn’t even a detective, but he’d always seemed to have a special hatred for the Lean Dogs. She’d spotted him moving around the Dartmoor lot on more than one occasion.
“Yeah.” Aidan grinned. “In case you ever wondered, having a cop owe you favors is fucking awesome.”
“Why does he owe you guys?”
Another shrug and another evasive glance. “Helped him out a while back.”
“Ah.” But she had no idea what that had entailed. Maybe she didn’t want to.
“Who’s Doug?” he asked, and the question took her off guard.
“What?”
There was nothing vague about his eyes now, as they came to her face. “Who’s Doug?” he repeated. “You mentioned him, before. You said something once about him taking you to dinner at that steakhouse place.”
Ah, yes. She had mentioned him, that afternoon Aidan had come to Ava’s house seeking dating advice. He’d been taking Tonya out that night. Her stomach soured immediately at the thought.
She must have made a face, too, because he said, “What?”
“Nothing.” There was no way she was letting Tonya interfere with this evening. This was her time. Their time. “Doug. Right.” She regrouped. “He’s a colleague from work. He teaches English Language Studies.”
There was a note of aggression in his voice when he said, “Is he your boyfriend?”
She couldn’t help it; she laughed. “What?”
“It’s not funny.” Now he sounded wounded. “Is he your boyfriend?”
“No,” she said, still laughing. “We’ve been out a few times, but decidedly not.”
“Do you want him to be?”
“What? No, Aidan.” She realized she needed to get her chuckling under control, because he was dead serious. She took a steadying sip of wine and schooled her features. “Don’t you think that if Doug and I wanted to be together, we would be?”
“I’ve got no idea.”
As attractive as she found too-cool-for-school, bad boy Aidan, jealous Aidan was pretty hot too.
“Remember that day you came to change my tire?” she asked, and he nodded. “Remember how I told you I didn’t want just anyone, but that I was looking for The One?”
“Yeah…”
“Doug’s a nice guy, and I’ve enjoyed our dinners, but he’s not The One.”
That seemed to brighten him. But then he said, “Did you sleep with him?”
She bit back a smile. “No.”
He nodded, and then went stiff all over. “Shit, you have…I mean…you’re not a…”
“I have,” she assured, “and I’m not a.�
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He sagged back with obvious relief…only to tighten again. “Not anyone I know, though?”
“Do you want names?” she asked sweetly.
“Fuck no.”
There was no hiding her smile that time. “Why the sudden questions about my sex life?”
He was silent a beat, and met her gaze with a very direct, penetrating one of his own. “Because as soon as you figure your mom and sister are asleep, I want to be a part of it.”
Oh.
Oh.
Sam drained the rest of her wine in one long swallow. “I need a refill. You?”
He threw back the last of his and handed her the glass. His expression told her he knew she needed a minute to escape, digest what he’d said…and make a decision about it.
After she’d refilled the glasses, she stood at the counter, gripping the edge, listening. Sound of water through the pipes: Mom draining out her bath water. Otherwise it was quiet, save for the sluggish thump of her pulse in her ears.
I want to be a part of it.
There could be no mistaking his meaning. And she’d known already, the way he’d kissed her, looked at her. But it took things to a whole new level to hear him say it so bluntly. It took that tingle in her blood to a high-pitched, buzzing place. It intensified the throbbing between her legs.
“Last chance to back out,” she muttered to herself.
No way was that happening.
She felt the hot touch of Aidan’s eyes as she let herself back outside and pulled the door shut. The heat inside her intensified beneath their glow, and she was afraid if she looked at him, she’d blush herself to death.
His fingers lingered against hers as he took his glass back, warm and rough. A preview of what would come, when they touched all of her.
It washed over her suddenly, how stupid and wasteful all her blushing, nervousness, and embarrassment were. Why in the hell was she holding back? Worrying? Resisting?
What was wrong with her?
She took a long swallow of wine and folded herself down into Aidan’s lap, legs hooked over his knees, cuddling up against his chest.
His arms went around her immediately, one hand finding the back of her head, angling it so he could kiss her. He tasted like wine, now, and the rough pads of his fingers stroked at her cheek, the underside of her jaw.
She closed her eyes and kissed him back, hands exploring his musculature through his hoodie, wishing suddenly, fervently, that he was naked to her wandering fingers.
She’d changed before his arrival, and through the thin fabric of her leggings felt the warmth of his other hand as it moved up one thigh. Drew a pattern against her hip. And then slipped down between her legs.
It was electric. The unexpected heat and boldness, right there at the feminine heart of her, where she’d wanted him to be since she was old enough to understand her desire for him. He wanted her, and he was touching her; it was as simple and devastating as that.
She gasped against his mouth, and her thighs clenched together around his hand.
He breathed a rough laugh against her lips. “You like that?” he whispered.
“I want more of it,” she whispered back, spine arching.
“Then relax, baby.”
She did, and he eased her legs wider, arm dropping around her waist to hold her steady in his lap as his fingers began a delicate probing. Down the seam of her leggings, and then back up, finding her clit through the thin screen of fabric, and settling there when her hips jerked in response.
“I can feel how warm you are,” he murmured, and she pressed her face into his neck, breathing shallowly. She felt the wetness bloom between her legs, felt each exquisite pass of his fingertip.
“You’re good at this,” she said, and he chuckled.
He turned his head and kissed the exposed curve of her shoulder, where her sweater was sliding down. “I want you naked,” he said, and pressed her clit with his thumb.
Forget want, she had to have it at this point.
Sam sat up, forcing him to pull back. She loved the slightly-glazed sheen of his eyes, the way he was breathing just a little too fast. She kissed him, really kissed him, flirted between his lips with her tongue.
When she pulled back, she said, “Come inside with me, Aidan.”
No need to tell him twice.
He scooped her up into his arms as he stood, and it was like hitting the bottom of a roller coaster, her stomach falling out as she was swept up in his strong embrace. It made her feel feminine and special, and for reasons she didn’t want to think about, it made her want to cry, a little bit.
Instead, she laughed breathlessly, and turned the doorknob when they reached it.
He heeled the door shut behind them and started to charge through the kitchen.
“Wait,” she said, “I gotta lock it.”
He set her down with a groan – wasn’t that disappointing, being on her own two feet again – and she turned the deadbolt, spun back around to face him…only to be pressed back against the wood panel, his body covering hers, pinning her in place.
He ducked his head and kissed her again, a hot, lingering kiss that made her legs weak. She didn’t realize where his hands had gone until she felt her sweater drawing upward.
Aidan pulled back and she lifted her arms, allowing him to take the sweater free. She had no idea where he tossed it, didn’t care. She was wearing a thin, worn white lace bra, the comfy one she wore for lounging around the house, and his hands went to it, covered her. She stood up on her toes, leaning into the touch, watching as he hooked his thumbs in the cups and drew them down in one fast, efficient movement that freed her breasts.
Her nipples were already erect, straining pink buds that tightened further as the air hit them, drawing up painfully.
He murmured a wordless sound and took the round weights in his hands, shaped and petted them.
Sam’s head kicked back against the door, chest surging forward. More, she wanted even more.
And he gave it to her, leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth, suckle at it, rasp it with his tongue.
She speared her hands through his hair, felt the delightful glossy thickness of his curls. The top of his head smelled of smoke and spicy masculine shampoo, and she dropped her face into it, holding him to her, as he moved to her other nipple, tugged at it with his teeth.
“Aidan.” A protest, a plea, she didn’t know which.
He straightened, his breath striking harshly against her face, and gathered her close, picked her up again. “Your room’s upstairs?”
She circled his neck with her arms and held on tight. “Yeah. Turn right when we get there.”
He moved quickly and quietly through the darkened first floor, managing not to bump into anything. Wet from his mouth, her nipples were cold now, as air passed across them, and she shivered. His arms tightened in reaction, and he started up the stairs.
She had a fleeting worry, when they reached the upstairs hallway, that they might encounter her mom or sister, and there would be no explaining what was going on. Here she was, in Aidan’s arms, her tits hanging out. There was no way to shrug that one off.
But then Aidan turned right and she pushed the thoughts aside.
Her room was small, but tidy as always, everything put in its proper place, the bed made. The lights were off, but the blinds were open, slatted fingers of moonlight striping the comforter, highlighting exactly where he needed to go.
Aidan took the time to ease the door shut and thumb the lock before he carried her to the bed and lowered her down to the mattress, joining her there, settling above her.
He lingered, braced over her a long moment, and she could just see the shine of his eyes as they tracked down her body and back, moving over every inch. His teeth flashed white as he grinned. “You’ve got great tits,” he said, and then returned to them with his mouth.
“Oh.” More of his gorgeous hair sliding between her fingers. More wet suction at the aching tips of her breasts. S
he lifted into him, as he suckled her, filled with a trancelike joy that this was her, and Aidan, and her bed, and this was happening.
He moved lower, mouth skimming to her ribs, her belly, and pressed warm, soft kisses. Circled around her navel with his tongue.
His hands hooked into the tops of her leggings, catching her panties too, and she lifted her hips as he drew them down, all the way off her bare feet. He was looking at her, she knew, and she sat up, unsnapped her bra, and tossed it off the side of the bed.
“Sam,” he said, and she lifted her head to look at him.
He was close, kneeling on the bed in front of her, his face in hers, his breath fanning across her lips. “Take your glasses off,” he urged, voice heavy and tender. “I don’t wanna break them.”
She bit at her lip. “You get naked first. I don’t want to miss that.”
“Yeah.”
She leaned back and braced herself up on her hands, and Aidan got to his feet, and started shucking clothes. He was in layers: hoodie, long-sleeve, wifebeater. The half-light made it all the more spectacular, the way the shadows filled deep grooves between the harshly carved muscles of his upper body. And his gorgeous mosaic of tattoos – leaping and jumping as he reached to unbuckle his belt. Sam wanted to trace each one with a fingertip, follow its contours, touch her tongue to them, learn their stories.
Later. She’d have time for that later, because now…
He kicked off his boots, and then ditched his jeans and boxers, stepped out of them. The ink ended in a few trailing loops just above his hips, and even in the dark, she could see the tan lines, the way his legs were a shade or two paler. The furring on his lower belly and around his sex was as wild as that on his head, and she wondered if it would feel the same to her fingers. His cock was at full attention, and the size gave her a moment’s pause, a fast beat of uncertainty.
She was nothing like the girls he normally did this with. What had she been thinking?
He reached down and extracted his wallet from his jeans, pulled something from it, and then climbed onto the bed with her, nudging her legs apart, kneeling between them. He was hot-skinned and dark-smelling, all close and naked like this. Her pulse skittered, and she felt the response in her sex, the clenching, the slick wetness.
Secondhand Smoke (Dartmoor Book 4) Page 15
