by Aubrey Irons
Fuck that’s a drop.
“Facing your demons?”
I pick a rock up off the shoulder of the road, wind back, and chuck it off into the water.
“Burying them.”
We stand there for another minute or two in silence, just looking out over the dark, rippling, moonlit water.
Ana sighs. “Well, at least you had another sports car all ready to go.”
I grin, turning to see her doing her best not to.
“Well, a Ferrari is a Ferrari, but this one’s pretty great too. Aston Martin One-77.”
I wish I could say that without the pride in my voice, but I can’t.
“It’s a ridiculously expensive black sports car, Bastian. Who cares?”
“Who cares?” I scoff. “They only made seventy-seven of these you know.”
“That doesn’t actually impress me.”
“Very little about me does, does it?”
She shrugs, turning to glance at the water again.
“I dunno, you kicking the shit out of three bikers was pretty bad ass.”
“You have a way with apologies,” I say dryly. “Glad I haven’t been paying Katrina for nothing.”
“Oh is that her name?”
I grin to myself at the sharpness in her tone.
“Is that jealousy I sense?”
She barks out a laugh. “Hardly. She seems your type, though.”
I snort. “Try again.”
“What, young, dumb, and blonde no longer get your engine going?”
“Okay, one, Katrina has a master’s degree in physical therapy, so slow your roll.”
Ana still manages to look sarcastic, even if I can tell she’s embarrassed.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you girlfr—”
“Secondly, that girl pulls more chicks than Ash, and that is saying something.”
Ana’s brows arch as she looks away. “Oh.”
This time, I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, oh.” I shake my head. “At least try and contain your uncontrollable jealousy over me?”
“Right, I’ll do my best,” Ana says, her voice the literal definition of sarcasm.
“Can we go now?”
I glance once more over the edge of the guardrail and scowl at the water.
Better luck next time, fucker.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
The engine purrs to life, Noah Gundersen crooning out over the stereo.
“Feel better about the Katrina thing now?”
Ana groans. “Please get over yourself.”
“I don’t mix business and pleasure anyway, you know.”
“So what do you call us?”
She instantly clamps her mouth shut, like she wishes she could take back the words.
I turn and look at her for a full long minute, unblinking, letting her squirm.
“Complicated.”
“Jesus, you’re bleeding.”
I grunt as the kitchen door closes behind us and the lights flick on.
“It’s fine.”
I figured I had a slice from that douchebag’s knife, but in the hour since the bar fight, the burning sensation and the feeling of wetness on my back has gotten worse.
A lot worse.
“Oh my God, Bastian.” I feel her hands at my back, gingerly pulling at the tear in my shirt.
“Hang on, I’ll get Mrs. Tottingham. I’m sure she can patch you—”
“It’s her night off. Carl’s too.”
“You give nights off?”
“I’m going soft in my old age.”
She smiles quietly.
“All right, well then I’m fixing you.”
“It’s fine, forget—”
“Will you shut up?”
I raise a brow, half amused at smart-mouthed Ana as she pulls me across the kitchen and shoves me onto one of the stools.
“Sit. Stay. I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not a puppy.”
“Well, this sounds familiar now doesn’t it?”
She smiles this overly sweet smile before turning and heading for the pantry, where Mrs. Tottingham keeps a first aid kit.
“And you are basically a puppy, you know.”
“If you’re about to make a joke involving me sniffing butts and humping legs, trust me that it’s been made before.”
She shrugs. “If the shoe fits.”
“Har har har.”
Ana smiles to herself as she set the kit down on the counter next to me.
“Take your shirt off.”
“Who’s the dog now?”
She rolls her eyes, and I grin, unbuttoning the ruined shirt and wincing slightly as I tug it off my shoulders. I do notice that her eyes linger on my torso as I fling the shirt away.
I eye the needle and surgical thread she’s pulling out of the first aid box.
“Have you done this before?”
“Sure.”
“That wasn’t remotely convincing.”
Ana grins. “Okay, I’ve one it once before.” She shrugs. “To a blanket.”
“Very reassuring.” I start to stand. “How about you just drive me to a walk-in clinic.”
“Oh shut up. Sit.” She pushes me back down, her hands warm on my chest.
“You worried I’m going to make you not pretty anymore?”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
She snorts. “Such vanity.”
“I’m more worried you’re going to sew my elbow to my shoulder.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
I hiss as she rubs peroxide over the slice on my shoulder. She raises the needle in her hand and brings it to my skin.
“Hang on, I need a drink first.”
“No, you don’t.”
I scowl. “For the pain.”
“That’s just in the movies. Drinking makes your blood thin, which means it won’t clot.” She sighs. “Now sit still.”
“I could poke you with something, see if you can sit still.”
She blushes.
I like that.
“Can we put some damn music on or something?”
Ana sighs heavily. “You know, you coming up with distractions isn’t going to stop me from doing this. Stop being a scaredy cat. It’s just a needle.”
I glare at her, and she grins before looking away and picking her phone up off the counter.
“Fine. No more excuses after this though.”
Leon Bridges begins to play quietly from her phone speakers. She sets it back on the counter and turns back to me as “River” begins to tease through the kitchen.
“You shouldn’t have gone there tonight.”
She looks up from sterilizing the needle again.
“Neither should you.”
I growl.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
I frown. “What?”
“To take your mind off of this. Tell me something about you I don’t know.”
“Whiskey would work.”
“No whiskey.”
My brow furrows, my jaw tensing as she rubs more peroxide over the gash.
“Something you don’t know?”
“About you.”
I groan. “Seriously?”
She pushes the needle in and I grimace, hissing.
“Pussy.”
“Butcher.”
She grins.
“You go first.”
She glances up. “How would that help you?”
“It’ll take my mind off of you acting out your torture fantasies on me. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
“I think there’s a whole lot you don’t know about me.”
Doubt that.
“I think you’re wrong.”
She shrugs, pushing the needle through again.
“I dated a woman once, years ago. Pretty seriously.”
My brows arch, wondering how the fuck I never knew that.
Ana looks up, her face immediately splitting into a grin.
>
“I’m kidding. Down boy.”
“Very funny.”
She giggles. “What is it though about two women that makes guys all googly-eyed and drooling?”
“Do you like chocolate chip cookies?”
She looks up, one brow cocked. “Yes?”
“Well, just picture two chocolate chip cookies and I think you’ll get the idea. If you can picture them making out, that’s even better.”
She rolls her eyes, pulling the thread tight and making me grimace.
“That’s so shallow.”
I shrug.
“Well, what about two guys, huh?”
“Hey, whatever floats your boat.”
“So you’d have no problem if I started drooling over Ash and Tyler making out with each other?”
I make a face. “If you’re trying to permanently kill my ability to get an erection, it’s working.”
She laughs. “I’d be doing the world a favor.”
“So selfless of you.”
“How do you mean?”
“Because my ability to get hard is directly beneficial to you.”
She flushes bright red, quickly looking back to the task at hand.
“Your turn,” she says quickly.
I laugh. “Bullshit. Yours was fake.”
“So? Your turn.”
I contemplate it for a second. I contemplate going the safe route, or the easy route - something about my parents from when I was young or whatever.
Only for a second though.
“I used to be able to see into your bedroom.”
The room goes still. Ana freezes, a noticeable shiver rippling through her before her eyes pull up to mine.
“What?”
“I could see your bedroom window from the balcony of my quarters.”
She blinks, swallowing quickly. I can see the flush creeping up her neck - the way her lip catches between her teeth.
“What exactly do you mean you could see—”
“Everything,” I growl.
Her eyes go wide, and I can see the mix of emotion swirl over her face. First anger, or indignation at being spied on. But then it’s something more, something that I can tell catches her off guard.
Excitement.
I can also tell she’s dying to know what I saw.
“Well,” she says it quickly, shrugging or at least trying to shrug casually.
“Like you said, it’s not like I had an active social life bringing anyone up—”
“And I have, and had, zero interest in thinking about you with anyone in there,” I say icily.
She blinks quickly, her tongue wetting her lip nervously.
“So you were spying on me?” She juts her jaw out, defiantly, like she wants me — or herself — to think she’s mad about this.
…Like she’s not flushed red with desire. Like her chest isn’t rising and falling faster now. Like her eyes aren’t flickering over me with a hungry franticness.
“Yes.”
“And what did you see,” she says quietly, dropping her gaze.
I smile to myself. I know what she’s thinking. She’s wondering what exactly I saw. She’s trying to remember how often she might have had the blinds open, when she changed, or when she—
The redness on her cheeks gets deeper, and I grin.
There it is.
“That.”
She looks up sharply.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. I know what you’re thinking.”
She frowns, trying to cover the heat clearly shivering through her. “No you don’t.”
“Care to call my bluff?”
She quickly ties off the thread at my shoulder, snipping the rest of it away. She avoids my eyes, chewing at her bottom lip as she peels the backing off the big bandage and adheres it to my shoulder over the stitching. She swallows as her palm smooth’s it down, her fingers brushing my skin.
Her pulse beats heavy in the hollow of her neck.
Her thighs clench together.
This is happening.
“I watched how very unsatisfied Josh Stedman left you every night.”
Her eyes snap to mine, her mouth going small and her breath catching.
And I know what she’s thinking. It’s so obvious it’s practically playing out in real time across her face. She’s thinking there’s no way I saw that. She’s hoping and praying that there’s no way I saw her come home from dates with that loser, lie across her bed, push her hands between her legs, and touch herself until she buried her scream in a pillow.
Spoiler: I did.
Her eyes burn fiercely into mine. And I know I’m playing with fire here, but I’m also far past giving a single fuck.
“You didn’t see anything,” she says sharply, squaring her shoulders. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Oh?”
I stand, towering over her and watching as her hands clench tight and her cheeks flush.
She swallows. “I think we’re done here. You’re sewn up, now get out.”
“I think I’ll stay right here, actually. It’s my kitchen.”
My pulse is racing, burning like fire through my veins — the both of us frozen like that as if we’re about to be struck by lighting.
Or maybe we already have been.
I take a step closer to her.
“You seem riled up.”
She blushes furiously, her eyes darting over my mine.
“I am not riled up.”
“Breathless.”
She shakes her head.
“Excited.”
“Get over yourse—”
“Wet.”
She whimpers, and that sound is my goddamn breaking point.
Ana gasps as I put my hands on her waist, spin us, and pin her against the kitchen island behind her. Hard. I close the distance between us, letting her feel me as I press against her body. My hand slides up to cup her cheek, the other grabbing her hip possessively.
“You can’t just put your hands on me whenever you decide you’d like to, you know,” she husks, her eyes fierce as they look up into mine, making zero effort to push my hands away from her.
“You can’t just—”
“Ana.”
She falters, swallowing thickly and then gasping as I pull her close, my breath teasing over her bare neck and making her shiver.
“I’m pretty bad with ‘can’t.’”
My lips move against the delicate skin of her neck, lips trailing and teeth nipping just enough to make her gasp. Her hands move to my bare torso, fingers digging into my skin and pulling me against her as I drag my tongue over her neck.
“If you’ve forgotten what I might have seen back then,” I husk into her ear, her moan stuttered and aching.
“Allow me to refresh your memory.”
My hand slides over her hip to the front of her shorts.
She doesn’t move it away.
I slide my hand up first, pushing her tank top up over her stomach and letting my fingertips brush her bare skin. She shivers, her breath panting and needing. I let my palm slide over her stomach, down until my fingers find the button of her shorts.
I pop it, and she gasps.
I push a finger into her shorts and let it drag over the edge of her panties, and she whimpers.
“Bastian,” she breathes, her chest rising and falling against mine.
“Ana.”
“We- no. We can’t do this.”
“We’ve already done this.”
“We can’t keep doing it.”
“We can, and both of us know you’ve wanted this for years.”
“You’re a bastard.”
“And you’re soaking fucking wet for me.”
I push her shorts down, letting them drop to her feet before my hands slide back between her legs, making her whimper as my fingertips tease the edge of her panties.
“Now I’m going to settle something I’ve been wondering for years.”
Her hands clutch my arm, panting.
“And what’s that,” she breathes.
“How sweet you taste when you want it this bad.”
My hand slides into her hair, I pull her head back, and I crush my lips to hers.
Hard.
And I know I’m still pulling her strings, but I can’t stop. I know the best thing I could possibly do for her is run the fuck away and never get involved with her life or involve her in mine ever again - to let her live in a world free of me meddling in it behind the scenes.
But she opens her mouth, her tongue finds mine, she moans into the kiss, and I know there’s no way in hell that’s happening right now. I’m drowning in her. I’m consumed by the primal fucking caveman need to claim her and go where we never went before, back then.
I growl into her mouth, my fingers pushing her panties to the side and sliding deep into her slick pussy. Ana moans deeply, her hands clutching at me before she pulls away.
“I’m not that girl.”
She manages to gasp between taking a breath and me kissing her again.
“What girl.”
“The girl that does this.”
“Second base?”
She gives me a look.
“You know ‘what girl’ I’m talking about. The girl who lets you barge your way in and do what you please.”
“Except we both know you’re dying to let me do what I please to you.”
She shivers.
I’m not wrong.
“And then what?”
I scowl as she pushes my hand away from between her legs.
“What do you mean and then what?”
“After we have this very romantic make-out session in your kitchen, what happens next.”
“I was talking about making you come all over my fingers and then licking it off while you tongue my balls. Who said anything about romance.”
She rolls her eyes and starts to turn away. “Jesus, Bastian—”
“Stop it.”
“Excuse m—”
She gasps as I pull her hips back against mine, whimpering quietly when I let my cock throb against her ass through my pants as I press her against the counter.
“Stop pretending my mouth and my crudeness is some big turnoff for you because we both know that’s bullshit.”
My hand slides back between her legs, pushing right under her panties and curling a finger deep inside of her. She moans, her hands flat on the countertop, her shoulders rising and falling as she sucks in air.
“Actually, I’m fairly certain my dirty mouth only makes you wetter than you’ve ever been before.”
“You’re delusional,” she hisses.
