Page 95 of First-Time Caller
LUCIE STONE:That’s right. I did say that.
AIDEN VALENTINE:But we’re working on it.
LUCIE STONE:Yeah. Yeah, we are.
[pause]
AIDEN VALENTINE:But to answer your question, if someone is attracted to you, they’ll look for excuses to touch you. You’ll probably catch them staring. Not in—not in a creepy way.
LUCIE STONE:Nice staring?
AIDEN VALENTINE:Fond gazing.
LUCIE STONE:Smizing.
AIDEN VALENTINE:What’s that?
LUCIE STONE:You haven’t heard of smizing? Smiling with your eyes? Look. Watch me.
AIDEN VALENTINE:I’m watching you. You’re not doing anything. That’s just your face, Lucie.
LUCIE STONE:I’msmizingat you.
Aiden kisses me like he’s mad about it.
One second, he’s telling me he should stop, and the next, his mouth is on mine, his hand digging in the hair beneath my braid so he can angle me the way he wants. It’s bruising, and rough, and absolutely delicious, his mouth working against mine ferociously.
I touch my tongue to his bottom lip and he makes a broken sound, dragging himself away. His eyes are shut tight and his cheeks are pink. The tips of his ears too.
“Tell me to stop,” he breathes again, but he’s brushing his lips to the corner of my mouth, the curve of my chin. Small, sipping kisses like he’s trying to pace himself. Like he doesn’t want to take too much.
But I want him to take. I’m giving all of this to him willingly. I want him to have it.
“No,” I say, twisting my head to the side and catching his mouth with mine. I make a faint pleading sound and Aiden groans, kissing me like he damn well means it.
Aiden is bossy, I think faintly as his kisses turn rougher. Messier. More desperate. He’s holding me like I’m going to disappear under his grip, our armrests knocking together as we slip and slide on our chairs. I grip his sweatshirt in my hands and hold on for dear life, meeting each press of his mouth against mine with enthusiasm.
“Aiden,” I whisper, and he grunts another animal sound, his thumb pressing at my jaw until I open for him. He licks into my mouth and my body jolts forward in the ancient chair I’m somehow still sitting in, both of my arms around his neck. One of his hands slips around my side, his palm tucked tight to the small of my back, keeping me arched against him.
But the angle is awkward and the tension coiling low in my belly feels hollow and hot and I can’t move the way I need to with Aiden holding me still. I make a frustrated sound and Aiden pulls away, a dazed look with kiss-bitten lips. He looks at my grumpy face and a smile curls at his mouth, decadent and devious.
There, I think.There you are.
“Good?” he asks, knowing I’m not. Knowing I need more. I glare at him and he rumbles out a laugh, ducking his head to press a kiss to the tip of my nose, the curve of my cheek. We’re pushing the limits ofLet’s just see, but then he guides my head to the side to press wet, lingering kisses behind my ear and I don’t care. I don’t care about the specifics or the parameters or what it’s going to feel like when I leave this booth. I only care about Aiden and his mouth working down the length of my neck. His palm at the base of my spine pressing insistently. My breasts crushed against his chest.
“C’mere,” he mumbles against the hollow of my throat, a half thought, his thumb edging up the back of my sweater. The rest of his fingers follow, his hand like a brand against my bare skin.
I smile into the top of his head. There’s nowhere to go. “Where?”
“Here,” he says, mouth preoccupied with the line of my collarbone. He tugs at me again, trying to get me to move. “Like this.”
I let him guide me from my chair into his, my knee pressed in the two inches of space at his hip. The chair wobbles beneath us and Aiden drops his head back against faded leather, one strong arm wrapped around me to hold me steady. I grip his shoulders and kiss him again, hovering awkwardly with one foot still planted on the ground, leaning sideways.
“Up, Lucie,” he orders, and goose bumps scatter across my skin. I comply immediately, swinging my other leg over his lap until I’m draped over him like a blanket. He makes a pleased sound and the ache between my thighs intensifies. “Good,” he whispers, and his hand finds the space under my braid again and pulls tight.
Something in me unlocks, unravels, and suddenly I’m ravenous. I kiss him and kiss him and kiss him some more. I suck at a spot beneath his ear, drag my tongue over the rough stubble along his jaw, fist my hands in his dark hair and move him the wayIwant. I feel voracious, out of control. Every errant thought I’ve had over the past couple of weeks—every sigh and smile and subtle shift of his body next to mine that I’ve tried not to notice—it’s coalesced into this. A cascade of impulsive, decadent decision-making.
Aiden lets me do as I please, only impatient when I spend too long on the soft, warm skin between his shoulder and neck, the collar of his sweatshirt stretched to the side. I trace the chain of his necklace with my tongue and he makes a rough sound, his hand tightening in my hair as he guides my mouth back to his. I feel more drunk right now than I did the night at the bar. Drunk on him and the way he kisses me.
