Page 65 of Instigator

“I just want you.”

His face flushes with pleasure, and his eyelids flutter shut. “Yeah?”

Burying my face in his neck, I inhale the scent of his soap, that citrus and cedar that drives me crazy in the best way. Underneath it all lies the clean, fresh scent of his skin and a hint of musk.

Aidan tucks his hand behind my head, cupping my skull and threading his fingers through the hair at my nape. “I’m nervous too,” he murmurs against my temple.

I pull back. “You are?”

He nods, unashamed. “This means a lot to me. I don’t want to mess this up.”

My lingering fears crumble into dust at his honesty. He’s baring his soul, same as I am.

“You won’t. I’m here, I’m consenting, and I want this.”

I cup his chin, guiding his lips to mine. He lets out a soft moan against my lips, and I shift beneath him until his pelvis falls into the cradle of my hips. The hard length of his cock presses against me, and I rock against him, desperate for the contact.

I want this. I want him. Sex with feelings is such a foreign concept to me. It’s been so long since I’ve let myself care. Let myself fall.

But with Aidan, I’m tumbling head over heels, and I can’t stop it. Don’t want to stop it.

My hands tremble as they move to his shirt, unhooking the first button from its loop. I’m able to get three undone before he rolls off me, breathing hard.

“Naked,” I gasp out. “I need you naked.”

A deep, guttural noise rips from his throat, and he hurries to scramble out of his clothes. As much as I’d like to undress him myself, right now, expediency is the issue. We can take our time later.

I drink in the sight of him. Broad, firm chest. A smattering of ginger hair over hard, defined muscles. Freckles dot his strong shoulders, standing in stark relief against his flushed skin. He doesn’t have a six-pack; I count a full eight-pack of washboard abs beneath his body hair. My fingers itch to touch, to run over the divots and grooves of his hard work.

And then my gaze drops to his cock. Long. Thin. Curved to the left. The head is an angry purple, the tip swollen. As I watch, a bead of precum blooms from his slit, and I lick my lips. I want to taste him. Devour him.

His big hand lowers to his cock, giving a firm tug. I want to be the one to touch him, to give him pleasure. I start to roll toward him, but while he’s on the other side of the bed, he turns to his bedside drawer and comes up with an unopened box of condoms.

I clear my throat. “Do you have lube?”

He nods, a furrow in his brow as he reaches for the bottle and holds it up.

“Perimenopause has thrown me for a loop. I need a little extra, uh, support.” It’s my turn for my face to flame. “It has nothing to do with you if I don’t get super wet.”

Aidan’s confusion fades. “Is there anything I can do to help? Something you like more?”

“Just be you. It’s not an attraction issue, it’s physiological.”

I take the box of condoms from him, tearing it open and removing a foil square from the strip. Squirming closer, I maneuver until I’m on my side, facing him.

I rip open the wrapper, finally, finally reaching for him and rolling it down his shaft. The hard, steely length of his cock feels like heaven in my hand.

His hand lands on my hip, steady, sure, as he rolls me onto my back. He presses a soft kiss to my lips before kissing his way down my body. My jaw. My neck. A soft kiss to the center of my collarbone. Over the surgical scar on my left breast, then my right. Lifts my arm and kisses along the scars running from armpit to elbow. The lines of my belly, hip to hip.

He settles between my thighs, his eyes fixed to mine.

“Tell me you want this. Want me,” he pleads.

“Wish,” I gasp. “Please.”

And when he finally coats his fingers in the lube, then runs them over my clit, my entire body comes alive.

He makes me feel seen. Wanted.