Page 41 of From Square One

I like it when he ignores me. He knows.

I. Hate. Him.

“Stop squirming, sunshine,” Aaron whispers, his thumb tugging at the skin under my eye until I open them. “Your body is still recovering from fainting.”

He removed his bandanna at some point, because his dark, curled tips are in full force, dangling over his forehead. I regret looking into his eyes, because his own are so fervent, warm, affectionate, eager that I want to do something I’ll regret. I know I’m already going to regret this.

But I can’t stop looking at the way he looks at me.

“I’m moving around because you’re annoying me,” I say stiffly. The weight of his waist between my thighs is a sensation I can’t get used to, even if it’s been a few minutes since he snuck it in.

Aaron smiles, the dimple poking into his cheek as he smooths out my clenched fists. He threads our fingers, pressing my palms into the bedspread over my head. I don’t mind, because it means his hands are occupied, and not busy poking every sensitive spot I didn’t know I had. “How am I annoying you?”

“By fiddling with me like I’m that gadget toy you carry around,” I grumble.

Aaron snickers, then leans over me until the tips of our sore noses are grazing. He shifts my wrists into one of his hands so he can use the other to trace my lower lip. “Open,” he says.

Blood burns in my face, and I part my lips to tell him off.

He kisses my protest away, sliding his tongue along the edge of mine. A low, quiet noise reverberates through my body and sends flames shooting from my ears. Did he just moan? Does kissing me feel that good? Even now, when my thoughts are mush, one word materializes before me with sharp clarity:

Why?

It’s just me. It’s one thing if he’s using me for his own pleasure, but he’s not. His touch is unbearably gentle. Every kiss brims with a fearsome passion I can’t hope to comprehend. His weight fastens me to my mattress, but he uses his core strength to keep from leaning too heavily on my aching body. I like it. The way he’s holding me, whispering to me, kissing me…

Somehow, it feels like home.

“How are those memories coming along?” Aaron asks amusedly, lips nestling under my jawline. I curl my toes to keep from squirming again.

“They’re not,” I say, swallowing hard, because he doesn’t need to know that I briefly remembered his fully naked body pressing against mine in the hallway. I’ve been hoping that some of the things I envisioned are exaggerated. Though his waist being pressed between my thighs has dashed that mental plea.

“A shame. Guess I need to work harder to get you to remember.”

He’s insufferable. But he’s a very good kisser. Or I think he is. I’ve never had anyone to compare with—though, if there’s a sensation more intense and all-consuming than this, I don’t want it. This is already too much. I can’t keep up. His lips slide along my neck, returning to my mouth, but I tilt my face away, and his kiss catches my cheek.

“Aaron, stop,” I plead. “Please.”

He must hear my urgency, because his grip around my wrists goes slack and he shifts his weight off me to hover. I resist the urge to pull him back down, along with his body heat. “Are you in pain?” he asks softly.

“I’m fine.” The palpable concern in his voice is nice. “It’s just a little fast. I feel strange, so…”

“Strange?” Aaron’s open palm finds my face, and he strokes my cheek, his smile like melted chocolate. “In what way?”

“My body,” I admit, giving him a cautious look. He must know me well enough to realize when I’d rather not be teased, because he doesn’t make any sly quips. He merely watches me, his eyes flitting around my face like he’s not sure which part is his favorite. “I feel disconnected with it. I know we’ve been dating over a year, but since I can’t remember, my brain is telling me to run. But my body trusts you. I feel relaxed when you touch me. It’s frustrating, trying to bridge the gap. So if you could please stop…” I swallow with embarrassment, squeezing my eyes shut. “If you could stop trying to overstimulate me, I would appreciate it.”

My muscles go taut. He’s been ignoring me thus far—does he know the difference between when I’m haphazardly making requests versus genuinely making them?

His lips touch down between my brows. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I lost control. Seeing you actually want me again…it was a lot. Thanks for the reminder.”

I peek through one eye, my jaw clenching with uncertainty.

“Should we get dressed?” he asks.

“No,” I say quickly.

His brow pops into his forehead. I want to scream with embarrassment into my comforter. Why did I say no? Isn’t it better if we’re clothed so I can maintain some level of focus? Half the reason I’m overstimulated is because he’s not wearing clothes.

“Keep kissing me, but stop putting your hands everywhere,” I mumble. “Kiss me like there’s no history and this is the first time we’re doing this and you don’t know what I like. Okay?”