“My manhood,” I counter, grinning. The big one I know she’ll respond to.
Her tongue flicks out to wet her lips. Perfection.
“Manhood?” she asks, voice low.
“Will you be my real girlfriend, Magnolia Sager? Not for pretend to get the chicks off my jock, but because I like you. Ilike that you’re complex—that you tell me what’s on your mind even if it might make me uncomfortable. I like that you put your daughter first. I like that you want magic after being hurt. I like that you’re good.” I shake my head. “I’m not going to let anyone else ruin you, and you’re not going to fix me,” I deadpan. “Let me try to fix you, and maybe your magic will rub off on me.”
Her full, wet lips open a touch to expose her white teeth. “I’m drunk, but you’re serious right now, aren’t you? This is real life?”
“You’re a cheap date,” I say. “I’m nothing if not serious.”
Magnolia stands from her stool and crooks her finger at me. “I’d sit on your lap right now, but we’d break that chair. It’s a mid-century Bentwood.”
Standing slowly, I let out a deep breath to clear my head and the nervous energy in the air. “You’re so hot when you talk antique to me,” I drawl, stepping closer to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her against my body. She’s warm, and her reaction to my touch is immediate. Her flesh bristles and her breath catches. “Tell me more,” I rasp, my cock straining against my jeans.
She goes on her tiptoes and presses her lips up to meet mine. I groan when the first taste hits my senses. Relief. Sweet, blissful relief. I’ve craved this in unquantifiable amounts. Her lips smack as she pulls away to say, “One owner. Nice patina. 1940s. Maybe ’30s.”
“Fuck yes,” I growl, taking her lips again. I get carried away easily—lifting her body to set her on the desk. Her legs wrap around my waist, and I’m hit with the frantic need to be inside her. There’s a desperation I’ve felt only a couple of times before. Once was when I returned home from a year-long deployment. A year without sex. It was the longest I’d ever gone, and my brain crossed so many wires I wasn’t sure where to begin when I had a woman in my bed the day after I got back in the States. I had to hold back the urge to go caveman on her and fuck a holein the mattress. The sex ended with me having a girlfriend. It was as if I’d tricked myself into thinking the sex was something special when really it was my first wet pussy in a long-ass time. The woman was a narcissist—an opportunist. I figured it out eventually, but not before I gave a little more than I wanted to.
Right now, with Magnolia, the desperation is in opposition to that relationship. It’s a need to show her that I can fuck Paul away. That I can give her more than he can. I’ll make her crazy. Prove that her ex is a bad memory that isn’t worth being haunted over. I’ll make sure she knows I’m capable of being the man she needs. Does it appeal to my need for a challenge? Yes. It doesn’t change the fact everything I said to her is truth. I do like her. I want her.
“Is this going down right here?” I ask. “The chair is safe, but I might break the desk.” My lips are speaking against her mouth, but she’s watching my eyes. “Where can I make love to you?”
Her breath catches, and her arms slide from around my head to push against my chest. I think I’m being shot down completely until she smirks and takes my hand. “Come with me.”
“I hope to,” I say, letting her guide me out of the room.
SIX
Magnolia
The old woodenstairs creak loudly as Aidan’s large frame weighs on each step. “It’s hot up here,” I say as we reach the top landing and the humidity hits us like a right hook. “But I know I have a fan in here somewhere.” Reaching into a coat closet, I pull out a fan. Aidan takes it from me and waits for me to direct him where to go. We enter a room across the hall. I use it for storage, but there is a bed. Rephrase that: there is a bed frame and a mattress standing against a wall.
I wince when I see the state of the room. “Sort of looks like a room used for prostitution. Or a squatter’s residence. Or something really seedy and related to a trap house. If you want to go to your place, we can,” I offer, fumbling for the correct words. He’s being so understanding about everything, and I feel like the weak link who can’t get anything right. “It is really hot,” I repeat.
Tell me where it hurts.A phrase I’ve said to Kendall a thousand times. You say those words when you care so much that you’d do anything, anything in the world to ease the painfrom the place it exudes from. Surely the words don’t mean the same thing when Aiden says them. Do they? “And it’s not romantic in any way,” I add, wondering if I’ve gone absolutely crazy.
“Stop,” Aidan says. “Move out of the way.”
I do as he says, the feral look in his eyes not to be challenged for fear of it diminishing even a minuscule amount. He wants me, and I can hear it in every word he says, in every move he makes. I back into the doorway, out of his way, as he plugs in the fan and turns it on high. He grabs the mattress and tilts it so it falls directly on the wooden frame.
“I’ve been meaning to get this to my house for the spare room but didn’t want to ask for help getting it down the stairs and into my truck,” I explain.
Hands on his hips, he surveys the bed, then turns to look at me over his shoulder. “Tell you what, once I’ve fucked you on it, I’ll put it in your truck. How’s that sound?”
I swallow down the huge ball of anxious nerves. He has turned my jagged cry fest into a sexual tension so great I can barely stand still without vibrating out of my clothing. Aidan pulls on the back collar of his shirt and slides it off. He’s sweating—beads of sweat sliding down his neck, sluicing down his chest and abs. My mouth waters.
Aidan watches me watching him, his smug grin fading into something more serious. “This isn’t rebound fucking, Magnolia. Do you understand? You have to look me in the eye tomorrow and not feel embarrassed about everything you confessed tonight. This isn’t casual anymore.”
I wasn’t planning on ghosting him, but now that he’s mentioned it, maybe I was. I slide my shorts off and strip off my tank top. “Isn’t that my line?” I ask, unfastening my bra and tossing the sweaty fabric aside.
“Leave the panties on,” Aidan barks when I tuck my thumbs into them. “Those are mine to take off.”
They are black lace, different than last night, but still just as amazing. I had some intuition to wear decent undergarments when I got out of the shower in a haze of emotions this morning. I nod. “I’m going to look you in the eye tomorrow. This isn’t me rebound fucking,”
Aidan says, shaking his head once. “We clear?”
My stomach flips. His maleness is prominent—his needs on display. His heart on his sleeve. “You wouldn’t be a rebound even if that was my plan, Aidan. You’re too good at giving me orgasms. I’ll always want more from you. I’m afraid that you’re going to tire of me after.”
