“Tell me what you want, baby.”
“Touch me,” she breathes, her cheeks heating. She’ll learn that she never has to be embarrassed about telling me what she wants. I’m all too eager to deliver. “Please…”
“Where do you want me to touch you?” I don’t trust myself not to fuck this up. I need to know exactly what she desires. “Show me.”
She removes her fingers from between her legs and guides my hand to the exact spot. As soon as I curl my fingers inside her, she gasps and arches her back, giving me the confirmation I need.
“You’re so tight,” I groan, feeling her walls clench around my fingers. She’s going to feel incredible when I’m inside her. Withdrawing my hand, I bring it up to my mouth, tasting her essence on my fingertips. “And absolutely delicious.”
I guide her fingers to her clit at the same time I push myfingers back inside her. She moans as our fingers work in sync.
I’m well aware that my phone has been buzzing nonstop on the bedside locker, but I couldn’t care less.
Katie fists the sheets. “Please, don’t stop,” she begs, her body trying to resist the foreign touch. Her hips pull away, but I hold her firmly.
“It’s ok, baby. It’s ok.” It’s like some part of her feels guilty for enjoying this new sensation. It is as though she believes she is unworthy of enjoying sex because it has previously brought her pain. Her feet dig into the mattress as she tries to anchor herself, but her body betrays her as it arches towards me. I don’t change tempo or pressure, instead keeping a steady rhythm that drives her closer to the edge. I can see the conflict in her eyes—the battle between pleasure and past trauma. Those deep chocolate eyes glisten with arousal and tears, a bittersweet mix of emotions.
“Aiden, it’s not going to happen,” She groans after a few moments of teetering on the edge. “I’m sorry.”
I can see the disappointment on her face as she utters those words and gently brush away a stray tear: “Don’t apologise for something that isn’t your fault.”
If I ever find out the names of the bastards who abused my girl, I swear on everything that is holy that I will cut off their fucking hands before I dissect their cocks and feed it to them piece by piece.
She moves for me, her anxiety taking over. She’s regressing. Fearing she has disappointed me. I stop her hands at the waistband of my boxers. Her intentions are obvious.
“No, bug,” I say softly, pulling her hands away.
Her lower lip wobbles, and it’s only then that I rememberher rejection dysphoria.Shit!
I’m quick to reassure her, “It’s not about you, bug. I could never be disappointed in you.” Framing her face in my hands, I kiss her. It takes her a beat to respond, but then she melts into the kiss, her anxiety slowly dissipating.
“You won’t let me touch you,” her voice quivers, a hint of sadness in her tone.
I force her to look at me. “Not when you feel like youhaveto. I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
My phone buzzes again, and I reluctantly pull away from her to check it. Twelve missed calls, seven voice notes, and fifteen texts all from Robbie.
Katie must see the urgency in my face because she asks, “Is everything okay?”
I sigh and shake my head. “It’s just Robbie; he’s been blowing up my phone.”
“Do you need to go?”
Before I can answer, my brother’s name flashes on the screen again. I hit answer and put the phone to my ear. Robbie’s voice comes through, panicked and desperate. “Do you not believe in answering your phone anymore? I’m having a fucking shit attack here!”
I quickly glance at Katie, who raises an eyebrow in concern. “Not in the kitchen, Robbie; they’ll shut us down.”
Katie stifles a laugh, and I pull her onto my lap.
“This isn’t fucking funny, Aiden!” Robbie exclaims. “You need to get down here now. Walsh’s goons showed up demanding to speak to you, and they have guns!”
“Guns!” Katie exclaims, her eyes widening in alarm.
“Who was that?” Robbie demands—trust him to show more interest in who I’m spending my time with than the two armedbuffoons in my fucking restaurant.
I pull Katie back to me and whisper in her ear, “Don’t worry. I’ll handle this.” Then turn my attention back to my hysterical brother. “How many?”
“Two. So, you’re not going to tell me who you’re with? Is it Tracy?”
