Silent Is The Heart

CHAPTER 13

Easton

Well, that was easier than I thought. Someone was about to melt into a puddle in my arms before his conscience hit him. And looky what we have here… still lingering outside. I’ve played cat and mouse before. Can’t say it’s my favorite game. Or rather, I’m usually the mouse, but whatever works. I don’t do infidelity—one, because I’m single. And two, coupled-up guys aren’t my thing. They come with problems, and other people’s problems can stay their own problems. Sauntering over to Aaron, I remind myself of that now. It takes two to tango. This is a search-and-destroy mission that can only be initiated by two willing parties. I’m destroying Aaron Manicki from my system tonight, and he made it clear he was more than willing with that labored breathing he was doing on the dance floor and the sex haze that came over his eyes.

Everything all right? I ask.

“Yeah,” he lets out on a breathy laugh. “Sorry, I haven’t been out to a crowded place like this in a long time. I just…needed some air.”

Mouse—one. Cat up to bat.

Sidling up to him, slowly for effect, I eye his jugular, pulsing as he watches my movements and wets his lips. I shouldn’t be enjoying this so much. I know I dreamt of it a hundred times over, but it’s different now. It’s not a fantasy—it’s a means to an end. It’s just therapy. An antidote to cure the incurable disease I’ve lived with for eight years.

Planting my feet on either side of his, my pulse kicks at the way his throat undulates when he swallows. His gaze flits all over my face and up and down my body. Fuck it. Sex is sex, even if it’s an anger bang. Why shouldn’t I enjoy an antidote if it’s going to set me free?

Cupping the side of his face, my breath practically stutters to a halt. That’s the smitten, less-experienced teen in me talking, though, so I remind him he doesn’t exist anymore. Aaron and I are equals now. Man versus man. Horny man versus horny man. Cat et mouse.

He didn’t want to kiss seventeen-year-old me. He wanted the guy in the club. The one who worked him over on the dance floor like a Fruit Roll-ups until he melded against my body like a layer of cake icing. I’ll give him exactly what he wants. Just once. I’ll just give it to him so good he wants it more than once and then I’ll walk the fuck away like he did eight years ago.

Mouth agape, he seems to be floundering for words. Likely more juggling of that pretty conscience he thinks he has. People who think they have consciences are so fucking predictable it’s a joke. Not me. I don’t do on-the-fence off-the-fence. If I want something, I kick the fucking fence down and go after it without apologies. Life is too short to care about consequences and morals.

Leaning my forehead against his, I tell myself the gentle, patient gesture is because he’s still clinging to that sweet persona of his, the one that fooled me years ago. I bet he moans his head off in bed when all the lights are out.

I brush my nose against his, delighting way too much in the way he shudders under the touch of my hand and grips the sleeve of my shirt, whispering my name like it’s a plea, “Easton, I…”

I want him so badly I’m freaking vibrating, and yet some part of me is scared shitless, like I’m coming on to a teacher who will report me and shoot me down. Not now, though. Not now. That was then.

Brushing my lips over his, I move them upward once. Just a nudge, a tease to make him wait one second longer. He pants like he’s out of air. It’s exactly where I want him. And I damn well better get on with it before I’m out of air from the suspense, too.

Placing my other hand on the wall, I lean into him, chest to chest, and cover his mouth. I’m out of foreplay the second his silky lips meet mine. Angling his jaw, I swipe the tip of my tongue across the seam of his mouth, a silent message to open. He does on a little whimper, and there’s no stopping me from seeking more of the first taste I got. I’m finally kissing Aaron Manicki and he’s sweeter than I ever imagined he would be.

With each stifled moan and whimper he makes, clawing at my arm, I become more carnal. His mouth is a damn drug and has no business delivering such pleasure when it belongs to someone so boring. We’re lucky the wall is holding him up because the entire front of my body is slumped into his by a magnetic force that can’t be broken. Hell. I could fuck him right here and I’m pretty sure he’d let me.

He keens high and loud, squirming against me. It nearly does my head in and rushes all the blood to my cock until I realize he’s pushing against my shoulder. Tearing his mouth away from mine, he turns his head to the side, eyes pinched shut tight.

“Wait,” he pants. “Wait.”

Oh, brother. The mouse is back.

Who is he fooling? I can feel his dick pressed up against my groin.

Come to think of it…

The filthy grind of my hips into his makes another moan spill from his lips. I lean in and nip one of them playfully, putting the ball back in his court.

When he opens them, his eyes are so fogged over by lust, I know it’s just a matter of moments before he gives up the bashful act. Except, their color seems to deepen… and then glisten.

“I can’t… I…”

A twinge of something foreign stabs my chest, seeing him on the verge of tears. I don’t do guilt. Guilt can go fuck itself. Aaron is responsible for at least half of his hard on. This is for my mental health, damn it. I need this man out of my system.

Brushing his nose with mine again, I decide that now is as good a time as any to play dirty. So, I glide my thumb under his lower lip as I whisper, “You don’t have to tell your husband.”

The shock on his face does stupid things to my heart. His expression flickers between awe and then immense sadness, crumpling before my eyes. Is my hoarse voice that much of a disappointment to him? He’s the one who fucking wanted to hear it, or so I thought. Maybe that was just sociopathic insanity I built up in my head.

A tear spills down his cheek and his jaw hangs open, silent. I wait, hanging on the moment for his verdict over my voice.

“I don’t…have a husband anymore.”

It shouldn’t relieve me I’m not corrupting a married man. I’m here to destroy, remember? But I believed him once before. Granted, it was over an art program that could have changed my life, but the point is he’s a liar. Once a liar, always a liar.

I could have told him Reider was bad news. Maybe Prince Charming ran off and left him, and Mr. Innocent never got over it.

Smirking, I reach for his hand and bring it up between us. Tapping my finger over his dreaded ring, I cock a brow at him, accusingly.

“He… he died. He’s dead.”

Dead … as in… dead?

What…

My grip goes slack. The reason behind Aaron’s current pliancy reveals itself in the way his hand falls lifelessly from mine like he’s got nothing left in him. I’m not sure how long I stare at him, my jaw agape as his eyes pinch shut again and more tears spill onto his cheeks. At some point, I have the decency to drag my body off his, but then I’m at a loss. I just stand there, paralyzed by the sound of his sniffles, watching him bury his face in his hands. I remember what a love lost feels like, and it is not a comfortable sight.

Sucking in a breath, he finally drops his hands and blinks at me. It’s as though he’s seeing me for the first time, or possibly not even seeing me at all, his pupils like pinpoints.

Glancing up and down the alley like he’s lost, he murmurs, “Shit. I’m sorry. I…I need to leave. I need to go.”

He turns, and just like that, he’s gone, hustling down the alley toward the parking lot while I stand in what oddly feels like a giant quagmire of guilt. Search and destroy wasn’t supposed to destroy me along with it.