Chapter 25
Aidan
She was perfect. She was always perfect, whether she was Rachel or Samantha or anyone else. Tonight she’d left off the bold eye makeup and was a beautiful waif, a pretty art student stranded in the rain. And she was going to be mine.
I left my hand on hers for the rest of the ride, and we didn’t speak. When we got to the Upper East Side she put my hand on her knee, just under the hem of her dress, and left it there. I could feel the warm pulse of her skin against mine.
I brought her to my penthouse—it was part of the reason I’d sent her here earlier this week. I’d wanted her to know this was where I lived, that when we did this I was bringing her to my home. She’d also know not to let on. So did I.
I led her out of the car. My driver, Edward, had basic instructions. He didn’t ask questions, which I approved of. Since I never had women at my apartment, this wasn’t a familiar routine, but he was a professional and he played along in silence. I paid him well, and I silently promised him a bonus.
Rachel crossed her arms over her chest while we were in the elevator, hugging herself. She looked damp and messy and completely exquisite. She also looked every bit the art student, and not like the polished professional I saw every day. As for me, tonight I was playing someone almost uncomfortably close to myself. I didn’t want to examine too closely why that was. I could have pretended to be anyone, yet I’d chosen a man who dealt in real estate and lived in my apartment. If I was going to nitpick that, I’d think that maybe I wanted this woman for myself, the game be damned. So I didn’t nitpick it.
Rachel walked into my apartment and looked around, wide-eyed, looking convincingly like she’d never seen the place before. “This is amazing,” she said.
“Feel free to tidy up,” I said. “There are clean towels in the bathroom. I’ll get us a drink.”
She disappeared into the bathroom, and I heard the tap running. I knew I’d surprised her when I showed up with that umbrella, and I congratulated myself for it. She had no idea I’d been at the art show, watching out of her line of sight. I didn’t want to be seen talking to her and leaving with her when there was a chance someone could recognize me. When she looked like she was about to leave, I’d made my play. It was a gamble that might not have worked, but I’d been lucky.
I took off my wet shoes and socks in the bedroom and changed into worn jeans and an old NYU T-shirt. I’d never been to NYU, but William had. He was a smart man who had earned his way in the world, not a former fucked-up teenager who had lucked into millions of dollars and a career. When I played a role, I always left that fucked-up teenager behind.
Rachel was still in the bathroom, so I walked barefoot into the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine. I carried them to the main room and sat on the sofa, waiting.
She took her time, and when she came out, I saw why. She was dried off now, her hair down. She was also naked, wearing nothing but one of my large, white towels wrapped around herself.
She stepped into the main room, her cheeks flushing. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “There’s a heated towel rack in the bathroom. I put my clothes on it.”
I looked at her lean legs, her perfect shoulders. “I don’t mind.” I put my glass down and leaned forward. “Come here.”
She shifted, but she was watching me, her gaze hungry. “I realize we don’t know each other, but?—”
“Come here.”
She stepped forward. It was a scene out of a fantasy, watching her come closer. Something that would never happen with an actual stranger in real life. For me, it could only happen with Samantha.
But no, she wasn’t Samantha. I needed to think of her as Rachel. I had to remind myself of that.
I held out my hand, and she took it. I tugged her gently, and she came. Thunder rolled out the window, moving away now. With a sigh, she straddled my lap and lowered herself onto it.
She was warm, damp, perfect woman. I remembered the dip of her clavicle from last time, the intoxicating smell of her skin. She was bare under the towel, her pussy bare against my jeans. She settled further, gripping my hips with her knees.
I reached my hand to the back of her head, pulled her down gently, and kissed her.
I remembered this, too. Samantha—Rachel—had a soft mouth and a flavor so intense it made me ache. She opened her mouth and I licked inside, tasting her, exploring her. She squirmed against me, impatient and needy. I’d kept her in suspense. I’d made her wait, and she was more than ready.
I slid my hand under the towel, finding her wet and slick. I stroked her once with my fingertips as she moaned in my mouth. “Is this what you want?” I asked her, breaking the kiss.
“Yes,” she sighed.
“Say it.”
“I want that. I want it.”
“Drop the towel.”
She did, and now she was naked, every delicious and perfect curve of her on my lap, like a dessert I didn’t remotely deserve. I stroked my hands over her hips and she tugged my shirt up, moving fast and almost clumsy. I pulled it off over my head and dropped it. Then I pulled her in for another kiss.
She nipped my lip, impatient. I stroked her breasts—I remembered those from last time, too—and her hands dug down to the buttons of my jeans, undoing them, her fingers working their way inside. The longer you make this woman wait, I told myself, the hotter she burns. I wouldn’t forget it.
I lifted my hips and she shoved my jeans down, just enough to free my cock. She readjusted herself on my thighs and stroked it. I broke the kiss and ran my thumb over her reddened bottom lip, using every drop of my strength to maintain control. “Is that what you want?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Say it.”
She stroked me. “This. I want this.”
“How much do you want it?”
Her eyes fluttered shut, maybe in embarrassment, maybe in desire. Maybe both. “I want it very, very much.”
I took a condom from my jeans pocket and opened it. I put my hand over hers and we both put it on me. Then I leaned forward and sucked on the skin of her neck, tasting her damp flavor, using just enough pressure to make it almost hurt. “Take what you want,” I told her.
She put her hands on my bare shoulders and rose up on her knees, then lowered herself down on me. We both made some kind of sound, half pleasure and half pain. A week. It had been a week since I’d been inside this woman, and I hadn’t let myself feel the lack of it. I hadn’t let myself remember how hot she was, how tight, how everything went away when I was sunk inside her. I hadn’t been allowed to feel that, so I hadn’t. Not until I was inside her again.
She moved on me, and I gripped her hips. The condom has to go, I thought, the idea coming from nowhere. I’d never had bare sex, but I absolutely had to have it with this woman. I filed that away as a problem I’d find a solution to.
“Oh, God,” she said, and I knew she was feeling the same way I was, the satisfaction of a deep, impossible craving. I leaned up and sucked on her neck again, making her flinch. I didn’t want to leave a visible mark, but I pushed it as close as I could. In response she moved on my lap, making me sink deeper. We both moaned.
“Incredible,” I said against her skin. “You are so fucking incredible.”
She moved her hips, her eyes drifting shut as my fingers dug into her hips. Her body moved in a rhythm, sliding on me, her knees sinking into the sofa.
“That’s it,” I coaxed her softly. “Please yourself.” It pleased me to watch it, to feel it. I slid my hand down her belly, finding her clit with my thumb. I rubbed it with just the right pressure, on just the right spot, as she moved over and over.
I felt the orgasm inside her first, a shaking tremor, and then she was crying out and gripping my shoulders, unable to stop herself. My own orgasm hit like a freight train and I emptied myself into her. Then we both collapsed, panting and sweating.
In that moment, I wanted to keep her. I wanted to have her. I wanted her to be mine—not the just the pretend woman, but the real one. I would have done anything.
She lifted her head and looked into my eyes. She looked dazed, pleased, and completely satisfied. She smiled at me, and the smile was so beautiful I felt it in my bones.
“Thank you,” she said. “I guess it’s time for me to leave.”