Chapter 31
Aidan
For a second I stared at Samantha’s message as the traffic of Columbus Circle roared past me and New Yorkers bumped into me and cursed me. Then I quickly wrote Don’t change your mind and got myself a cab.
It took ten painful minutes to get to Hell’s Kitchen. I threw money at the driver and got out at Samantha’s building. I already knew where she lived, though I wouldn’t admit that I’d peeked at her HR file out of curiosity. I wanted to know about the real Samantha Riley, not the roles she played.
I wasn’t playing a role myself, not today. I was in jeans and a tee, a baseball cap on my head. I’d just spent an hour looking at Japanese art, because on Saturday morning that was the emptiest part of the Met. The crowds were looking at the Egyptian hieroglyphs and the suits of armor. The Japanese art was some of the most beautiful in the world, and almost no one was there.
I walked to the door of Samantha’s building and realized I was nervous. Fucking nervous. I didn’t have the suit or the office or any of the other shit I usually had. She’d seen me in jeans and a tee before, but that was when I was playing an airline pilot. Jesus, Aidan, you’re the CEO of a billion-dollar company. Get your shit together.
I typed in Samantha’s entry code. The concierge behind the desk in the lobby gave me a polite nod. When I was dressed like this, I didn’t get the extra attention a rich man got and I didn’t get kicked out of nice places, like I had when I was a teenager. I was accepted just about everywhere I went without a second glance, except sometimes from women. But I didn’t care about any women’s opinions right now. I only cared about Samantha’s.
I knocked at her apartment and she opened her door. She was wearing black yoga pants and a tee that fell to her hips, her dark blond hair in a ponytail. Her feet were bare. No makeup. She was fucking gorgeous, and all I wanted was to peel those clothes off her and get inside her, make her feel good. Make her feel what I felt. She was so responsive every time I touched her. The air between us was as thick as cream.
She bit her lip, hesitating, and I paused. “Samantha,” I said.
“Hi.” Her gaze swept down me, slowly, as if she couldn’t make herself hurry. Then it moved back up again, and her cheekbones flushed pink. “I, um, I don’t usually do this,” she said.
I leaned against the doorframe, pressing forward a little so I was edging inside. “Good.”
“You know what I mean.” She glanced behind her, the line of her neck effortlessly beautiful. “I’m not sure what exactly to do.”
“We’ve done this before,” I said.
“I know. But this time, it’s you.”
Those words hit me: This time, it’s you. I moved into the apartment and closed the door. I pressed her gently against the closed door and leaned my body into hers, feeling every curve of her. I heard her take a surprised breath.
“You’re right,” I said. “It’s me.” I leaned in and kissed her.
She made a sweet, tight sound in her throat and kissed me back, her arms moving around my neck. I opened her mouth and licked slowly into it, and she took my ball cap off and tossed it, her hands running through my hair. Then she tugged at my shirt.
I didn’t have to ask her what she wanted—she was telling me. So I pulled my shirt off and tossed it after my hat, then pressed her into the door again. Her thighs went soft against mine and I rubbed my hardening cock against her through my jeans, feeling her legs part. Her hands ran down my shoulders and my back, and she sighed as I kissed her again.
I broke the kiss and explored the corner of her mouth, her jaw, the line of her neck, the tender skin behind her ear. She shivered and I pulled her shirt up, throwing it away and putting my mouth to her neck again. I knew this woman—I knew her familiar skin, the sounds she made when I touched her this way or that. I knew the taste of her and the way she pressed her hips against mine without conscious thought. But at the same time, I wanted to explore her. Our previous encounters had been fraught with tension, the air electric as we tried to figure each other out. Some of them had been achingly fast. Right now, I wanted to explore Samantha. I wanted to know every inch of her, learn what she liked when there were no questions and the clock wasn’t ticking. I wanted to know how to please her when it was just her and me.
She liked it when I kissed her neck. I grazed her lightly with my teeth, let my Saturday stubble rasp against her skin, then smoothed it with the tip of my tongue. She shook against me, her fingers curling into me, her breath going short. I touched her nipple through the fabric of her bra, then pulled the strap down and touched the bare skin, brushing over it again and again. She moaned.
She hooked one knee around my hip, and then her other knee over the other, giving me full access to the heat between her legs. I took my cue and lifted her, pinning her to the door, rubbing my cock a little roughly into her through the denim. The friction was harsh and her fingers dug into my shoulders again, this time with her short nails digging into my skin. The sting of it was a pleasant shock and I rubbed into her again, making her hips press back against the door. Even through layers of clothes my cock was aching, the root throbbing, the tip throbbing inside my jeans. I lowered my hands to the perfect curves of her ass and held her up.
I could come like this. Just like this, like a teenager on a second date with the girl he’s been after, unable to believe she was kissing him back. Samantha was gripping me, her heels digging into the backs of my thighs as she sighed against me. The combination of soft and bold was intoxicating. I knew by instinct that she had never been like this with other men. She’d never let herself—not until we started the game. She was only like this with me.
“More,” she said as I sucked gently on her neck. “Aidan, can we…”
“Yes, we fucking can.” I unhooked her knees and slipped her yoga pants and panties off, tossing them away. When I stood again she’d unhooked her bra and dropped it and she stood there perfectly naked. She looked at me, swallowed, and reached for the buttons of my jeans, fumbling with them.
Kicking my shoes off, I helped her. Our fingers tangled. We were definitely like teenagers now, and I realized I was going to be inside her bare. The idea made me crazy. Despite how cool I’d played it, I’d never fucked without a condom in my life. This was the right time to do it the first time. She was the right woman.
She was always the right woman.
When we were naked I pressed her against the door again, skin to skin. I let my hard length drag across her belly as I kissed her again, tasting her soft mouth. I was oversensitized, and every time she moved or breathed I felt it everywhere, like electricity.
Reluctantly, I pulled my mouth from hers. “We can do this however you want,” I said. Jesus, we hadn’t even made it into the apartment—some romantic I was. “The couch or the bed. Nice and slow or fast and rough. Whatever you want, Samantha.”
She reached up and pulled me down so I could smell her skin, damp now with a woman’s sweat and the smell of her need. “Aidan,” she said, “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever. Fuck me against the door.”
This woman.
I smiled against her skin. “All right, then. Hold on.”