Chapter 12
TWELVE
AARON
“My cookies?” she asks as if she’s disoriented, like my hand on her thigh has scrambled her brain. She swallows, clearing her throat and glancing up at me as my thumb makes lazy circles over the fabric of her pants.
“Yeah.” I smile. “I want to know what your cookies taste like…”
I’m well aware it sounds like an innuendo, but it’s not. I love something sweet, and I can smell them through the box, probably still fresh and melty.
My favorite.
Juliette nods, braid slipping forward over her shoulder, brushing the curve of her breast.
My gaze drops there before I can stop it, and I watch as she scoots forward on the couch, reaches for the box, flips open the lid, and selects one cookie, finally setting it in my open palm.
I take a bite.
And—
God damn.
It’s fantastic. Crisp at the edges, soft in the middle, chocolate still melting. Rich without being too sweet.
I close my eyes to appreciate it.
When I open them again, she’s watching me like my reaction matters, desperate for validation.
“It’s good?” she asks quietly.
I let out a low breath. “So fucking good.”
I take another bite, savoring it, then glance down at the cookie in my hand—and then at her. “You want a bite?”
She nods, licking her lips.
I tilt the cookie toward her. “Come here.”
Her breath catches, but she leans toward me, shifting closer still, our thighs now pressed together.
I hold the cookie between two fingers and bring it near her mouth.
“Open,” I murmur.
She does.
Her lips part, and she takes a small nibble from the opposite edge, mouth closing, and I watch, spellbound, as she chews. The way her tongue darts out to catch a melting smear of chocolate at the corner of her lips. The cupid’s bow.
The pout of her bottom…
A crumb clings to the gloss on her lower lip.
Without thinking, I reach up with my thumb and brush it away, lingering at the edge of her mouth. I can feel the warmth of her skin. The softness.
Her tongue peeks out again instinctively, grazing the pad of my thumb before she realizes that she’s done it.
My pulse kicks up with that familiar tingling in my lower half.
Juliette lifts her gaze to mine. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” My voice is rougher now. “Your cookies taste really fucking good.”
My palm finds her thigh again but instead of resting it there, I slide it over her leg.
Lean in.
Let the space between us shrink, inch by inch. Her hand comes to my chest, fingers splayed over my shirt like she needs something solid to brace against.
I hesitate before our mouths meet, to catch her eyes.
One breath.
Two.
Her lashes flutter.
Then our lips touch.
Her lips are warm and soft and full, pressing into mine tentatively, as if unsure how to go about it—learning. She tilts her head to the left, giving me even more access, and glides her hand to the nape of my neck, nails raking into my hair.
She exhales against me. It’s that small, shaky breath that deepens everything, and I slide my tongue in to taste the sugar.
Chocolate.
Goddamn, she’s sweet.
We kiss, tongues stroking leisurely and deliberate, and then she surprises me—her teeth catching my lower lip in a gentle nip before she soothes it with her tongue.
Jesus Christ…
A low sound rumbles out of my chest before I can stop it. My grip on her hip tightens, pulling her fully onto my lap without breaking the kiss. She straddles me easily, legs shifting to either side of mine, her weight settling over me like she’s been on top of me before.
She kisses me with more certainty now, less tentative. Her mouth opens for mine without hesitation, and I take my time tasting her.
The sugary sweetness.
My hands move from her hips up her back, palms skimming beneath the softness of her sweatshirt, moving up and down again.
When she shifts above me, I feel it everywhere.
“You’re killing me,” I murmur, pressing my mouth against the hollow of her neck, kissing the smooth column, trailing my lips to her ear and groaning.
My dick is hard, and I know she can feel it, too.
I pull back to look at her face: flushed, braid coming undone, eyes shining in the dim light. She already looks wrecked in the most beautiful way and, suddenly, I want to see what she looks like with her hair down around her shoulders.
“We can stay here,” I suggest quietly, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “Or… we can go somewhere more private.” And by private, I mean intimate.
Her eyes slide to the doorway. Teeth bite down on her bottom lip as she decides.
“Bedroom?” she says confidently.
I don’t hesitate—obviously, I fucking don’t.
I stand, hands sliding down to her thighs as I rise, lifting her with me in one smooth motion because that’s the kind of guy I am. Why have her walk when I can carry her?
She lets out a delighted gasp and instinctively wraps her legs around my waist, arms tightening around my shoulders. Like that night at her place.
I carry her out of the den, kissing her open-mouthed as we walk through the long hallway to the other side of my apartment, tasting the last of the chocolate off her tongue.
She makes soft mewing sounds, sexy moans, and I have to tighten my grip to keep my composure, or I’ll press her against the wall.
We reach my room.
I nudge the door open with my shoulder and step inside.
It’s lighter than the rest of the penthouse, lit only by the city glow spilling in through the windows.
The bed is massive and unmade, centered on the wall, white sheets rumpled from this morning.
I walk us to the edge and lower her to the mattress.
It dips beneath her weight, and I brace one hand beside her head to keep from crushing her.
Juliette pulls away and grabs the hem of her sweatshirt.
My pulse spikes.
She lifts it over her head in one smooth motion, braid slipping forward over her shoulder as the fabric clears her arms. She tosses it somewhere behind her without looking.
The city light washes over her skin.
And for a second, I do nothing but look down at her.
Then I drop to my knees. Reach for the end of her braid—the rubber band—and tug gently to remove it. Once I have the hair tie out, I begin unbraiding her silky hair, strand by strand.
Her breath hitches as I work. I let my knuckles brush her collarbone. Her neck. The top of her shoulder as I separate the woven sections of hair.
“You like that?” I ask quietly.
She nods.
When the braid falls apart completely, her hair tumbles down around her shoulders in a soft cascade, framing her face, spilling over my hands.
I slide my fingers through it once, pushing it back gently from her cheek.
“You’re so pretty,” I murmur, taking her in. “This is what I wanted to see.”
She looks different with her hair down.
Less fragile. Less prissy.
Less perfect.
I comb my fingers through the silky strands again, watching the way her eyes drift closed at the sensation. She turns her head away as if embarrassed by the attention.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispers shyly.
“How am I looking at you?”
“Like I’m alre…” She trails off.
“Already mine.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I instantly regret them. Not because I don’t love the idea of her falling head over heels for me. No, the problem is, I like it way more than I should.
I like her already, more than I should.
And…
I am a fucking scumbag, lying like this to her face.
Already mine?
Jesus Christ, Aaron, dial it down a notch. You don’t have to work this hard.
“Don’t go falling in love with me, Aaron Bishop.” She whispers out the warning in a teasing tone. “You know what they say—the bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
A low laugh rumbles out of my chest as I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it up my torso. “Don’t you worry, Juliette Kennedy, I am in no danger of that.”
You might be sweet to kiss and fun to fuck, but I will not be catching feelings for you. And I sure as shit won’t be falling in love.
She sits up on the bed, eyes trailing over my chest and stomach when I stand. Her tongue flicks out over her lower lip, and she bites down like she’s eyeing up a medium rare steak on a plate as I step between her knees, hands bracing on either side of her hips.
Her hands slide up my chest, exploring, fingers tracing the lines of muscle like she’s mapping me out, nails trailing along my abs.
“Good,” she whispers into the dark. “Because I can’t afford a relationship with anyone at work. It would cost me my job.”
The little liar is fibbing.
I’ve already determined that one of Juliette’s tells is avoiding eye contact, and that’s what she’s doing now.
“So, we’re just going to have fun?” My brows go up, daring her to agree with me.
Juliette falters. Gives me a tentative nod. “Just fun.”
My mouth curves. “Perfect.”
I lean down and kiss her like I don’t already know I’m playing a longer game. One I intend to win.
Her fingers hook into the waistband of my pants and tug me closer, the motion so bold it almost makes me smile against her mouth as she shoves my pants down my hips.
Juliette’s eyes drop to the front of my boxers, and she doesn’t try to hide it when she locks on my straining dick as I pull her joggers over her hips. Over her knees, down her legs.
Her skin is illuminated in silver and shadow, and I swear I’ve never seen anything more fucking distracting in the center of my bed in my entire goddamn life.
Shiny satin hair spills across my pillow. Juliette’s smooth skin and parted legs. And I ache to see what’s beneath that tiny strip of lace in the sweet center.
What her tits look like without a bra.
My hands drag up her legs, spreading her wider as I settle between her thighs, lowering myself over her, mouth already greedy.
Taste her skin.
Fuck her.