Chapter 16
Aaron
The space between us disappears. For a second, neither of us moves, both waiting for the other to pull away.
Then I lean in and kiss her.
It isn’t planned or perfect. It’s soft and uncertain, and somehow more real because of it. The kind of moment that feels like breathing after holding your breath too long.
Her lips are warm against mine, and for a heartbeat everything in me goes quiet—the noise, the restraint, the endless voice that always tells me to be careful. It just stops.
I feel her hand tremble against me, and I want to pull her closer, to promise that she’s safe, that I’ll never push for more than she wants. But I keep still, because this isn’t about me. It’s about letting her know she can trust the space between us.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes are wide and bright, the kind of look that makes it hard to tell who’s more unsteady.
Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something, then she closes them again. Whatever words she finds, she swallows them back.
I search her face, trying to read what’s going on behind her eyes—fear, confusion, maybe both.
“What is it?” I ask softly.
She shakes her head, barely moving. “Nothing. I just—”
I tilt my head. “Just what?”
Her gaze flicks to mine and away again. “I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s all right,” I tell her. “You don’t have to say anything.”
She hesitates again, fingers twisting around the hem of her pyjama top, like she’s fighting a thought she doesn’t want to voice.
“You can tell me,” I say quietly. “Whatever it is, I’d rather know.”
For a long moment she says nothing, just looks at me as though she’s trying to decide if she can trust what she sees.
Then she takes a breath, unsteady but determined. “I want more.”
It comes out so fast she seems startled by her own words. Her eyes widen, her face flushing, and before I can say anything she’s shaking her head.
“Forget it,” she blurts. “That’s ridiculous. God, listen to me.”
“Eve—”
“I’m standing here in my pyjamas, saying things like that, and it’s pathetic.” Her voice breaks on the word. “Who does that? Who comes into someone’s room in the middle of the night to… to beg a guy to sleep with her?”
I move towards her, slow and careful, the way you’d approach something fragile. “Hey,” I say gently, “stop.”
She keeps going, words tumbling out faster, like she’s trying to outrun them. “You don’t have to say anything. I know what this looks like. I just—I thought—I don’t even know what I thought.”
“Eve,” I say again, a little firmer this time.
That pulls her up short.
“Why would you think that’s pathetic?” I ask.
She blinks, thrown off by the question.
“Because,” she says finally, her voice small now. “It’s me.”
And somehow that hurts more than anything else she could have said.
She stands there, small and uncertain, her shoulders tight, as if she’s bracing for the worst.
I take a slow breath, keeping my voice low. “Eve, look at me.”
She does, reluctantly, her eyes glassy and full of doubt.
“I want you,” I say. “More than I’ve wanted anything in a very long time.”
Her lips part slightly, like she doesn’t believe me.
“I should’ve said it sooner,” I go on. “But I didn’t want to spook you. You have boundaries and I respect that.”
She shakes her head, still half hiding behind her hair. “You didn’t spook me. I just… didn’t think someone like you would even notice someone like me.”
“I noticed,” I say softly. “From the first day.”
That finally makes her look up.
“I’ve wanted you every single day since our first hike,” I admit. “But wanting you and rushing you are two very different things. You matter to me, Eve. I wasn’t about to risk what we have by saying it the wrong way.”
Something in her expression shifts—disbelief melting into something raw and fragile and real.
I reach for her hand and hold it, just enough for her to feel it, not enough to trap her.
“You don’t need to be anything other than who you are,” I tell her. “You don’t have to perform, or pretend, or prove anything. I already want you exactly as you are.”
Her breath catches, and in that small, shaking sound, I can hear everything she’s been holding back.
I step closer, slow, like I’m approaching a skittish deer. My fingers brush against hers, her knuckles cool under my thumb. I don’t grab. I don’t pull. I just let my touch linger there, giving her time to step back if she wants to. She doesn’t.
“You’re trembling,” I murmur, my voice rougher than I intend.
Not from nerves—fuck, I haven’t been nervous with a woman in decades—but from the effort of holding myself back.
Because I want her. My cock is throbbing at the thought that I might finally be able to explore her body.
But it is not just physical lust. It’s the way she looks at me, like I’m the only thing in the room worth seeing.
Like she’s been starving and I’m the first meal she’s been offered in years.
“I—I don’t know what I’m doing,” she reminds me again, her voice so quiet I have to lean in to catch it.
Her cheeks flush pink, and fuck, that does something to me.
This woman is forty-three years old, but right now, she might as well be twenty-one, all wide-eyed and uncertain, like she’s never been touched before.
“You don’t have to know,” I say, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “That’s why I’m here.”
Her breath shudders out. I take her hand properly this time, my fingers threading through hers, and lead her toward the bed.
It’s a sturdy wood-framed thing, the sheets crisp and white, turned down just enough to invite us in.
The light from the small bedside lamp casts long shadows that dance over her skin as she stands there, her free hand clutching the neckline of her pyjama top like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
I turn her to face me, my hands settling on her waist. My thumbs trace the waist band of her PJ bottoms, following the curve of the fabric. The material is soft under my fingers, but her skin beneath it is softer. Warmer.
“Aaron,” she whispers, and the way my name sounds on her lips—hesitant, hopeful—makes my cock twitch in my boxers.
“Shh,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Just feel.”
I slide her top up and over her shoulders, slow, giving her time to protest, to pull away.
She doesn’t. She helps me pull it over her head.
The simple bra she’s wearing is the palest pink, almost innocent, the cups barely containing her.
Her nipples are already hard, two tight peaks pressing against the fabric, begging for my mouth.
I get her to sit on the bed and drop to my knees in front of her.
The carpet is thick under my knees, the fibres pressing into my skin, but I barely notice.
All I can focus on is her—the way her breath turns ragged, the way her fingers tangle in my hair when I press my lips to the curve of her breast. She tastes like warm skin and something faintly floral, maybe her soap.
My tongue flicks under the edge of the bra, teasing the sensitive skin just above her nipple, and she gasps, her back arching just slightly, pushing herself closer.
“Aaron, please—”
“Please what?” I murmur against her skin, my hands sliding around to her back, finding the clasp of her bra. “Tell me what you want, Eve.”
She swallows, her throat working. “I—I don’t know.”
I chuckle, low and rough, my fingers deftly unhooking the bra.
The straps loosen, and I guide them down her arms, letting the whole thing fall away.
Her tits are perfect—small but full, her nipples a deep, dusky pink, already tight with arousal.
I cup one in my palm, my thumb brushing over the peak, and she whimpers, her fingers tightening in my hair.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I groan, my mouth watering. I don’t wait for permission. I lean in and take her nipple between my lips, my tongue swirling around the tight bud before I suck, hard.
Her cry is sharp, surprised, her body jerking against mine. “Oh God—”
I switch to the other nipple, lavishing it with the same attention, my free hand sliding down to her waist, then lower, gripping the fabric of her pyjama trousers. I get her to lift her bum and then tug them down, helping her step out of them, until she’s sitting there in nothing but her knickers.
I sit back on my heels, my hands on her thighs, just looking at her.
Really looking. The light plays over her skin, highlighting the faint freckles dusted across her nose, the soft curve of her waist, the way her hips flare just enough to make my mouth water.
She’s not the kind of woman who’d turn heads in a crowded room, but right now, she’s the only thing I can see.
“You’re staring,” she whispers, her hands instinctively moving to cover herself.
I catch her wrists gently, pulling them away. “Don’t. Let me see you.”
She swallows hard, but she lets her arms drop to her sides, her fingers curling into loose fists. I stand slowly, my body aching with the need to touch her, to have her, but I force myself to go slow. To savour this. For her as much as for me.
I position myself in front of her, the cotton of my boxers tented obscenely by my painfully hard cock, a wet spot of pre-cum where the tip presses against the material.
Eve’s eyes widen, her breath coming faster.
“You can touch me,” I say, my voice rough. “If you want to.”
She hesitates, her fingers twitching at her sides, before she finally reaches out, her palm pressing against my stomach.
Her touch is light, almost tentative, like she’s afraid I’ll break.
I don’t move, don’t breathe, just let her explore—the way her fingers trace the contours of my abs, the way her nails scrape lightly over my nipples.
When her hand drifts lower, brushing over the waistband of my boxers, I groan, my cock jerking against the fabric.
“Fuck, Eve—”
She pulls her hand back like she’s been burned, her cheeks flaming. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No,” I cut her off, catching her wrist, pressing her palm back against my cock. “Don’t apologize. Touch me.”
She swallows, her throat working, but she doesn’t pull away this time. Her fingers curl around my length through the cotton, her grip shy at first, then firmer as I groan with pleasure.
“You like that?” I murmur, my hips canting forward slightly, fucking into her grip.
She nods, her lips parting. “Yes.”
I breath out hard, my hand covering hers, guiding her to stroke me through my boxers. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, dark and hungry. She holds my gaze, her hand moving under mine, her strokes growing bolder, more confident. I let her take the lead, my jaw clenching as pleasure coils tight in my gut.
But as good as it feels, it’s not enough. I want more. I want all of her.
I catch her wrist again, pulling her hand away from my dick, ignoring her whimper of protest. “Lie down,” I say, my voice rough.
She obeys without hesitation, moving to the centre of the bed, her legs trembling slightly. I kneel in front of her, my hands sliding up her calves, over her knees.
She’s shaking now, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, her hands clutching the edge of the mattress like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.
I press a kiss to the inside of her knee, then higher, my lips trailing up her thigh, my tongue darting out to taste her skin.
She’s salty, sweet, her scent thickening the closer I get to her centre.
“Aaron—” Her voice is a plea, desperate, needy.
I glance up at her, my breath warm against the damp fabric of her knickers. “You smell so fucking good.”
Her face flushes darker, but she doesn’t look away.
She watches me, her chest rising and falling rapidly, as I hook my fingers into the waistband of her knickers and tug them down her legs.
They’re soaked, the fabric clinging to her but then they yield and the sight of her pussy framed by glistening dark curls makes my cock ache.
I toss her underwear aside, my hands sliding up her thighs, pushing them further apart.
She resists for a second, her muscles tensing, before she lets me open her up, her knees falling to the sides.
Her pussy is perfect—smooth, swollen, her lips flushed dark pink, already slick with arousal.
I can see how wet she is, the way her juices glisten in the light, the way her clit is peeking out from its hood, tight and begging for my mouth.
“Fuck,” I groan, my thumbs spreading her open further. “Look at you. So pretty. So wet.”
She whimpers, her hips lifting slightly, like she’s trying to get closer. But I will take my time, even if it costs me all of my strength. This woman needs to be worshipped, not taken.