Chapter 16
Lo
Let it be temporary, Aidan said. I can do that. What other choice do I have, with him living in another country? I do deserve to feel good.
Aidan’s muscular thighs bracket me close to him. I slowly run my palms up them. They tense and his breath grows shaky. I can’t help but feel like the sweetness of being close to him now is worth the eventual sting I’ll feel later.
His eyes do that crinkly thing at the corners.
“What?” I ask.
“Just thinking about that questionable mnemonic device about butts I came up with for you.”
A shocked laugh bursts from me. It’s not what I expected him to say at such a charged moment.
“Some say marry money, but my brother says big butts matter more,” I recite.
That one was to help recall which cranial nerves are for either sensory or motor function, or both.
The idea was that the more ridiculous the mnemonic device, the more likely the information was to stick in your mind.
Aidan’s grip on my ass is possessive as he draws me close enough to feel the heat of him against my stomach. “I’d marry you for that doctor money, too. Either way, it’s a win.”
He’s obviously kidding, but my heart still constricts at the word. This whole weekend is about two people promising to be there for each other. Forever. I can’t think about that right now. Aidan keeps bringing up the past, but I want to be in this moment.
His piercing blue eyes stay riveted to me as I caress up his bare thighs, skimming past his towel-draped hips, sliding up his sternum, until they rest on his chest. The scent of fresh water and grass still clings to his warm, tattooed skin.
He leans in, stopping just before our lips brush to let his eyes drift closed.
Our kiss is tentative at first, but I revel in a give-and-take both exquisite and excruciating.
Soon, any hesitation gives way to insistence.
Aidan reclaims my mouth and my body. He’s possessive.
Indulgent. Passionate. Aidan’s always made it so easy to turn off the relentless chatter inside my mind and tune in to sensory pleasure.
Somehow, I’ve carried a flame for him all this time.
It’s burned on, the last glowing embers of emotion privately tended in the deepest recesses of my heart, even after I’d promised myself to smother it and stamp out the ashes.
I’d been so afraid that flame would consume me, but still I hadn’t extinguished it completely. Couldn’t.
Temporary, I remind myself.
“Can I make a confession?” he asks. “Watching you tie knots is all I’ve been thinking about.”
Artfully binding him has consumed my thoughts, too.
And my internet search history has gotten much more interesting.
Mutual respect and communication always gave us the confidence to explore together.
Discover new things about ourselves and each other.
I want to re-learn everything about Aidan, starting with how gorgeous he looks bound and debauched.
Fulfilling Aidan’s fantasies of light domination always made me feel powerful.
His raw desire is palpable when I control his pleasure and my own. It’s intoxicating.
“I touched myself thinking about it. About you, helpless and submissive for me…”
Mischief glimmers in his eye. “Think this castle has a dungeon?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
The four-post bed in the center of the room is perfect for this scenario. I walk over to it, letting my towel fall to the bathroom floor before I cross into the bedroom. Aidan groans and hops off the vanity, tossing his towel aside before following me.
“There are some rolls of ribbon and scissors in my bag,” I tell him. “And a condom in the side pocket.”
“Bossy,” Aidan scoffs, but his rapid breathing betrays him as he fetches it.
“I’m going to remind you who’s the boss tonight.” I pluck the ribbon from his hands, but he holds on to the foil wrapper. I’d packed the wide, white satin ribbon to decorate Lark and Callum’s car for photos, but it can be multipurpose.
Strands of tousled auburn hair slide through my fingers as I gently tug to direct him to sit on to the bed beside me.
He scatters kisses up my neck, lowering me into the mattress until he’s climbing over me.
His weight is familiar and comforting, but not what this moment needs.
With a hand on Aidan’s arm, I hook his foot with mine, then jerk to the side.
We tumble across the bed and I pin him beneath me.
Bewildered lust colors his expression as he looks up at me.
His abject awe makes me feel invincible.
“Did I just get manhandled?”
“Is it still manhandling if a woman does it?”
“Either way,” he says, “that was super hot.”
My fingertips trace up the underside of Aidan’s forearms, appreciating the softer skin and veins that run under their inked surfaces. He squirms and swallows hard, resisting the teasing tickle. I stop at his wrists, bracing them on either side of his head close to the bedposts.
With the insides of his arms exposed, I get a good look at the tattoo that so distracted me on the boat.
A wickedly sharp pair of shears prepares to sever a piece of traditional Celtic knotwork.
The image faces toward his heart, mostly unseen by others.
Now that I’m up close, I notice a new detail.
The crux of the scissors bears a C . My heart flips at the sight.
I regret how sharp I was to Aidan in our last conversation as a couple. Ending things cleanly felt like the humane thing to do at the time, even if his optimism was snuffed out alongside our future together.
I gently trace the curve of my initial. “This is for me?”
Aidan trembles at the maddening sensation but doesn’t pull away. He whispers, “It’s always for you.”
Deep down, I knew that. The songs he sings, the tattoo marking him. What must have been going through his mind as he made my initial a part of his body after we broke up? Was it anger, devotion, or obsession, or simply an act of denial? “Why?”
“I was in Amsterdam and my bass player was getting something at this little tattoo shop. One of my songs started playing and it felt like a sign.”
“I cut off something meant to go on forever?” I ask softly.
“Do you see any strings cut?”
It takes some effort to tear myself from the earnestness on Aidan’s face and get another look at the ink.
He’s right: All the strings remain intact.
The scissors haven’t followed through on their threat.
Now I’m not sure how to interpret the image.
Is the point that the thread between us hasn’t been severed?
Keeping his wrists pinned, I lean down and gently lick the outline of the ink. A soft breath of air on the streak of moisture earns me his gasp, a buck of his hips. I let myself straddle him then claim his mouth. Our kiss is a charged conversation. Hot and emotion-filled and desperate.
I tie the ribbon loosely around the post and his wrist with a sailor’s knot I learned that day on the boat.
The white satin isn’t ideal, but this knot shouldn’t tighten as he pulls, and I can release it with one yank.
I diligently snip the length of ribbon with the scissors and repeat on the other side.
As I lean over him to tie the knots, he nuzzles his face into my breasts through my bra.
The drag of his beard and the heat of his tongue has me gasping for air.
I push a pillow under him to raise his chest, so it’s about level with his wrists.
Dexterity is so important to his music—his career, his soul—and I refuse to risk nerve damage.
“Too snug?” I ask, taking the condom from his grasp. “Tell me if you can’t feel your fingers.”
Aidan leans closer to kiss me, and just to tease him, I pull out of reach.
Slowly, I drag fingertips along his jaw, his chest, his stomach, as he squirms. Now that I have the chance, I’m giving Aidan a taste of the frustration I felt when his music was all around me but he was too far away to touch.
I slide one strap of my bra down and toy with it while he looks on, anguished. The other strap. I comb my fingers through my damp hair and shake it out, buying some time to tease him.
“You’re hell-bent on torturing me, aren’t you?”
“And we didn’t even have to visit the dungeon,” I say, unhooking my bra. My chest drops and Aidan’s eyes flash. Being so close to him but not touching is painful for me, too. I slip off my panties and climb over him.
“Smother me with those tits.”
They’re heavy and aching to be touched. He sucks a nipple into his hot mouth. I cry out at how sensitized they already are. He flicks his tongue against it, nibbling and teasing until I’m delirious.
“I could do anything I want with you,” I remind him.
Flashing a challenging smirk, he jerks against the ribbon, testing its hold. “Then do it.”
Our eyes lock as my fingers curl around his waistband. I tug his underwear off and discard them on the floor. Aidan sucks in a quick gasp as I give him a couple long strokes.
I pull away and reach for the protection, rolling it on quickly. The need, the ache is so intense. I need him now.
“Use me to get yourself off, Lo,” Aidan says, voice ragged with want. “Show me what you’ve missed.”
Something snaps in me. The culmination of two years of longing, of remembering, of resenting. All the nights I cried over him, all the nights I fantasized over our memories. I grab his thighs, push them up until he’s bent at the knees, and climb on top of him.
“What are you—” he starts to ask, but the words shrink in his throat.
I reach down to notch his length against me and mount him kneeling, Amazon style.
The unconventional position, with his legs spread wider than mine, throws him off, but there’s an undeniable current of excitement. We’ve never tried this before.
Aidan looks deep into my eyes as I sink down. There’s a bit of resistance, and then such fullness that I moan out his name. He’s a dream under me. All flushed cheeks and mussed hair. Vulnerable and exposed.
“You’re gonna break me in half,” he groans.
“Exactly.” I sink deeper, accepting him inch by inch.
He throws his head back, exposing his throat as he vocalizes his bliss. “Oh god, you feel amazing. So gorgeous for me.”
Amazing doesn’t begin to describe it. Not even close.
There’s a familiar, slight sting as he stretches me but my memories did not do it justice.
We lock eyes and I feel like the vulnerable one.
Because despite everything I tell myself, I still can’t resist him.
Aidan must see this. It’s intense, the unflinching stare and the way my body slowly accommodates his.
Finally, he’s fully inside. He tries to buck his hips, but I hold his knees up. I want him passive.
Aidan’s forearms flex as he uselessly jerks against the ribbons.
The contrast of smooth white satin pinning down his inked muscle is striking.
He’s grinning as if this is all he’s ever wanted in bed.
And I realize, I’m grinning, too. Because this—trust, compatibility, connection with him— is all I’ve wanted.
“Don’t move.”
Aidan’s brow quirks. “Then you need to move, babe .”
He knows that’ll get a rise out of me. Rolling my hips, I brace myself against his thighs. “Still. Not. Your. Babe.” With each syllable, I grind against him and pleasure ripples through every cell of my body.
“Yes, you are,” he repeats in that lilting accent. “You’re gonna make a mess all over this cock because you’re mine and I’m yours.”
Pink streaks bloom against his black tattoos where I gently rake my nails down his chest. I’ve certainly marked him as my own.
He might not have much physical control right now, but he always knows which buttons to push.
Pouring my yearning and years-old anger into each thrust, I move into a squatting position.
My thighs burn with the workout. It feels dominating, even though I’m the one being penetrated.
Aidan’s eyes roll shut, mouth quirked in a beatific smile. That’s exactly what he likes about it.
Frustrated because he doesn’t have leverage to piston his hips, he groans. Damn, I might have to bind his ankles and his wrists for round two, because this is too much fun.
“Keep riding me…Let me feel that tight little cunt drip.” Aidan’s voice cracks in desperation.
Tension builds deep in my stomach, propelling me toward climax. I chase that feeling, increasing my pace despite the burning of my hamstrings.
“That’s it, Lo, take it all,” he mumbles against my breasts. “I know you missed the way I fill you up.”
That’s what sends me over the edge: his voice. Pleasure eclipses everything else, warm and white in my vision. But Aidan’s not quite there yet and I need him to feel this with me.
“What do you need?” I manage to ask between strokes. He’s so close, I can feel the tension.
“ You . I just need you.”
He’s on the brink of bliss, gently thrashing against his binds as I ride him harder. Just perfect, flushed cheeks and blue eyes heavy-lidded with lust. Aidan moans as he goes over the edge and I swear I feel it in every cell of my body.
My hands tenderly frame his face, dragging along his soft beard as our hips slow. “Aidan…”
When his softening length slips out of me, he whimpers at the loss. Whimpers.
I pull at one knot so that it comes undone. Satin ribbon loosens around his wrist. I rub the red area with my thumb, drop a kiss into the center of his palm, then tug free the ribbon binding him to the opposite post.
“So beautiful, so good for me,” I praise as his hands smooth over my curves.
Beads of sweat on his inked chest glimmer in the lamplight as his breathing recovers.
I cuddle in close and sling a leg across his torso.
He needs to know I don’t really just want to use him to get myself off. “It’s always been so good between us.”
“Every minute. Every time,” he answers, stealing a kiss.
God, I never thought that would happen again.
I don’t want to return to the reality outside this bed.
Not to the family drama nor the reality of his stardom or the stress of rounds at the hospital.
Aidan’s arms feel safe. They always have—but I can’t stay in them all night.
This arrangement has a time limit. I’ll give it fifteen more minutes until I send him back to his own room.
“Saoirse said you’d eat my head afterward like a praying mantis if this happened again,” he says, chuckling.
I lift my head up and look him in the eye. “I am kinda hungry.”
He laughs harder and squeezes me closer.