What happy looks like
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
AIDEN
“Hold on,” I say, laughing as I read through the first part of the blog post. I’m propped up on my elbows in bed, where Linnea and I have spent the past days entirely naked. “Henry Brown. A fake and a liar since he was a teenager. Why am I not surprised?”
“I kind of feel better that I’m not the only person he fooled. Does that make me a bad person?” Linnea asks.
“No, he’s the only bad person here,” I say, continuing to skim through the blog. “I’m even a little bit fond of the blogger right now.”
Linnea snorts next to me, and I turn to her.
She snuggles her cheek into the pillow, her blond hair flowing behind her.
The light from the bedroom window reflects in her eyes, making the cobalt blue of them sparkle.
I lean down and kiss her, and she runs a hand through my hair.
Tossing the phone aside, I instead devour her mouth, brushing my tongue over hers when she opens for me.
I run a hand down under the thin sheet she’s been hiding under, finding the warm, naked skin I love so much.
With a groan, I fling the sheet off her, turn her onto her back and cover her body with mine.
“Mmm, you’re up again,” she mumbles against my lips, wiggling her hips under me, teasing my erection.
I chuckle. “It’s a constant situation around you,” I say, and kiss her again, rubbing the head of my hard-on through her slit, up to her clit.
She moans and arches against me. Leaning on my elbow I reach over and grab a condom from her side table.
It’s the last one. We’ve been locked in her house, her room, since we got back from Devon Sunday, and it might be Tuesday today, but I’ve lost count and I don’t give a shit.
Having almost lost Linnea, experiencing that complete despair, I’ll never do anything stupid like that again.
No doubts, no lack of sharing, no secrets. She knows everything now.
We talked all Sunday. I told her about when I got the box of inheritance papers and my view of my dad fell apart, how I got drunk and smashed the wall, how I lived my life trying to compensate for his mistakes but inadvertently made similar ones. Almost, anyway.
I talked through my fears of meeting the family. What they might tell me. And she listened. Just listened. With those understanding eyes, humming in between. It was a weight off my chest, saying it all out loud, finally. I’m so much lighter now.
I’ve answered her handful of questions about Le Lounge.
Luckily she didn’t ask for too many details—some things are best left unsaid, and I’m glad she agrees.
She doesn’t need the images of the sexcapades of my past life in her head.
What interested her most was how I found out about it, what kind of people I met, and what it looked like (of course she wants to hear about the design).
Although I’ve had to swear her to secrecy, because even though I’m no longer a member, telling her anything breaches the contract.
She’s been understanding about it, and it seems she appreciates that I’ll answer the questions she might have anytime.
I flick the wrapper over the edge and kneel in front of her, putting the condom on. I love her eyes on me when I do this. The hunger in them.
Once I’m ready, I reach down between her legs and run two fingers through her wet folds. She squirms and moans, pushing against my hand, and I keep going. I lean down on one arm and my side to get a better angle for her clit and kiss her neck.
“I want you to come on my hand first,” I say in a low voice, and kiss her neck below her ear.
I know she loves it when I talk to her like this.
Maybe it’s the breath tickling her ear or her neck, or my dirty words spoken with a rumbling bass sound.
Either way, I love the way she responds to me.
“And then I want to feel you clenching around my hard cock, and see your tits move as I thrust into you.”
“Mmm,” she mewls. “Keep going.”
“Hear that sound of you, how wet you are. All for me.”
Increasing the speed, my fingers move up and down her folds, her clit, the delicious sound of her wetness in the room, drowned out only by her moans and whimpers that are now growing louder, and louder.
“Just there, don’t stop,” she breathes and grasps the sheet on one side and my back with her other hand, dragging her nails down my skin.
It’s so hot I almost come right here, but I keep my focus until she crescendos and I ride through her orgasm.
Fucking hell, that face when she comes. I can’t get enough.
I shift back up, and lick her juices off my fingers in front of her, watching her gaze darken as I do.
“So fucking tasty.” I move my cock to her entrance. “Ready for whatever number round this is?”
“Yes. Always. Fuck me hard, Aiden, don’t be careful. I want you so deep inside me I can taste you.”
“Bloody hell, Linnea, you’re going to undo me.”
“Less talking, more fucking,” she says, biting her lower lip.
I do as she says, and after inching in partially, making sure she can take it, I thrust deep and she cries out.
“Yes!”
She might think she likes being fucked hard, and I would like to just slam into her again and again, but I love her orgasm face, and that is more likely to appear if I fuck her the right way.
I lift her legs, resting her feet against my torso, and grab her hips for the best hold, tilting her pelvis up a bit.
From here I alternate between rolling my hips, pushing my cock down as far as I can get, rubbing her back wall.
“Oh my god, Aiden,” she cries, stretching her arms up, pressing her hands against the headboard above her. That slack jaw is back, the constant O of her mouth. Yes.
“I fucking love watching you enjoy taking my cock.”
“I love your cock.”
“The way your breasts move. Touch them for me.”
She does as I say, cupping her tits, letting her hard nipples slip through her fingers, rubbing and squeezing them, and I give her a couple of hard thrusts before rolling my hips again.
“Wrap your legs around me,” I say, and lean on my hands, grinding myself against her front while moving inside her. “How’s that?”
“I feel you everywhere,” she breathes.
“Better than hard thrusts?”
“I want you to thrust in the end, but yes this is good. So good.”
“Your face like this is so sexy.”
“Mmm.”
She’s lost. I’m giving her this pleasure, and it’s taking all my strength to hold back.
She has no idea the power she has over me.
She could make me come in a minute if she put her mind to it.
The walls of her pussy clench around my cock and I bite my lip, but a groan wants out and I let my jaw go slack, allowing it to escape and she answers with another moan.
“Fuck,” I gasp as I roll and grind. “Your sounds.”
“Aiden, keep going, just there, a little harder,” she says, her voice breathy, and she clenches around me again. I do as she says, thrusting and rolling, faster, hitting where she reacts.
She cries out and I go harder, her tits bounce and her mouth opens in a loud, long moan as she comes on my cock, her legs clamping down around my back just as it hits me too.
The heat radiates through my lower back, down my legs and up my cock.
It explodes inside her, and the pleasure rushes down my arms, through my chest, and into my head.
I’m done for.
I collapse on top of her and she lets out a huff.
“Too heavy,” she squeaks and laughs, and I roll to the side, holding on to the condom.
“You’re fucking amazing,” I pant.
“You fuck amazingly,” she answers, and I laugh.
“We’re a good match. It’s never been this good,” I say, turning my head to her.
“It really hasn’t.” She smiles at me and kisses my sweaty forehead.
“I’ll clean up, but I could really do with some food,” I say.
“Me too. What day is it? When did we eat last?”
“I don’t know.” I laugh, entering the ensuite and closing the door behind me.
“Is there protein in semen? If so, I ate a few hours ago.” Linnea chuckles to herself from the other side.
I catch my reflection in the mirror, a huge grin on my face. Hair sticking out in all directions. Red cheeks.
Happy.
This is what happy looks like.
LINNEA
We head downstairs in underwear and a t-shirt each. I’m intentionally walking behind him down the stairs.
“Your arse is spectacular, do you know that?” I say when we reach the last steps.
“Of course,” he says, giving it a shake as he walks down the hallway, and I laugh. “I wasn’t an underwear model for nothing.”
“You weren’t.”
“Sure was. From eighteen to nineteen.”
“I need to buy that whole portfolio and plaster it on my walls. It’ll be the new statement wall in my bedroom.”
“You can have the live version anytime.”
“Yeah? You want to come live here?”
Aiden stops by the kitchen and turns to me with wide eyes.
“Oh, that’s not what you meant,” I say.
“It wasn’t, but when you say that, there’s nothing I’d rather do than live here with you. This place has felt like home since the first time I stepped into it.”
“It’s a bit fast. We just… You know. But one day soon, when you’re here so often that you might as well?”
“That sounds good. Very healthy. And I won’t change a thing here, except we’ll need another chair in your library so we can read together.” He wraps his arms around my waist as if I was about to run away, but I’m not. Weirdly, I want Aiden to invade my space, make it ours.
“So,” he says, turning towards the kitchen. “What food do you have in the house?”
I grimace. I’ve not been home for a week and, except the food we ordered in the other day, we’ve not done anything but each other.
I check the fridge. It’s no good. “If you like mustard, I have that.”
“Just mustard? Not even a cheese?”
“I ate everything last week and what was left I threw out before I went to Devon.”
Aiden moves to the pantry and I hear a cheer. “You have mini gherkins.”
He stands there, holding up my pickle jar.
The pickle jar.
My nemesis.
For a moment I stare at him and the jar in his hand. My stomach knots.
I drag in a long breath.
It’s time.
“Can you open it for me, please?” I ask, and my stomach unclenches immediately. If anyone should open my pickle jar, it’s Aiden.
He does as I ask. Too. Fucking. Easily. And I narrow my eyes at the gherkins. Little rascals.
“These pickles better be fucking delicious,” I say.
Aiden pops one in his mouth, and I join him. For a minute we sit in silence, crunching on mini gherkins, hooking our legs together between the barstools.
“Let’s order some pizza, shall we?” I ask. “These were underwhelming.”
“Okay, did you have a particular one in mind?”
“I was thinking… How about Florentine pizza?”
He gapes at me, a gherkin halfway to his mouth. I wait for him to process my question.
“Hmm.” He puts the gherkin down. “I’m not sure I’m ready for Florentine pizza yet,” he says, knitting his brow. “What if it’s no good?”
“At least you’ll know. What if it’s delicious?”
Aiden stares into space, tracing a thumb across his bottom lip.
“Or for now,” I say, tilting my head to get into his line of sight, “we can just order one from that place near the shopping centre. We can have Florentine pizza another time.”
“Yeah.” He looks at me now. “Are we still talking about my grandparents or actual pizza?”
“Umm, I got lost in my analogy. Let’s get pizza first. Grandparents and answers later.”
“Okay. As long as you come with me.”
“Anywhere. Anytime. I’m here for you.”
“Promise?” he asks, dropping down from his barstool and stepping between my legs.
“I promise.”