Chapter 25
twenty-five
LUCY
“Lucy, I need you to understand something.”
His voice is rough, scraped raw at the edges, his hands fixed at my waist. I nod, scarcely breathing, the pressure in my chest so tight it feels like my ribs are about to crack open.
His eyes search mine, and whatever he finds there makes his jaw flex. “I’ve been trying to go slow,” he says, quiet now, his thumbs brushing slow circles into my hips. “But once I have you like this, I won’t be able to pretend it’s anything less.”
I swallow, but it does nothing to ease the dryness in my throat. “I know,” I whisper, my voice so small it nearly disappears in the space between us. “I don’t want you to pretend.”
His hand slides up my back, spreading wide between my shoulder blades, drawing me flush against the heat of his chest. The air between us collapses.
His lips brush the edge of my jaw, just once. “You still sure?”
“Yes,” I breathe, no hesitation. “Please.”
That’s all it takes.
His mouth finds mine with all the reverence in the world. It’s like he’s memorizing every part of me, like he’s waited so long, and now that he has me, he’s going to take his time. His kiss is deep and claiming, but careful.
“Upstairs,” he commands.
When I nod, he takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine.
He leads me toward the staircase, each step causing the wooden stairs to creak beneath our weight, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet house.
I’m painfully aware of Isla sleeping just down the hall, and Aidan seems to sense my thoughts.
“She sleeps like the dead,” he whispers, squeezing my hand reassuringly. “Nothing wakes her.”
His bedroom at the top of the stairs is simple. A large bed with dark sheets and a dresser, but I don’t have time to notice anything else as he guides me inside, closing the door with a soft click. He doesn’t immediately reach for me. Instead, he stands there, eyes drinking me in.
When he finally moves, it’s with purpose. His hands cup my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks as he leans down to kiss me, softly at first, then with growing intensity.
“I need to see you,” he murmurs against my lips, fingers finding the hem of my sweater.
I nod, lifting my arms as he slowly pulls the fabric over my head. The cool air kisses my skin, and I fight the urge to cover myself. His eyes grow impossibly darker as his fingers trace the edge of my collarbone.
“You’re so soft everywhere,” he marvels, almost to himself, brushing his knuckles over the dip between my breasts. “Sweet girl. Been driving me out of my mind.”
He takes his time tracing the lace edge of my bra.
I shiver under his touch, my body responding to his attentive exploration.
His deft hands slide to my back, and the clasp of my bra gives way under his fingers.
My breath hitches with a flutter of nerves, yet the sure pressure of his hands on my body makes me trust I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
He gently removes the last barrier between his gaze and my bare skin, his eyes holding mine for a heartbeat before dropping.
“Fuck…Lucy,” he breathes, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. “You’re beautiful. I want to take my time with you. Is that all right?”
I nod, unable to find my voice as his calloused fingers trace a path down to the curve of my breast. The contrast between his rough hands and gentle touch is incredible.
“Tell me what you like,” he commands softly, his thumb brushing across my nipple. “I need to hear you say it.”
“I like your hands on me,” I whisper, my voice trembling slightly. “Everywhere.”
His mouth curves into a satisfied smile. “Good girl.” He lowers his head, pressing his lips to the hollow of my throat. “And here?” His teeth graze my skin lightly.
“Yes,” I gasp, my head tipping back in surrender, baring my neck to him without a second thought.
If I seem composed on the outside, it’s a lie. Because inside…I’m unraveling.
Good girl.
When he says it again, it doesn’t feel patronizing or soft. It feels earned. It makes me feel seen and wanted and powerful all at once. Like giving in is the strongest thing I’ve ever done.
“Your pulse is racing,” he murmurs against my skin. “Your heart’s beating so fast.” His palm spreads flat against my chest, feeling the erratic thrum beneath my breast.
His eyes find mine, watching my reactions carefully as he continues to explore.
“I want to feel every part of you,” he says, his voice deep and assured.
“Want to learn what makes you tremble.” His hand slides down my stomach, stopping at the waistband of my jeans before he quirks his brow in a silent question.
I nod, and his fingers work the button of my jeans with deliberate slowness.
He eases them down my hips, his knuckles grazing my skin as he does. When I stand before him in just my underwear, he takes a step back, eyes roaming over me with such intensity that I can almost feel his gaze like a physical touch.
“Look at you.” His voice is thick with admiration. “Perfect.”
I’m so exposed, but the hunger and appreciation in his eyes melts the shame right off my skin.
“Come here,” he says, his voice a gentle command.
I step toward him without hesitation, drawn by the gravity of his words. He’s still fully dressed, and I reach for the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers.
He covers my hands with his. “Let me.”
He guides me backward until the backs of my knees meet the bed, then lowers me down. I sink into the mattress, my breath caught somewhere in my throat as he straightens and reaches for the buttons of his shirt.
One by one, they come undone, giving me time to take it in. And I do. I can’t not.
Tanned skin comes into view first, then the dark lines of ink sprawling across his chest and down his arms. Some of it is bold and sharp, some faded with time, but all of it…is him. Real. Raw. Beautiful.
“I didn’t know you had all this,” I whisper.
His eyes meet mine, something unreadable glinting there. “No one’s seen them in a long time.”
He shrugs the shirt off fully, and I swear the room tilts. Because it’s not just the tattoos or the way he’s built—strong, solid, every inch of him carved and inked with stories I want to learn. It’s the trust in the way he lets me look.
“See something you like?” he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.
I bite my lip, nodding silently, too overwhelmed to form words.
When he’s down to just his boxers, he moves over me, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as I lie on my back. He hovers above, his arms braced on either side of my head, his eyes locked on mine. The intensity of his gaze makes me shiver.
“Cold?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that I can feel in my chest.
I shake my head. “No. Just…nervous.”
His expression softens, and he lowers himself to his forearms, his face inches from mine. “We can stop anytime,” he says, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheek. “Just say the word.”
“I don’t want to stop,” I whisper, my hands finding courage as they slide up his arms, feeling the hard muscle beneath warm skin. “I want you.”
A groan escapes him. “Say it again,” he commands softly, his lips brushing against mine. “Tell me what you want, Lucy.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but his unwavering gaze holds mine. “I want you, Aidan,” I repeat, my voice steadier now. “All of you.”
“Good girl,” he praises, his words sending another shiver of pleasure through me. His lips find mine again, capturing them in a kiss that steals my breath.
His lips trail down my neck, each kiss deliberate and precise, mapping every inch of my skin. “Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” he says against my collarbone.
I nod, unable to form words as his mouth continues its journey downward. I’m fairly certain nothing he does could ever feel anything but right.
When his lips close around my nipple, a gasp escapes me, my back arching instinctively.
He smiles against my skin, the satisfaction written all over his face enough to send my pulse into a frantic beat.
“I want to hear every sound you make. Don’t ever hold back with me.”
His words strike something deep inside me. I let go, allowing my body to do what it needs, no longer trying to hold back. Soft sighs escape me, quiet moans slipping from my lips, each one a reflection of how he makes me feel—alive, wanted, and completely his.
It’s like I’m uncoiling, shedding layers I didn’t even realize I was still holding onto. His touch and his words give me the permission to be just me.
His hand slips between us, fingers trailing down my stomach. When he reaches the lace edge of my underwear, he pauses, his eyes finding mine in the dim light.
I nod, breathless. “Please.”
His fingers dip beneath the fabric, and I gasp at the first touch, my hips rising to meet him. He watches my face intently, reading every spark of pleasure, learning what makes me sigh, what makes me tremble.
“There she is,” he murmurs approvingly when he finds the spot that makes me arch against him. “So responsive for me.”
I close my eyes, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through me, but his voice calls me back.
“Keep those pretty eyes on me,” he orders softly. “I want to see you.”
I force my eyes open. His eyes never leave mine as his fingers work their magic, building a pressure inside me that threatens to shatter me completely.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he says, his voice thick with desire. The words wash over me, and I can’t help the way my body responds, arching into his touch, seeking more.
His fingers move with deliberate precision, drawing circles that make my breath hitch and my thoughts scatter. I’m trembling now, my hands clutching at his shoulders, anchoring me as pleasure builds in waves.
“Aidan,” I gasp as I feel myself approaching the edge.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his eyes darkening as he watches me unravel. “Let go for me.”