Page 30 of Aldo

He pulled me into his arms, and I went happily, surprised to discover earlier that Mr. One Night Only was a snuggler. He held me close, pressing kisses to my head and cradling me against his body.

“You are incredible,” he whispered quietly.

“We are incredible together,” I replied.

For a moment, he was quiet.

“Yeah, we are,” he said. I felt his lips on my head. “Thanks, baby,” he murmured.

I could only hum in acknowledgment, sleep claiming me.

I patted his arm. “Stay.”

I was out before he could reply.

I woke up to the morning light diffusing through the room. The curtains were open, the view of the Falls spectacular. I sat up, my body protesting. He’d been all over me all night, and I had lost count of the number of orgasms I’d had and the various ways he’d used my body.

All of it had been incredible. But he had stated clearly it was only for the night.

I was alone, Aldo’s side of the bed empty and cold. Disappointment tore through me, although I wasn’t surprised. I had hoped he’d have breakfast with me at least. I stood slowly, letting my body adjust. The robe I had used the night before was on the foot of the bed, and I slid it on and headed to the bathroom. After I was done, I wandered back to the room. It was only ten, so I had an hour to check out. I sat on the chair, staring out of the window. I rarely got to see the Falls this way. They were mesmerizing.

The door opening made me look up. Aldo walked in, dressed in another suit, looking fresh and handsome in that rugged way of his.

He pulled a cart in behind him and frowned when he saw me.

“I thought you’d still be asleep.”

“I thought you’d gone.”

“I had to handle a couple of things. Then I got dressed in my suite and brought breakfast. I was letting you sleep.”

My heart warmed at his words. He hadn’t simply left.

“Oh.”

“Hungry?”

I grinned. “Starved.”

“I assumed so.” He stopped by my chair, surprising me when he bent and kissed me. “You expended a lot of energy last night.”

“We both did.”

He kissed me again. “I know.”

He took off his jacket, sitting down and rolling up his sleeves. I watched him covertly, but he caught me, lifting an eyebrow. “What?”

“It’s sexy when you do that.”

“Do what?” he asked, picking up a croissant and taking a bite. His throat moved as he swallowed.

“Roll up your sleeves. I love the way your muscles flex.” I paused. “You’re sexy when you eat too.”

He froze, the croissant partway to his mouth. His eyes darkened. “You were pretty damn sexy last night as I ate you,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

My core clenched at his words, and I shifted in my seat. I stared at him, running my tongue along my bottom lip, his words lighting me up.

“Stop,” he said. “You have to be sore.”