Page 58 of Stud

She hadn’t asked about it since that first time, but whenever she came over, I’d find her staring at the shards, occasionally picking up a piece and studying it. I’d shared a lot with Ainsley, a woman who blew into my life with her painted nails and name-brand clothes—a stylish hurricane. Still, there was something about that glass. They were pieces of me. Fragments of my most intimate memories and misguided hopes for my future, another childish wish: to find the owner of my missing pieces. Someone who could make them whole.

Make me whole.

Possessiveness rushed through me, a hot blast of longing to brand Ainsley, mark her as mine. My hands moved as I walked us to the bed. I kissed her shoulder and neck, sucking and biting as I pressed my weight onto her in the middle of my sheets.

She purred. “Oh, I like that.”

“You taste like chocolate.” Decadent.

Her moan turned into a light laugh. “My favorite chocolatier sells a perfume. I dab it on my neck.”

“That explains why I want to devour you.” But not why I’m halfway in love with you. The unbidden thought had my next nip turning into a rough bite, and our hips lined up.

She took control then, flinging my cowboy hat to the floor and flipping us so she straddled me, a playful look of reproach spreading. “Is that the only reason?”

“Yeah.”

She pinched the skin at my ribs. “Try again.”

“Okay.” I rocked my hips up, pressing against her from below, nothing but two bits of fabric between us. “The real reason I can’t get enough of you is I worry about time.” I wasn’t expecting to reveal that much of my heart, risk her pulling away at my admission. I couldn’t shove the words back in now.

She shifted her weight slightly, tiny ripples that teased us both. “Why time?” Hesitancy bit into her tone.

There was so much I wanted to say to Ainsley. Confess how often she occupied my mind, that our time apart was painful, and I wanted to watch every old movie with her nestled into my side, wash dishes with her at my side, cook with her, fight with her, make up with her, take her to Morocco like she’d dreamed, and find a thousand ways to tell her how her beauty hurt my heart.

I settled on a sliver of truth. “Because, after you leave, when I close my eyes I can almost feel you in bed, beside me. When I open them, and you’re not here, disappointment sets in. The rough kind, like a hollow spreading in my gut.”

She sucked in a breath, her chin trembling. She didn’t speak, her unsaid words revealing as much as the moisture glazing her eyes. She felt it, too. I was sure of it—this unnameable connection. This sense of rightness. And she was scared. So Ainsley did what Ainsley did best: she changed the subject.

Blinking rapidly, she ghosted her nose along my chest, inhaling my scent. “You smell like apple pie.”

“That would be my soap. Nana started making it a couple years back. She sells it at a few markets and sends me home with it every visit.”

“I may need to buy a few bars.”

Or you could stay over, I didn’t say. You could live here and shower here and use my soap and be mine. But she wasn’t, not with the one ugly truth I’d kept from her.

It was selfish of me, not telling her about Tessa’s claims. The notion of speaking them aloud felt like breathing truth into the lies, giving them life. Still, it wasn’t fair. If Ainsley found out some other way, it would undermine everything we’d built. Ruin it. Ruin us. Pretending the whole ordeal would blow over was a fool’s errand.

She moved her hips faster, palms flat on my chest. I was pumped with lust and an aching need to be inside my woman. To forget this one small, yet massive snag.

But this couldn’t go on. “We need to talk.”

“We need to fuck.” With a sexy grunt, she slinked down my body, moving deliberately, teasing bites and licks tracing a tortuous path.

My thighs bunched, my abs contracting with each languid exploration. Christ, this woman. But I gripped her shoulders. “Seriously, there’s something we need to discuss.”

She nipped my hipbone. “I’m sure it can wait.”

I should have tried harder to stop her, fought the pull to melt into this moment, but she felt too good, and we could be on a timeline. When I revealed I’d been accused of cheating on my ex, I could lose her. She was already halfway out the door as it was…

Her fingers lingered on my pecs as she descended, and I let her descend. I gave myself over to the perfection of her hot mouth on my skin. She toyed with my nipples, my chest hair, tracing a trail to my throbbing dick, pulling my briefs off on her way. She hummed against my shaft, ran her lips up and down the sides, fondling my balls with her skilled fingers in a blinding rhythm.

I didn’t know if it was our blowjob conversation on that disastrous date, or her inherent expertise, but Ainsley Hall sucking me off was a one-way ticket to Nirvana.

Which was exactly where she took me.

Her full lips swallowed me, the head of my cock hitting the back of her throat. It was like she didn’t have a gag reflex, taking me deeper, working me harder. Her small hands gripped and pumped while she sucked and used her tongue. I couldn’t help but move my hips and fist her hair, knees wide as my balls pinched, so much heat flooding my groin. Too much heat. I needed to see her eyes when I came, feel her pulse around me.