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Another gulp. “That’s a Van Gogh.”
“Sure is.”
She raised a hand and covered her face. “And a Flinck.”
“Yep.”
She peeked at me through her fingers. “And the lost Vermeer.”
Because this was what a lady bonerlookedlike, I smirked at her. “The Concert.”
When I confirmed what she’d already figured out, she twisted to look at the wall and shook her head. Shook it some more. Another time. Then whispered, “I think I have water in my ears.”
I said nothing, amused and touched and relieved and excited all at the same time.
She got it.
She fucking got it.
With my back to the door, I continued watching Aela as she jerked back and took in the majesty of my horde. Then, when she finally turned to me, something inside me settled so beautifully, so fucking wondrously, when I saw her eyes.
When I saw her tears.
She hurled herself at me. At first, I thought she was going to hit me, that was how violent her response was, but instead, she sobbed. She huddled into my chest, crying loudly like I’d hither, then she did the damnedest thing.
She leaned up on tiptoe, slipped her hands around my cheeks, and hauled my head down. When our lips collided, she ate at my mouth with the true hunger of someone who understood what she’d looked at. Who knew what it felt like to covet.
Who knew what hunger and need for something insane was.
Her tongue thrust into my mouth, tasting of salt and coffee and mint. She tasted, even more importantly, like mine. Like she’d never been parted from me. Like the last time we kissed was yesterday.
She moaned, her body writhing against mine as she used her hands to guide my head, and even though I was in no state to even be dealing with a boner, never mind this attack, did I look fucking stupid?
This was Aela.
Sweet fuck.
This. Was. Aela.
Her pussy was meant for my dick, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t know how many cocks had been inside her, but mine was the first to get a taste of that sweet cunt. Me. No fucker else. And I’d be the goddamn last.
The thought sent need surging through me, and when her hips ground into mine, her sweet gasp as she rocked her hips, digging her belly into me, I released a low growl as I pulled back, this time tipping her head up so I could kiss her throat. So I could mark her there.
She arched her neck, letting me have my way, accepting my need like she’d known I never could allow before. I’d marked her tits, her thighs, her stomach. Everywhere but where I wanted.
Now, I had a say in this, and I went on the rampage, sucking hard, not stopping until the love bite would stick around for days in the aftermath, long enough for her to whine about needing to plaster it with foundation every damn day.
Not stopping until I had to slip my thigh between hers, even though it fucked with my balance, so I could let her ride me. Her cunt ground down against my leg, and she rocked there, hard. Heavy. I could feel her heat through the denim of her jeans, making me wish she was wearing yoga pants so I’d feel her sweet cream against my skin because I was in a pair of basketball shorts.
When she moved faster, the pace suddenly surging upward, I moved back to her lips, thrusting my tongue into her mouth this time as I let her reach a peak I’d never anticipated her finding this afternoon.
Not after our discussion.
Her high-pitched moans turned more frantic, more frenetic, until she stiffened, her body on the knife’s edge, and she let out a long cry that I swallowed.
As she cascaded back toward the ground, I carried on kissing her, nipping at her lips, tasting her, supping from her, well aware that when she realized what she’d done, she’d pull away. Get defensive. Back off.
I took advantage of the moment, enjoyed the feel of her against my cock, and held her close.
