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“Oh, no. You’re not going all the way back downstairs,” he snorts. He nods his head toward a door nearby. “Hang it in my closet.”
I leave a quick peck at his mouth, his frustrated expression like that of a toddler having a tantrum—the tented front of his pants saying otherwise. I cross to the closet hastily, pulling open the doors and flipping on the light in search of a hanger.
“Jesus,” I mutter.
Aiden’s closet is as big as my bathroom downstairs. I notice empty hangers near the back beyond a sea of black shirts and gray sweats and dark denim, stepping further inside to grab for one as I start to shimmy out of my dress. I’m unclasping my bra for good measure to save Aiden the trouble when I spot something interesting, pausing for a good second as an idea pops up in my head. I bite my lip as I consider.
Would it be silly or sexy?I wonder.
“If you don’t get out here,” Aiden calls impatiently. “I’m going to come fuck you in the closet.”
Ah, what the hell.
I grab the garment that caught my attention from a hangerbefore I can change my mind, putting my arms through the sleeves. His chef coat is entirely too big for me, the hem hitting midthigh and the sleeves nearly covering both my hands, but when I turn to the floor-length mirror on the back wall of his closet, I have to admit that the overall effect—gapped fabric that hints at my breasts and leaves the black lace of my underwear (I bought non-printed for tonight, thank you very much) on complete display— isn’t half bad.
I try for my best Jessica Rabbit impression when I step out of the closet, backlit by the light inside as I slide one arm up the side of the door to lean against it. Aiden sits up in bed when he sees me; he’s shucked off everything except his underwear, and his eyes go wide as they rake down the entire length of me.
“On today’s edition of Who Wore It Best...” I say with a nervous laugh.
Aiden isn’t laughing. In fact, he looks downright tense. “No contest,” he says tightly. And then with a crook of his finger: “Come here.”
I manage to cross the room without tripping or doing anything else that might break the sexy vibe I’m going for, crawling up the bed to meet him at the headboard where he’s resting against (of course) black pillows. He pulls me over his lap so that my core rests directly against the length of him that strains against his underwear; the heat making everything between my legs tingle. Aiden’s eyes follow the movement of his hand when he lets his palm rest flat over my belly, watching as he slides it higher between my breasts to push open the front of his coat so that my chest is left bare.
“How are you so fucking perfect?”
I arch my body so that my nipples graze his chest, both of us shuddering as I turn my face to press a line of soft kisses at his jaw. “How are you not touching me yet?”
“I’m trying to decide how I want to touch you first.” His hand slides over my hip to dip inside my underwear so he can palm my ass. “With my hands?” He ducks his head so that his tongue can circle my nipple, drawing a quiet gasp from me. “My mouth?” His hand at my ass pulls me closer against him, close enough so that he can roll his hips to let his cock rub between my legs. “Something else?”
Words are hard right now, but I manage a breathy, “Is there an all-three option?”
“There is always an all-three option,” he chuckles dryly.
His fingers find a nipple to tease it, rolling it languidly as his mouth meets mine. His kiss is quiet, even lazy—a sharp contrast to the needy urgency from earlier. Almost like he’s taking his time. Drawing it out, maybe. I’m torn between urging him to hurry up and relishing the sensation.
He nibbles softly at my lower lip, kissing the corner of my mouth after. “I watched you for so long.” Another slow, lingering kiss. “I was obsessed, Cassie.”
“I stopped doing private shows at the end,” I confess. “It was only yours.”
His cock twitches between my legs. He likes that. “You were so fucking stunning. Doing everything I told you to do.”
“I liked it,” I whisper.
He pulls away to look at me with dark eyes. “Would you like it right now?”
“What?”
“I always imagined what you looked like—what youreallylooked like—when you came. Doing what I told you. Can you show me?”
My stomach flutters with nerves and excitement, and I bite my lip as I consider. The eagerness in his expression makes the idea that much more appealing, and it only takes me a second to come to a decision, leaning to kiss him deeply.
“And what kind of show would you like tonight, A?”
His breath is ragged when it puffs against my mouth. “I’ve thought about that for a few days, actually.”
“Mm. Have you.”
His hand fumbles with the nightstand by the bed, popping open the drawer and digging inside until he brings out a long, silk pouch. “I got you a present.”
