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“Why? So you can leave a review or something?” I fight the urge to break eye contact. It’s overwhelming, having him here, in my bed, close enough to touch. “Is that what you do with all your girls?”
“All my girls—” Aidan shakes his head. “Will you stop talking about other girls? I’m talking aboutyouandme, no one else. And what the fuck doesleave a reviewmean?”
“I’m sure you’ve gotten a lot of head, is all.”
A tiny bit of vulnerability sneaks into my voice. I was in no way prepared to actually talk about this with him. I just assumed we’d both move on, pretend it never happened.
Now, he looks amused. “Wait, you thinkit wasn’t good? That I’m bringing it up to give youpointers?”
I cover my face with my hands. Exhale, worried I might suffocate from humiliation. “Can you just…go? Please? I don’t feel well, and I don’t get why any of it matters.”
There’s a long pause, during which I wish I could see his face. “Can I make you feel better?”
I don’t lower my hands. “If you want to bring over the bottle of cold medicine on my desk before you go, that’ll help.”
Aidan laughs, low and husky. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
I’m too curious not to look at him.
When I pull my hands away, he’s rolled over onto one elbow,waytoo close to me.
I can make out the lighter shades of green flecked in his eyes. The few freckles on his nose. The thin, faded scar in one corner of his lip. An old hockey injury, probably.
“I didn’t get to touch you.”
I shiver, and not because I’m cold. Because of the way he says that, like it’s a privilege. Like it’s a treat he missed out on. A gift he didn’t get to unwrap.
“Can I?” he asks.
Slowly, I nod. I’m having trouble pulling in enough air all of a sudden, and it has nothing to do with being congested. My thighs clench together, trying to alleviate the ache there that’s started throbbing.
Aidan’s touch is light as his hand lands on my hip, gently tugging the blanket away and revealing the hole-y pair of sweatpants I’ve had since high school. His thumb slips inside the elastic waistband, rubbing back and forth lightly.
I exhale as every nerve ending sparks to life.
And…I forget.
I forget about my stuffy nose and sore throat.
I forget he’s a hockey player.
I forget I’m tutoring him.
I’m only aware of his touch, of needing more of it and needing it lower, everything else fading to the background.
“Okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I breathe.
He shifts so he’s hovering above me, one quick tug taking care of the drawstring holding up the soft material of my sweatpants and another pull removing them entirely. I’m left in a pair of boring cotton underwear, not what I would have chosen to wear had I known he was going to see me like this.
And striped fuzzy socks, another unfortunate, unsexy choice.
But Aidan hasn’t looked that low. He’s focused on the wet spot I can feel rubbing against my swollen clit.
“You want that review now?”
“What?” My voice sounds a million miles away.
