I was expecting something minimalist, not this. A coffee table with fitness and car magazines piled up, and unwashed dishes in the sink. Maybe a few empty bottles of beer too. I mean, isn’t that how most single guys live? But Aidan’s place… Christ, it looks like a writer’s home. I can even imagine Hemingway, in all his ruggedness, setting up shop here.
“Surprised?” he asks me, closing the door behind us. I take two steps toward one of the bookcases, running my fingers over the neatly stacked books.
“I didn’t know you liked books,” I say, immediately feeling dumb at my own words.
“Yeah, I know how to read,” he snorts, “and I also know how to write.”
“I --”
“You thought I was just a pretty face? A piece of meat, right?” he asks me with a smile, grabbing me by the arms and turning me around. He takes one step forward, pinning me between the bookcase and his body. I hold my breath then, my eyes wandering down to his lips. Just kiss me already, I think to myself, but he just holds his position. Finally, he starts leaning in, but he stops just before his lips touch mine. He lets go of me and turns around, leaving me short of breath against the bookcase.
“That’s what you want people to think,” I breathe out, taking one step toward him. “I mean, it’s not like you act like a cultured human being. You just fuck your way into problems.”
Turning to me, he just grins and shrugs. “Geniuses are tortured souls, aren’t they? Most of them like to drown themselves in alcohol … I just drown myself in pussy. It’s healthier.”
“You’re so full of yourself. I bet you’re all talk,” I find the courage to grin back at him, and then I just take another step toward him. He closes the distance between us, and I stop dead in my tracks.
“Don’t act like you’re the main character in a book. This isn’t a book,” Aidan whispers, the corner of his lips curling into a mischievous smile.
“It isn’t,” I repeat, my chest rising and falling, as I start to breath hard. My heart is pounding so hard that I can barely hear Aidan’s voice. This isn’t a book, no—this is something far better.
“And I’m real. Very, very real,” he continues, taking his hand to my face and stroking my cheek with the back of his fingers. I close my eyes as I feel his touch, a burning sensation making its way from my heart to right between my thighs. Turning his hand around, he places one fingertip over my lips and then slides it over gently.
Taking his fingers off, he leans into me slowly, and my eyelids droop by instinct. I wait for the touch of his lips, but it doesn’t come right away; his mouth hovers over mine for a full second, and only then does he kiss me. His touch is soft and gentle, but when he finally parts his lips and runs his tongue over mine, I can feel a coiled hunger hiding in his movements.
“So…” I start, pulling back from him and gently pressing my forehead to his. “Are you going to show me how a real man should handle a woman?”
“Yes. But only if you can handle it,” he teases me, his grin widening.
“I can handle everything,” I shoot back, and he lays his hands on hips, curling his fingers as if they were hooks.
“We’ll see about that.”
All it takes is a heartbeat; with his hands on my waist, he forces me to turn around and face the wall. Pinning me there with his body, I support myself by lifting my arms over my head. He takes one hand around my waist, and then lowers it until it’s right over my crotch; he presses it over my pussy, bunching the front of my dress, and I let out a sudden gasp.#p#分页标题#e#
“Pay attention,” he whispers into my ear, his lips brushing against my skin as they move. “You might just become a better writer once we’re done.” His deep voice makes its way toward my brain like a fast acting drug, and I can tell you that, right now, writing is the last thing on my mind.
“Show me,” I say as I exhale sharply, and he presses harder on my pussy. I’m so wet that the fabric of my thong is completely drenched, and I feel my fluids starting to drip down my inner thighs. Flicking his wrist, he rubs my wetness with the tip of his fingers, and it doesn’t take long for my hard breathing to turn into a long sequence of soft moans.
Without a warning, he takes his hand out from between my legs. He moves up to my shoulders, grabbing at the straps of my dress; I lower my arms as he tugs on them, pulling my dress down until it’s all bunched up around my waist. Caressing the side of my body with his fingertips, he then traces the contour of my bra, his fingers sliding in a straight line over my shoulder blades until he finally finds what he’s looking for. He unhooks the clasp of my bra, and I sigh as I feel the cups drooping over my breasts, my nipples hardening and begging to be set free.