The Nanny

Aiden at Disneyland turns out to be one of the most hysterical things that I’ve ever experienced. He looks out of place in his black shirt and his black shades and his dark jeans—a good head taller than most of the other guests and a permanent expression that is equal parts nervous and stoically resolved. Even so, he takes everything Sophie throws at him in stride. He wears the ears that match mine and hers that she begged for. He waits patiently in the costume shop (it turns out she wasn’t too old for princesses, after all) as she garbs herself in the whole nine yards: dress, tiara, wand, and shoes. He even rides every ride that she asks him to, even though I’m pretty sure he might be scared of heights. His knuckles were the color of chalk when Sophie made him go on the Incredicoaster.

It would be the perfect day . . . if it weren’t for the awkward air between us.

After Aiden left us at the park to go to work on Sunday, the extent of conversation between us from then until now has been nothing more than awkward hellos and goodbyes and a clipped text about tickets and reservations to some Airbnb nearby. He hasn’t said anything more about the strange exchange we had at the park—in fact, Aiden hasn’t said anything more than he’s had to since then. Even on the hour-long ride into Anaheim this morning, it seems like he only spoke to me when absolutely necessary, starting our back-and-forth cycle of avoiding all things awkward all over again.

Our communication skills do seem to devolve into elementary-like levels when either of us thinks we’ve overstepped. It would be annoying if I wasn’t being just as idiotic about it; I can’t seem to make myself bring it up, either, so I don’t think I can actually be upset with him.

By midday, I can tell Aiden is already exhausted, hiding under a shady tree on a bench as Sophie and I come out of the Matterhorn. Supposedly he needed a bathroom break that just couldn’t wait, but I’m not entirely convinced he isn’t scared of the Yeti. The birthday girl is chattering about the ride, adjusting the tiara she got from the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique (blue, because pink was just too girlie for her princess gown, apparently) and skipping alongside me just as she spots her dad.

“Dad, Dad,” Sophie squeals excitedly as she rushes toward him. “It was awesome!”

“I’ll bet.” He reaches beside him to grab for two drinks, handing one to each of us. “I figured you guys might be thirsty.”

I shouldn’t be this happy over a bottle of Snapple, but I can’t help it. I only mentioned my favorite flavor once in passing, and apparently Aiden deemed it important enough to remember. I shake it back and forth, giving him a grateful smile. “Peach tea.”

“I’m told you bleed it at this point.”

I give my attention to the bottle just so he doesn’t see my goofy grin, reaching to unscrew the cap. I turn it over to read the fact, laughing.

Aiden cocks his head curiously. “What?”

“I can’t make this up,” I snort, holding the lid so I can read it to them. “ ‘The hundred folds in a chef’s hat represent the hundred ways to cook an egg.’ ”

Aiden laughs, holding out his hand. “No way.”

I drop the lid in his hand. “Can you cook an egg a hundred ways?”

“I . . .” He frowns. “I don’t actually know. Am I supposed to know?”

“All the professional cooks I know are egg aficionados,” I tsk.

Aiden’s lips tilt up, and it might be the first normal moment we’ve had since Sunday.

Sophie is apparently not interested in this exchange, gulping down a swig of her Gatorade and aahing loudly after. “I want to go on the Matterhorn again,” she whines. “Can we do it again?” She gives Aiden a pleading look. “Dad. You would totally love it. Can we?”

“Oh, I . . .” He smiles at her but looks nervous. “You know, there’s a lot of stuff we still need to get to. How about I go on the next one?”

“Okay,” Sophie pouts.

I elbow Sophie gently. “I think your dad is scared of the Yeti.”

“What?” Sophie looks at her dad with concern. “Are you scared?”

Aiden raises one eyebrow. “I am not scared of the Yeti.”

“That sounds exactly like what someone who is scared of the Yeti would say,” I tease.

“Sure it is.”

“I’m just saying.” I shrug. “The minute you heard Yeti, you suddenly needed a bathroom break.”

“Hilarious,” he deadpans. “Are you guys hungry yet?”

Sophie covers her stomach with her hand. “I’m starving.”

“I saw a couple of food carts back that way.” He points back toward Fantasyland. “We could go and see what they have.”

“We still have to go on Peter Pan!”

“We’ll get there,” Aiden assures her. “We still have the rest of the day.”

“Okay,” she huffs. “As long as we—”

It takes Aiden and me a second to realize that Sophie has stopped following us, and when we both turn, it’s clear that something else has completely captured her attention. I follow her line of sight up toward Fantasyland, squinting my eyes to try to see what she’s seeing.

“Is that . . . ?”

Sophie squeals. “It’s Mirabel!”

She grabs my hand and begins to pull me along, leaving a very confused-looking Aiden in our wake as she tugs me toward the Disney princess in question. A very pretty actor with dark curls and golden skin is skipping nearby in an embroidered teal skirt and flowing white blouse. It’s the glasses that give it away, though, round and bright green. They stop to wave at the little kids she passes, and Sophie is close to hyperventilating the closer we get.

“Cassie! Cassie! It’s Mirabel!”

“I see her,” I laugh. “Do you want to go meet her?”

“Can I?”

“Go on,” I urge, pushing her toward the actor, who is only a good ten feet away now. “We’ll be right here.”

Sophie practically sprints in Mirabel’s direction, only slowing when she’s a foot or so away as she hangs back patiently, waiting for the actor dressed as Mirabel to finish speaking with a boy who looks to be a tad bit younger than Sophie.

“Am I supposed to know what just happened?”

I glance over at Aiden, who has finally caught up. “You have got to get up to speed with the Encanto craze,” I chuckle.

“Apparently.” He stands next to me, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her this excited.”

“She’s obsessed with Mirabel,” I inform him. “It’s a cute movie. You should watch it.”

“I’ll try to make a point to ask her next week,” he promises.

We both watch as Sophie finally gets her turn to approach Mirabel, her face lighting up when the actor squats down to her level, giving her a bright smile. I can’t hear what they’re talking about, but given that Sophie looks like she’s met the child’s equivalent of the president, it must be good.

“You’re surviving Disney pretty well,” I point out, unscrewing my drink to take another swig. “I thought the ears were going to do you in.”

He reaches to touch the Mickey Mouse ears that Sophie insisted on getting only to chuck hers for a tiara the second she saw the boutique. “I’m guessing this is what dad rock bottom looks like.”

“They’re cute, don’t worry,” I laugh.

He clears his throat subtly. “Are they?”

“Yeah, they’re—” It’s a mistake, looking up at him, because how in the world does someone wearing all black at Disney and sporting Mickey Mouse ears manage to look so tempting? I can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but it doesn’t matter, I think, because it’s obvious that he’s looking right at me. “You pull them off,” I say a little more quietly.

I watch his jaw work subtly for only a moment before he looks back toward Sophie, who is having Mirabel sign her autograph book. “So do you.”

You could just ask him, something whispers in my head. You could just ask what he meant at the park. What’s the worst that could happen?

He could tell me he was just being nice. That’s what.

“Hey, Aiden, about—”

“Dad! Cassie!”

I whip my head around to catch Sophie frantically pointing at a bush just behind her, just able to make out a curly head of hair and an emerald-green poncho. The actor looks as nervous as their namesake, peeking up from behind a branch and giving Sophie a shy wave as she rushes over to them.

“So, we’re gonna talk about Bruno,” I half sing.

Aiden frowns. “What?”

“Nothing,” I laugh. “We better go get her before she hyperventilates.”

It’s probably for the best, I think. Curiosity killed the cat.

Forget the cat, it’s my damned feelings I’m more worried about.

I don’t attempt to bring it up for the rest of the day.

We spend every second of the entire day exploring Disneyland—Sophie dragging us from one attraction to the next until well after the sun goes down. Aiden physically has to carry her out when it is all said and done, the little girl being more than happy to stay until closing. It’s hard to explain to a newly ten-year-old that it’s not a great idea to keep her out past midnight.

She falls asleep in the car on our way to the Airbnb, but even with nothing but the sound of passing cars outside, Aiden and I still can’t seem to find a way to break the tense silence. He hasn’t looked at me once since we left the park, and even though the sun has set, I can just make out his features in the streetlights outside if I steal a glance in his direction. It’s going to be awkward trapped in the small space of the Airbnb if this keeps up, not having the safety net of an entire floor between us like we do at home.

I don’t know how long we stay like that before it gets to me, but by the time I’ve listened to the tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel for the fourth time, I can’t take it anymore. “I think it’s safe to say that today was a hit,” I point out. “She’s probably going to try to wear that princess dress to school when we get back.”

Aiden laughs softly. “It was worth the shit show I’m going to come back to at work.”

“Super dad,” I say, echoing my statement from the other day.

I can just make out his barely there smile. “Yeah.”

“I bet she doesn’t even budge when you carry her to bed.”

“You’re probably right,” he agrees, and when I look again, I see him glance in the rearview mirror. “She’s had a full day.”

“Did you have fun?”

“It was definitely something.”

“Maybe you can wear the ears to work when you get back.”

“Oh, sure. I’ll do that,” he snorts.

I grin in the near dark, turning my face toward the window. It’s funny how things can seem so easy between us only to turn uneasy moments later. Aiden clears his throat then, drawing my attention, apparently not done.

“You did say they looked good on me,” he mentions, his voice lower than it was a moment ago. “So.”

I turn my head slightly, feeling my heart beat faster. “Yeah. I did.”

“You were going to ask me something earlier,” he goes on. “What was it?”

“Oh.” I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “I was just . . .” It’s not a good idea, and I know that. I should drop this, but I don’t do that. “I was going to ask what you meant the other day.”

“The other day,” he echoes quietly.

“Yes, you—” I shift in the car seat, straightening my back as my hands grip my knees. “At the park. When that woman said— when I said you were—” God. “You said it wasn’t obvious.”

I can only hope he is picking up this scattered mess that I am laying down, because I can hardly even hear myself think over the way my pulse is thumping away inside my ears. My chest is alight with flutters and sparks that make it harder to breathe.

“Oh.”

I wait for him to expand on his oh, but he doesn’t say anything else for at least a minute. At least sixty seconds of me growing increasingly more panicked for having touched on this subject again.

“You said it was obvious that I was out of your league,” he half whispers.

I might not be breathing. It’s hard to tell. “You said it wasn’t.”

“Because it isn’t.”

My lips part, and I’m not stealing glances anymore; in fact, I am almost fully turned in my seat to look at him. “I don’t know what that means.”

“I’m not sure I do either.”

“You have to know,” I manage. “That’s what you said. You have to know. What do I have to know, Aiden?”

I notice his fingers are gripping the steering wheel now, and he still isn’t looking at me. “I don’t know if we should be talking about this.”

“Oh.” Every spark in my chest goes out all at once. “Right. Of course.”

“It’s just, I don’t think it’s a good idea to—”

“I get it,” I say, cutting him off. “Sorry. You’re right. Totally inappropriate.”

“Cassie, it’s just—”

“I get it, Aiden.” I turn my face toward the window. “Seriously. I was just curious. No big deal.”

He goes quiet again, and I find myself regretting bringing it up, just like I knew I would. The streetlights still pass by outside, and my heart’s still beating too fast, but it holds none of the strange anticipation from a moment ago, just embarrassment and mild disappointment.

You should have just kept your mouth shut.

I keep waiting for Aiden to say something more as we drive to the Airbnb, but he never does. I’m starting to think I’ve messed things up—that I’ve created a situation that we will have trouble getting over. It’s clear that I should have just let things lie, that it’s becoming increasingly more likely that Aiden was just being nice and now he has to worry about his nanny reading too much into things. I guess if I were him, I’d feel awkward too.

I lock myself in the bathroom while Aiden tucks Sophie into their room, brushing my teeth aggressively as I recount the day’s events in my head. I try to find where I might have gone wrong in thinking that Aiden might have meant something with everything he said and even everything he didn’t say.

Cassie, you have to know—

God. That one is going to keep me awake.

I spit my toothpaste in the sink before turning off the water, dropping my toothbrush on the counter and gripping the edge to peer back into the mirror. It’s probably ridiculous in the first place, the fact that I had actually hoped he might have meant more; there’s nothing about it that screams good idea, and in the long run—there’s no way it would end well. Even if Aiden were interested. Which he isn’t. Or maybe he is, he just knows that it’s a bad idea. Maybe I’m just tossing that idea into the hat to make myself feel better. I don’t know.

I run my fingers through my hair and blow out a breath, shaking away these no-good thoughts that ultimately won’t get me anywhere. I have to remind myself again and again that it doesn’t matter if Aiden is the person who used to watch me. It doesn’t matter if he’s the person I thought felt something for me, because in the end, he disappeared. And if I keep imagining things that aren’t there, that’s exactly what he’s going to do again.

I quietly shut the door to the bathroom behind me when I’m done, stepping out into the hallway. It’s dark here, only a thin sliver of light coming from the lamp still on in the living area at the end of the hall—and maybe that’s why I don’t see him at first. I run straight into a big, solid mass when I move to head toward my bedroom, the very object of my concern colliding with me in the darkened hallway and throwing me off guard.

Aiden’s hands grab for my shoulders as if by instinct, steadying me. “Cassie?”

It takes my brain a second to catch up to the fact that the person I’ve been obsessively stressing about is now a foot away from me and also touching me.

“Sorry,” I sputter. “I didn’t see you.”

“No, it’s okay. I was just . . .” He seems to notice then that he’s still holding my shoulders, jerking his hands away quickly. “I was getting a drink.”

I glance down to the other end of the hall, where the bedroom Aiden and Sophie are sharing lies a good ten feet from mine. “Is Sophie asleep?”

“Out like a light.”

“Well, it was a big day.”

He nods. “It was.”

We both just stand there uncomfortably, Aiden rubbing at the back of his neck as I stare down at my feet.

“You had fun today,” he tries. “Right?”

“Of course,” I assure him. “It was a great day.”

“Good, good.”

Cassie, you have to know—

I should just go to sleep. I should go to sleep and forget this day happened, forget everything I know about who Aiden is and what he’s seen—that I should wake up tomorrow and commit to doing my job without any distractions. I can do that, right? I can pretend that Aiden means nothing more to me than being Sophie’s dad. I can.

But apparently I can’t stop opening my mouth.

“Listen, about earlier—”

“Yeah?”

His eager tone catches me off guard, and when I look up, I notice his expression matches his voice. My brain is grasping at it like a straw. I have to forcibly tell it to shut up and sit down.

“I just . . . I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable. I don’t want things to be weird between us.”

“Oh.” He nods slowly, that eager look fizzling out. “Right. No. You didn’t.”

“I think I just made a lot of assumptions that were silly,” I say, trying to make it into a joke.

“Silly,” he parrots, not sounding amused at all.

He doesn’t make anything easy.

“Of course you were just being nice, and I read it wrong. I just don’t want you to think I can’t do my job or something because I thought you might be serious.”

He doesn’t say anything, and when I peek up at him, I notice his expression now almost looks pained. I must be making this worse. He looks like he wants to die right now.

I clear my throat, making a move to step away so I can escape to my bedroom and think up different ways to pass away. “Anyway, I guess I’d better—”

Suddenly, Aiden has his hand around my upper arm, not squeezing exactly, but applying enough pressure to let me know he would like me to stay put. I glance down at his hand in confusion, then back up at him to find him still staring at the spot I’d just stepped away from, looking just as confused that he reached for me as I am.

“Aiden?”

“It’s not,” he says tightly, still not looking at me.

My brow knits. “What?”

“Silly,” he says. “It’s not silly.”

My heart starts to race. I tell myself not to hope, not to read too much into this, every instance of doing so thus far has left me disappointed.

“I don’t know what that means.”

Aiden shakes his head. “I’m not sure I do either.”

“You have to give me more than that,” I say, frustrated. “You’re being confusing.”

Aiden laughs, but it’s strange. “I feel confused around you.”

“What? What does that even—”

“Because I shouldn’t be thinking about you as much as I do.”

All the air leaves my lungs in a rush. “What?”

Aiden looks right at me then, and even in the dark I can make out the hunger in his eyes. It’s enough to take my breath away. “And I shouldn’t be thinking about you the way that I do.”

I know in this small space there’s no way he misses the way I swallow. “Aiden, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he sighs. “You probably shouldn’t. I know that I’m overstepping. It’s just . . . I feel like I’m going crazy. I’m starting to think this entire arrangement was a bad idea, but Sophie just loves you so much, and I can’t be the reason to fuck all of that up with the way I can’t seem to stop—”

I’m not sure if it’s the darkness or the way he’s slipping into this word-vomit-like speech that is a stark contrast to his usually collected self, but he doesn’t notice when I pull away from his grip, when I step just close enough to bridge the short distance between us. His words die on his tongue as he looks down at me, and I can just make out his eyes, one bright and one dark and both fixed on me. I can still feel my heart beating a tattoo against my ribs, still hear the blood pulsing in my ears as I question myself, even now, but something about the way Aiden is looking at me gives me courage.

“And what if”—I swallow thickly, my gaze dipping from his mouth back up to his eyes—“I don’t want you to stop?”

I hear his quiet gasp. “What?”

“Who says that you’re the only one? What if I’ve been thinking about you too?”

I don’t think it’s a conscious thing, the way his hands raise and his fingertips graze the bit of skin between the hem of my T-shirt and my cotton shorts that I’m just now remembering have little hearts all over them.

His voice is impossibly soft now, almost hoarse sounding. “Have you?”

“For weeks,” I admit, feeling bold.

He grips my hips. “This is crazy, isn’t it?”

You don’t know the half of it.

“I don’t mind a little crazy,” I breathe, my mouth inches from his.

I feel the hot warmth of his palm slide under my shirt, shaping itself against my waist as he glances down to my chest. “You’re wearing the shirt again.”

“It’s my favorite.”

He makes a sound I’ve never heard him make before, something like a groan and a whine that I feel all the way down to my toes. “It’s mine too.”

He goes impossibly still when I press my hands to his chest, when I let them push higher to grip his shoulders—finally allowing myself to feel the shape of his body against mine, like I’ve been daydreaming about. If the hard something pressing against my belly is any indication, I think it’s safe to say Aiden is telling the truth when he says he’s been thinking about me.

“This is crazy,” he whispers again.

I let my hands slide back down to the firmness of his chest. “It would be crazier if you kissed me.”

“Can I?”

“Aiden.”

He doesn’t need any more hints.

His mouth is as soft as it looks, exploring but gentle as his lips curve against mine. I can feel the searching press of his tongue as it licks along my lower lip like a question, and I don’t need any more prompting to open and let him inside. When his tongue touches mine, it’s like a switch has been flipped, and suddenly his hands are at my jaw and in my hair and everywhere else—tugging and touching everything he can reach. I swallow down his needy sounds as he presses me against the wall, tucking each one away in my memory so that I can take them out later like little treasures.

He’s still hard against my stomach, and his hips rut upward in an almost thoughtless way, like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. I feel his teeth nibble at my lip and then his breath hot against my jaw, the sensations all blending together as his touch sets me on fire.

“We can’t.” His voice sounds pained against my skin. “We shouldn’t—”

I feel a flush of panic. “What? We can’t?”

“Not here,” he groans softly. “Sophie. She could . . .”

Like hell am I letting him stop after riling me up this much. I push him backward toward the bathroom door, grasping behind him to turn the handle as we rush inside. He reaches to turn on the light, and now that I can see him all lit up—hair a mess, mouth red from kissing—everything feels extremely real.

Are we really doing this?

Apparently so, if the way Aiden is kissing my neck is any indication.

“This shirt is very distracting.” I tilt my head back when his mouth wanders, kissing at the bit of my exposed collarbone as his hand slides up the front of my T-shirt to cup just below my breast. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it. About what’s underneath.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

I make a sound when his mouth suddenly covers my nipple through the thin material, a soft cry that sounds louder echoing against the tiles in the bathroom. Aiden pulls away immediately, looking up at me with hooded eyes. “You have to be quiet,” he murmurs. “Can you do that?”

“I can—” My gasp is softer when his lips cover me again to suck, but no less heavy. “I can be quiet.”

He hums against my nipple as the increasingly wet cotton starts to rub me in a way that tingles, and my fingers find his hair to push through it, holding him close. It’s everything I imagined it would be, him touching me, both now and a year ago—and part of me is struggling to make sense of all of it.

Not that Aiden gives me much time to overthink.

I feel his hand sliding from my waist to press against my stomach now, his thumb stroking the material between my legs in a featherlight way. “Tell me to stop,” Aiden says roughly. “Tell me to stop, if that’s what you want.”

“It isn’t,” I reassure him, tugging at his hair to force him to look up at me. Both eyes seem dark now, his pupils dilated and his breath ragged as I grab his face to bring his lips up to mine. My voice is barely there when I whisper against them, “I want you.”

His kiss is fiercer now, his hands more insistent, and when my fingers curl at the waistband of his pants, hooking at his underwear to tug it all away, his answering hiss elicits a heartbeat somewhere other than my chest.

“Fuck,” he grinds out against my mouth.

It still does things to me, his mouth uttering filthy words, but wrapping my fingers around the hard, thick length of his cock does more. It twitches against my hand, throbs in my grip when I slide my fist down to pump him, and when I come back up to the tip, I can feel a slick wetness there that coats my palm.

Aiden leans back to watch me touch him, his hands finding my hips as his eyes remain fixed on me stroking him. His mouth parts as he lets out a shaky breath, and the way he seems to be hanging on to his control by a thread makes me feel oddly powerful.

“You’re going to make me come,” he groans.

I smile. “I think that’s the point.”

“I don’t want to come in your hand.”

My hand stills. I press my thumb against the wet slit at the head, purposefully coating it before I bring it to my mouth to lick it away before returning it to stroke him again, never tearing my eyes from his. “Where do you want to come, Aiden?”

He leans into me, his lips brushing against my jaw and his tongue hot against my skin. “Inside you.”

“We can—” We’re pressed so closely together that I can feel the heat of him against my belly, even through the cotton of my shirt. I reach for my shorts hastily with my free hand to try to shove them away. “I can get these off, if you’ll just—”

“We can’t,” he huffs, like it pains him.

Something inside me deflates. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“I want to,” he clarifies, “but I don’t have anything. Not here.”

“Oh. Oh.” I swallow nervously. I’m hyperaware that I’m still touching his cock. “I have an IUD,” I tell him. “And I’m not—I have regular checkups, so, if you wanted . . .”

He looks at me with wild eyes, and I watch them travel from my face all the way down to my hand that is still touching him.

“I do,” he says. “You have no fucking idea how much I do.”

“And do you . . . you know. Are you—”

“I’m clean,” he tells me.

“Oh. Well. If you want to—”

Placing his hands at my hips, lifting me in one motion as he turns to set me on the bathroom counter, seems like his answer. It takes him only seconds to roll everything down my thighs to leave me naked from the waist down. His fingers tease through my wet folds as my breath catches, and then I feel his other hand cupping my ass to pull me closer until the heat of his cock slots against me to actually take my breath away. His lips are at my throat again, kissing that spot I hadn’t even known could affect me like this, and his voice against my skin makes me shiver.

“Do you know how much I’ve thought about this?”

I shake my head, or at least I think I do. My brain feels fuzzy.

“Fuck, Cassie, you are”—he lets a finger slip inside me as my head falls back—“perfect.” The way he pumps his finger in and out of me feels like a tease, each push and withdrawal leaving me wanting more. “The things I want to do to this pretty pussy of yours.”

Jesus.

I haven’t heard him use that word since before I knew his name. I haven’t heard it since he whispered it to me through a computer speaker, in a time that feels so long ago right now.

I whine when he pulls his hand away, but it’s short-lived when I feel him settling between my legs, guiding his cock to nudge at my entrance. His mouth covers mine to swallow my whimper when he notches there, slowly easing inside to fill me, and he shushes me gently as I take all of him.

“Quiet,” he reminds me. “You said you could be quiet, Cassie. Remember?”

I feel myself clench around him, and if I weren’t already sitting, my knees might give out. It feels so reminiscent of another time, one where he’d whispered filthy things to me without even knowing it was me, and it makes me all the more turned on. All the times I’d imagined this, what he’d feel like—none of it can compare to the real thing.

I nod breathlessly, feeling his shuddered breath wash against my lips.

“You feel so good,” he rasps. “So fucking good.”

His hips are flush with mine now, every hard inch of him rooted deep inside. He fills me until there’s no room left, and I tremble against him, struggling to keep still on the counter. “Can you—ah. Can you just—”

“Do you want me to move?” He kisses me slowly, rolling his hips just enough to stir me up. “Do you want me to fuck this perfect pussy?” I can feel him slide against my inner walls, and I have to grip his shoulder with my free hand just to steady myself. “Tell me you want that.”

I nod shakily. “Yes.”

“Thank fuck,” he groans.

He grips my hips tighter then, pulling out just to push back inside. He grunts when he fills me, the sound harsh and sending a shiver down my spine, but I don’t have time to dwell on it with the way he does it again.

Aiden thrusts harder, and I cry out, “Ah.”

“Shh,” he soothes, his hand reaching to cup my jaw as his thumb presses against my lips. “Be good, Cassie. You have to be good so I can fuck you.”

I think I nod, maybe, but I can’t tell. Not with the way he’s begun a steady rhythm, each thrust bottoming out as the soft sound of our bodies coming together rings out against the tiles. I really am trying to keep quiet, but it’s getting increasingly difficult to be sure.

“Aiden . . . Aiden, can you—”

“Tell me what you need,” he grits out. “Tell me how to make you come.”

“Touch me,” I whine. I grab his hand, bringing it between my legs. “Can you touch me?”

He presses against my clit immediately, rolling the swollen bud beneath his fingertips as my head lolls and my stomach clenches. I’m already so close, the delicious friction of his cock inside me making me lose my mind—and the added pressure of his fingers against the most sensitive part of me only makes the hot pressure building between my legs that much more imminent, like it might burst at any moment.

His breath huffs against my jaw. “This okay?”

“Just like that,” I breathe.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he moans softly against my mouth. “Are you close?”

I’m trying to move with him now. His fingers slip against my clit as I brace my hands against the counter to try to meet his thrusts, each one bringing me right there.

“Just keep—right there—oh. Oh.”

“Cassie,” he groans.

Maybe it’s the way he says my name that does it. Maybe it’s the searing heat of his mouth against mine just as his tongue slips inside. Maybe it’s his hands or his cock or the warmth of his body—regardless, I feel myself begin to shake as every muscle in my thighs goes taut and my insides tremble around him with my orgasm. I can feel it when he lets go only moments after, like he’d been waiting for me. I can feel his cock twitching deep inside and hear his low grunt in my ear that sets off butterflies deep, deep in my stomach—and then his face is buried against my throat and his chest is heaving against mine.

We stay like that for a moment, neither of us speaking and both trying to catch our breath, and I wait for the regret to sink in, for the worry about what this will mean, but it doesn’t come. There is nothing but the sated quality of my limbs and the comforting warmth of his body as his hands continue to stroke at my skin.

When he finally pulls away to look at me, the expression on his face is equal parts dazed and awed, like he can’t quite believe that what just happened was real. My hands cup his face to pull him in for another slow kiss, catching his groan in my mouth when he carefully slips out of me.

I kiss him again, softer now, and I feel his lips curve against mine in a smile as a breathless chuckle escapes him. “This feels like a dream,” he murmurs.

I’m still kissing him. I can’t seem to stop. “Not a dream.”

He buries his face against my chest, nuzzling back and forth against my breasts and making me giggle quietly. “This damn shirt,” he grumbles. “Been driving me crazy.”

“Maybe I should ask for a pajama stipend from my boss,” I tease.

“I think he’d tell you it wasn’t in the budget.” He looks at me seriously then. “Was it . . . weird?”

I rear back. “Weird?”

“It’s just . . .” He looks unsure now. “It’s been a long time, and you’re so . . .” His eyes travel down my body, making me shiver. “I got carried away.”

Oh.

Do you want me to fuck this perfect pussy?

“It’s okay.” I kiss him gently. “I liked it.”

I don’t know how to tell him that I know all about his filthy mouth—intimately so.

“Good,” he rumbles. “Because I don’t see myself magically gaining any restraint when it comes to you in the foreseeable future.”

I can’t help my smile, the anxiety that’s been building this last week dissipating and morphing into this strange calm. But still, I can’t help but wonder:

“What—” I clear my throat. “What does this mean for my job?”

“What?” He looks genuinely confused. “You don’t want to leave, do you?”

“No, no, of course not! But . . . is this . . . is this going to make things weird?”

“Not if we don’t let it,” he assures me. “We just have to make sure we keep things separate.”

“Separate?”

“From Sophie,” he says. “Until . . . until we know what this is.”

It shouldn’t make me feel the way it does, hearing it—it’s a perfectly reasonable thing he’s saying, after all. It wouldn’t be fair to Sophie to expose her to this without knowing what it is.

So why do I feel so anxious all of the sudden?

My mind travels back to sleepless nights and red eyes after Aiden disappeared from me once, and I think now it would be so much worse, now that I know him.

Maybe that’s why I say nothing, even when I know I should.

I could tell him now. I could tell him everything I know about us, about what we’ve shared—but there is a tiny voice in my head that warns me against it. He walked out of my life once, and I survived that, but could I do it again? Now? These questions have me shoving down all the things I know I should probably be saying, but instead I lean in for another lingering kiss.

“I’m okay with keeping things separate,” I tell him. “For Sophie.”

He pulls me close, forcing me to meet his gaze. “But that doesn’t mean this ends tonight,” he tells me pointedly. “Right?”

My lips curve in a shy smile. “I don’t want it to.”

“Good,” he sighs. He kisses me again. “Because I’m not done with you, Cassie. Not by a long shot.”

I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear him say this until he did. It makes me feel giddy.

He carefully helps me dress before tucking himself back in his pants, pulling me down from the counter before tilting up my chin to kiss my cheek. I feel his smile there, feeling his other hand sliding against my hip as if to memorize the shape of it.

He flicks off the lights in the bathroom as he pulls me out in the hall, holding against me for longer than necessary, like he’s not ready to let me go. I can definitively say that I know the feeling.

“Good night, Cassie.”

“Night,” I whisper back, his low voice making my knees weak.

His hand slides down my arm when I peel myself away from him, his fingers grazing my skin until they find my fingertips, clinging to them for a few seconds before he finally lets me go. I turn from him to head back to my room, and it takes everything I have not to selfishly beg him to come back with me, just like it takes an incredible amount of effort not to turn back to get one last look at him.

Especially since I feel his eyes on me the entire way.

—◊—

I’ve been waiting for Cici to log on for half an hour.

I think it’s officially safe to say that I’m a little obsessed.

Doesn’t stop me from continuing to wait.

—◊—