Thirteen

Aiden

All I have of her is the contract.

And the knowledge that she lives close.

Because she was staying with her Grams.

But I can’t lie—driving an hour just to see the house with the overgrown bushes leading up the walk and the front lawn looking like it needs a serious watering doesn’t bode well for solving the perplexing problem of the tornado that is Luna Maybelle.

Evie Maybelle took great pride in her garden.

And Luna spent hours in the yard helping her tend the planter boxes, pull the weeds, trim the edge of the grass to almost laser perfection.

Now it seems…not unloved exactly. An afterthought? A burden that’s become too much for one person? Forgotten?

I’m not one hundred percent sure.

I just know it doesn’t feel right. So much of this shit doesn’t feel right.

Which is almost comical considering the high I was riding last night—we won by three goals—one of which I scored myself and two others that I had an assist on.

And Luna saw…

One of those assists before she left like the hounds of hell were chasing her, nipping at her heels.

At least according to Carrie.

And now my mom is beside herself, thinking that it’s something she did—for example, force-feeding Luna pastries in order to put meat on her bones—so she’s been blowing up my phone with ever more fretful texts.

Until, I lied to her and said that Luna had called and she wanted to meet up.

That calmed the worst of the stress, gave me time to Google map the shit out of Rockfield, trying to remember the exact street that Luna’s grandma used to live on.

It’s been a decade since I was here, and that was only a couple of times.

Occasionally we hung at my house, but mostly, Luna and I hung at the rink.

Considering that she and I lived and breathed our sports.

Which begs the question—why did she stop skating?

Once, it was everything to her.

Another curiosity. Another puzzle piece. Another layer.

I exhale, scrub a hand over my face, then reach for the door handle, popping it open and hoping against hope that the clunker in the driveway is her car.

But, considering how it’s been going since I walked off the ice and got the bad news that she took off, I’m not holding my breath.

She can’t hide forever, though.

Next stop is Smythe Industries to talk to her dad.

Which will be…unpleasant if he’s the same old codger who occasionally deigned to show up for one of her competitions, on his phone the whole time, a perpetual scowl in place.

Fun. Fun.

Thankfully, I have another plan to work through before I have to deal with that shitshow.

I slam the door, move around the front of my car, and start heading up the driveway.

God, the flowers are the same, bright and cheerful—colorful explosions that almost assault my eyes with their vivid blooms.

But again, they’re overgrown.

Not the well-controlled beds that Grams had spoken of—and showed pictures of—with such pride. Even the little sign next to the door, declaring all are welcome is faded, the paint chipping away.

The mat is different, newer, as though someone is making an effort—a simple welcome emblazoned on the rough brown material. I stop, my toes just on top of it, and exhale.

Then I jab at the doorbell.

The chime echoes inside, and I hear footsteps coming toward me.

I brace for disappointment, for having to track her down somewhere else.

There’s a click of the lock disengaging, the handle turns, and…

The door pulls open.

“Aiden!” Luna gasps.

God, she’s beautiful.

And I know I should demand answers, demand explanations…

I don’t do either.

I just step over the threshold, nudge her back, and slam and lock the door behind me.

“What are you?—?”

I don’t let her finish the question.

I can’t .

It’s like every instinct in me is screaming, telling me I won’t get anywhere trying to push her. Or maybe…it’s that every instinct in me is screaming at me to claim what is mine.

Whatever the reason, I just wrap an arm around her waist, tug her against me.

Then I bend and slant my mouth over hers.

She goes still for a long moment, for long enough for me to think this is absolutely the wrong fucking move.

Then it’s like something snaps inside her.

She becomes a flurry of movement, of intensity, of wild woman whom I have no hope of containing.

And I don’t want to.

Instead, I heft as she jumps, grabbing the bottoms of her thighs, encouraging her to wrap her legs around my waist. And I sure as fuck don’t stop kissing her, just walk her toward the stairs as she moans, our tongues dancing, her pelvis grinding against mine.

“Aiden,” she gasps when I let her breathe, when I kiss my way along her throat.

My toes hit the bottom stair and I lift my foot, intending to find somewhere horizontal to finish what we started yesterday.

As usual, Luna has other plans.

She snakes her hand down between us.

I hiss as her fingers hit my bare skin, as they slip beneath the waistband of my pants, my underwear, and wrap around my cock .

“Christ, Luns,” I groan, thrusting into her hand.

Because she squeezes tightly. Because she starts stroking fast and furious and?—

Dangerously.

As in, I’m already dangerously close—the stress of her disappearing act, the interruption yesterday morning, the absolute certainty that she’s mine…they all pile on top of each other and send me dangerously spinning toward the edge.

I spin and sit on the third stair from the bottom, dragging her down on top of me.

She doesn’t stop stroking me, doesn’t falter in her rhythm.

At least until I grab the hem of her tee and yank it up and over her head.

Another lacy bra.

Lush tits I need to bury my face in, need to lick and stroke, suck and kiss.

I reach behind her and flick open the clasp, freeing them.

But she’s freeing me too, opening the button on my jeans, dragging the zipper down. A tug has my cock out and even though I try to stop her—intent on those breasts—she shimmies down my body and sucks me deep.

“Fuck!” I shout, hand diving into her hair.

A grin, the hard length of me sliding out of her mouth with a soft pop! “Yeah, big shot. You like that?”

I tug lightly at her hair. “Yeah, sweetheart,” I murmur. “Which begs the question—why the fuck did you stop?”

A stroke. An innocent look that I don’t buy in the least. “Oh, did you want me to keep going?”

I growl and reach for her.

But she darts back. “Fine,” she teases, hand moving again. “Fine, I guess I’ll keep going.” Then she’s bending again, dragging the flat of her tongue along my erection, pink lips parting at the top and taking me into that hot, slick mouth.

She swallows me down, so deeply I bob against the back of her throat.

I curse again, control rapidly disintegrating.

Tight fingers, a confident tongue, plump lips.

Christ, this woman makes me insane.

I thrust up carefully with my hips, bobbing against the back of her throat again, groaning when she swallows me down with a moan that vibrates through my shaft.

She pulls, oh so slowly , back, the head of my cock resting on her bottom lip, her words a damp glaze when she orders, “Behave.”

And my control splinters.

“Oh no, baby,” I rasp. “There’s no fucking way I’m going to behave.”