Page 49 of Rescuing Aria
“Join me?” She sits up, looking over her shoulder at me with a mischievous smile.
“You’re insatiable.” But I’m already following her out of bed, enjoying the view as she pads naked toward the bathroom.
The shower is barely big enough for one person, let alone two, but we manage to make it work, our bodies sliding against each other under the spray. I wash her hair, massaging her scalp until she practically purrs with contentment. She returns the favor, her soapy hands exploring my body with newfound confidence.
I’m just rinsing the last of the shampoo from my hair when I notice her expression. She’s biting her lower lip, a gesture I’ve come to recognize as her thinking face, her eyes fixed somewhere around my chest but clearly not seeing it.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” I tilt her chin up with one finger.
“Nothing.” She blushes, avoiding my eyes.
“Bullshit,” I say it gently, no heat in the word. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
She takes a deep breath, as if gathering courage. “I was just—wondering about something.”
“Something?”
“Something I’ve never done before.” Her blush deepens. “With anyone.”
I still. Heart slowing even as blood rushes south.
“And what might that be?”
She lifts her eyes to mine—open, searching. There’s heat there, yes. But also a kind of fragile courage.
“I’ve never—gone down on someone before.” Her voice barely carries over the sound of the water, but the words hit like a detonator. “But with you, I want to. I’m curious… Eager, even.”
Christ.
It’s not the sex. Not the mental image of Aria on her knees—though fuck, that alone nearly unravels me. It’s the offering. The trust laced into every word. The quiet way she’s giving this to me—not just her mouth, but her vulnerability. Her first time. And she wants it to be with me.
A bolt of heat sears through me, dark and possessive.
I step forward, close the space between us, and back her against the cold tile. My palm curves around her cheek, anchoring us both.
“And you want to try it? With me?”
She nods, breath quickening. “But I don’t know what I’m doing.” Her voice is unsteady, but her eyes are steady. “I want to make it good for you.”
Jesus.
Most women I’ve known have performed. Polished. Practiced. But this? This is raw. Honest. She doesn’t want to impress me—she wants to please me. Not because she has to. Not because she thinks she owes me something. But because she wants to.
That difference does something to me I don’t have a name for.
“You couldn’t be bad at it if you tried.” My voice comes out rough, unfiltered. The need to protect what she’s giving me runs parallel to the hunger clawing at my control.
I kiss her. Not with heat—yet—but with reverence. Letting her feel how much this moment matters.
She leans into me.
“Will you—show me? Tell me what to do?”
A groan slips out before I can stop it. I press my forehead to hers, trying to ground myself, trying not to lose it completely just from the fantasy of her asking to be taught by me.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
No teasing. No coaxing. I need her answer to be clear.
