Page 34 of Six of Hearts
"About how you'd feel." She rolled her hips again, and I gripped her harder, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "About how you'd touch me. About whether you'd be gentle or rough."
"What do you want?" I asked, my hands moving to her ass, pulling her tighter against me.
"Both." She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. "Everything."
I kissed her then, hard and demanding, pouring six weeks of wanting into it. She kissed back just as fiercely, her hands in my hair, her body moving against mine in a rhythm that was going to drive me insane.
I'd always approached sex the way I approached architecture—with planning, precision, attention to detail. I liked to know the blueprint going in, to execute each step perfectly, to build towards a specific outcome. Control was important to me. Essential.
But Aria made me want to throw the blueprint out the window.
My hands found the hem of her sweater, and I pulled it up and off in one smooth motion. She wasn't wearing a bra—Christ, she'd come to my office without a bra—and the sight of her bare breasts made my brain short-circuit.
"Perfect," I muttered, cupping them, feeling their weight in my palms. "You're fucking perfect."
She arched into my touch, her head falling back. "Noah..."
I took my time with her breasts, learning what made her gasp, what made her moan. I was methodical about it, cataloging her responses, but there was nothing cold in my attention. I was burning up, my cock straining against my pants, my control fraying with every sound she made.
"I need you," she breathed, reaching between us to work at my belt. "Now."
I helped her, lifting my hips so she could push my pants and boxers down enough to free me. Then her hand was on my cock, stroking, and I had to close my eyes against the sensation.
"Condom," I managed. "Glove box."
She stretched to reach it, the movement pressing her breasts against my face, and I took advantage, sucking one nipple into my mouth. She made a sound that went straight to my cock, then she was back, tearing open the packet with her teeth.
She rolled it on me with sure movements, and then she was lifting up, positioning herself. I helped her with her jeans, getting them down just enough, and then she was sinking ontome, and nothing in my carefully ordered world made sense anymore except this.
"Fuck," I groaned as she took me in, inch by inch. She was so tight, so hot, and the angle was perfect, hitting something deep that made her cry out.
"Oh god," she whimpered, her hands bracing on my shoulders. "Noah, you're so—"
"Move," I commanded, gripping her hips. "Show me what you've got."
She did. She rode me hard, her body rising and falling in a rhythm that was both chaotic and perfect. I watched her face, the way her expressions shifted—pleasure, concentration, abandon.
I watched the way her breasts bounced with each movement, the way her hair fell around her face. I noticed everything, cataloged every detail, even as my control splintered.
The car rocked with our movements, the windows fogging up. It was cramped and awkward and absolutely perfect. I could feel her tightening around me, could see she was close, and I slid one hand between us to find her clit.
"Come for me," I said, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. "Let me feel it."
She did, her whole body going rigid as she cried out my name. The sensation of her pulsing around me, the sound of my name on her lips—it shattered what was left of my control. I thrust up into her, once, twice, and then I was coming too, harder than I could remember in years.
She collapsed against my chest, both of us breathing hard. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close, feeling her heartbeat against mine.
"So," she said after a moment, her voice muffled against my neck. "How do you think you did?"
I laughed, the sound surprising me. "I think we're just getting started."
***
We made it back to her apartment somehow, though I barely remembered the drive. My mind was already racing ahead, planning the next phase. The car had been desperate, urgent, a release of built-up tension. But now I wanted to take my time. I wanted to do this right.
Aria's apartment was small but well-organised, everything in its place. I noticed the details—the books arranged by colour on her shelf, the plants on the windowsill, the photos of her with the kids already displayed. She'd made a home here, a space that reflected her warmth and care.
I wanted to wreck her in it.
