Aidan (4 page)

M
y daily routine
of going to Aidan’s in the evening has become familiar and addictive. It’s been two weeks since we met in that bar and I’ve spent every night since in his bed. After the first week, he started leaving the door either unlocked or hanging open, so I took that to mean I didn’t need to knock. Sometimes, we went out for dinner, but most of the time, we cooked together.

I had the uneasy feeling I was replacing my parents with him. People with anxiety or depression tend to have what is called a “safe person.” Basically, it’s someone who makes you feel more secure and less anxious when you’re around them. The whole point of this time away was to regain my independence, but am I really doing that? Sure, I’m happier and more relaxed than I’ve been in months. I could literally go hours without thinking about cancer, which is a big step in the right direction. What happens when this is over? Eventually, both of us will return home and probably not together. He isn’t whispering words of love and long-term plans in my ear each night as he fucks me senseless. This is commonly referred to as a summer fling. What will become of me at the end of it if I’m indeed transferring my dependence onto him?

I am still mulling that disturbing question over in my mind when I arrive at his door to find a note stuck to it.
On the beach. Come on down, beautiful.
And there it is, something I never expected to feel for him: a big case of the warm fuzzies. He doesn’t owe me anything. I’m not his girlfriend, and we never made official plans. But he lets me know where he is and asks me to join him. Therefore, I walk around the front and look around the mostly deserted beach until I finally spot him striding out of the ocean—with a woman. She is blonde and scantily clad in a swimsuit that is no more than tiny scraps of cloth held together by equally small strings. I instantly hate her. I stalk across the warm sand before realizing I’m jealous and doing nothing to hide it. Thankfully, Aidan has yet to notice me so I take a moment to regroup. I need to get it together. I can’t let him see that the other woman bothers me. We are both free to see other people. I may want to order the bimbo to take a hike, but I have no rights at all where he is concerned.
Is he testing me?
He’ll probably be amused by such a display from me, and dammit, I’m not going to give him the pleasure of watching me have a tantrum over him. So I plaster on a bright smile—that I am far from feeling—and proceed forward. When I’m a few feet away, he looks away from beach Barbie and spots me.

“There you are.” He grins lazily when I reach them. The eager woman next to him is now clutching his elbow as if terrified he’s going to get away. “Kara, this is my neighbor, Brandy. She was offering to give me some surf lessons.”

Oh, I’ll just bet she was.
Women can usually read each other, and I know with absolute certainty that it wasn’t a board Brandy wanted him to ride. “That sounds like fun,” I say in a bored tone. Brandy gives me a fake smile full of teeth. Actually, it’s more like a snarl. “I wouldn’t mind learning how myself.”

I fight the urge to laugh as Brandy’s lips pinch together tightly. “I only have two boards,” she says in a voice dripping with false regret. Before I can reply, she does a quick subject change. “So, Aidan, how about that drink tonight?” She trails a finger up his biceps before adding, “I really enjoyed our last time together.”

Instead of looking uncomfortable, Aidan appears amused. “Kara and I already have plans this evening, but maybe I’ll catch you later in the week.” Brandy is ecstatic with that half promise, assuring him that she is just a phone call away. I focus all my energy on keeping my face impassive even though I want nothing more than to knee him in the balls. The bastard didn’t bat an eye when he promised a date with another woman right in front of me. Maybe we aren’t a couple, but he could have a little class. He’s fucked me every night for two weeks. Doesn’t that entitle me to a small offering of courtesy?
Obviously not to this asshole. I’m done with that.

As Brandy rushes off with half her ass hanging out each side of her swimsuit, I turn away and begin marching back in the direction I came. I didn’t give a shit at this point if I looked jealous or not. “Go away,” I mutter as he easily catches up to me.

“You’re pissed,” he states sounding curious.

“Wow, way to state the obvious,” I snap. I am no match for his long strides, so getting away from him is impossible, which makes me even angrier. He halts in his tracks as I whirl around. “Why don’t you go back and take Brandy up on her offer? Apparently, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Green looks good on you, princess,” he murmurs. “You hate the thought that I’ve fucked her, don’t you?”

“Screw you!” I hiss as I turn away. His hand clamps around my arm preventing me from running.
Great.
Not only am I humiliating myself, but he is also forcing me to stay and endure it.

Looking serious for the first time, he says, “She was nothing more than a past distraction and not even that good of one. I tossed her a bone because she’s become a nuisance and I wanted to get rid of her.” He uses his leverage to pull me against his chest, closing his arms around my stiff body. His mouth lowers to my ear as he whispers, “Why would I have any desire to fuck her when I have you?”

I push against his hold, trying to resist. “You don’t have me,” I argue weakly as his lips slide over the sensitive skin of my neck. “I’m going home, and I’m not coming back.”

“Bullshit,” he purrs as he lowers a hand to my ass, pressing me firmly against the hard swell of his arousal. “We may not know what the hell we’re doing otherwise, but in that bed every night, we both get everything we need.”

I make one last attempt to salvage my pride. “Fuck you.” But it sounds like a token protest, even to my ears.

“Oh, that’s exactly what I’m going to do very soon, baby,” he promises as he thrusts against me. “We’re going inside, and I’m going to bend you over the table and bury my cock inside you.” In a whirl of motion, we are through the door of his house, and he is shoving my shorts down my legs while I toss my shirt and bra off. His swim trunks hit the floor next, and somehow, a condom magically appears in his hand. I hook my fingers in the sides of my thong, ready to remove it when he puts a hand out to stop me. “Leave it.” I am busy trying to figure out what he has planned with my underwear in place when he flips the thin lacy material aside and nudges his cock against my entrance.
Holy hotness.
I would have never imagined that being fucked while still wearing my panties would be hotter than being completely nude, but it feels so naughty. “Hold on to the edges of the table,” he orders, and I have just curled my fingers around the wooden surface when he buries his big dick to the hilt inside me.

“Ah! Aidan!” I yell as my core immediately begins contracting around his girth.

“Not yet, princess,” he growls as he smacks my ass. “That orgasm is mine. You don’t come until I give you permission.”

What the hell?
I don’t take orders from him. I’ll come when I’m damn well ready. But then a funny thing happens. It’s as if my pussy has given Aidan control. The brink that I’d been hovering on seems to get further and further away. “Damn you,” I hiss in frustration as my body clamors for a release that won’t come. He is pounding me hard, pulling almost all the way out and slamming back inside. His arms reach around me and palm my breasts, pinching my nipples. Little does he know that I feel nothing in one of them. He could lick, suck, and touch it all he wants, but I feel very little sensation there since my surgery. Just watching him touch the new breast is almost enough to derail the hum of desire flowing through my body. I want to jerk his hand away and tell him not to bother wasting his time, but it obviously excites him, and I certainly don’t want to say anything that would require an explanation on my part. Aidan has no idea I’m partially broken, and I want it to remain that way. So I shut my eyes and focus on his dick sliding in and out of me. Within moments, I’m strung tight and trembling with my need for release. “Aidan, please,” I pant, needing him to do something NOW.

He slams inside me twice more before shouting, “Come now!” And that’s it. Wave after wave of pleasure grips my body as I spasm around him. His cock jerks and I know he’s hit his own peak as well. He slows his pace but continues to move in me for another minute before pulling out. I collapse limply against the table, releasing the death grip that my hands have had on the corners. He lays a hand on my back. “You okay, princess?”

“All good,” I wheeze as I attempt to slow my racing heart and catch my breath.

“Let’s grab a quick shower and then walk down to the bar for a burger and a beer. I think I wore you out too much to cook.”

I manage to pull myself up without wobbling, which is no easy feat. It takes me an embarrassingly long time to reach the bathroom, and by the time I get there, Aidan is already stepping out of the shower. The bastard gives me a knowing grin and drops a hard kiss on my lips before sauntering into the bedroom to dress. As always, his lips on mine rattle me. We’ve kissed while fucking, but we don’t make a habit out of it. I think we both tend to avoid the intimacy of that particular act. I force myself to follow his example and make quick work of washing. I throw my damp hair into a ponytail and redress in the clothes that had been so hastily shed earlier.

Luckily, he didn’t rip my panties off this time—as he so often does—so my undergarments are intact as we walk hand in hand to our favorite beach bar. I’ll admit, I’d been taken aback the first time he reached for my hand. There are sides to him I haven’t expected. For a man who keeps sex casual, he is surprisingly touchy-feely and has no problem with public displays of affection. At some point in one of our outings, he kissed me in full view of others as if it were the most natural thing in the world. After I’d gotten over the initial shock, I found I enjoyed it—maybe too much. It made me feel special, which I knew was a recipe for disaster. We weren’t going to date, fall in love, get engaged, and then eventually marry. That isn’t what this was. He lost the love of his life last year, and quite simply, I’d lost my way since cancer entered my life. Perhaps, he needed to learn how to live again just as badly as I did. I come back to the present with a start as Aidan nudges me to indicate that our server is waiting for my order. I hope my face gives no clues as to what I’ve been thinking about as I manage to say, “I’ll have a glass of sangria please.” Aidan orders a beer, and we’re left alone once again.

Out of nowhere, he asks, “So what’s up with the black hair now? You were a blonde like Lia, so that’s a pretty drastic change.”

I sense nothing negative in his question; he simply sounds curious.
But it has been two weeks. Two weeks and he is only just asking.
I shrug my shoulders, trying to look casual. “Just going through a phase.” I take a sip of the sangria the server just put in front of me before adding, “I’m sure you’d rather be making it with a blonde, but you can’t have everything you want, can you?” In truth, I’d colored my hair not long after I found out about my cancer. Maybe it was silly, but I needed to be in control of something and that was the easiest fix. My poor parents had been speechless when their normally golden-haired daughter had shown up looking more goth. To their credit, they’d even managed some feeble compliments on how the dark color made my green eyes stand out. I’m sure they hoped I’d change it back somewhere down the line, but a year later, I’m still sporting the dark color. I’ve thought of going back to my original shade, but right now, I’m not that person. And maybe it’s foolish, but I feel as if I’d be living a lie to pretend that I’m who I was before cancer.
Two words. Before cancer.
That is how my life is now defined. Before . . . and after. Everyone else around me, bar my parents, of course, have seemingly kept cruising unaffected through their lives.
Why don’t they know I feel like a shattered version of myself? Why can’t they see I’m stuck?

Aidan peels pieces of the label from his beer bottle, seeming fascinated by the task. “Other than you, I’ve had very little of what I want,” he murmurs absently. I wonder if he’s even aware of what he’s admitted. Things between us are normally light and easy, so his admission seems rather deep.

I ponder giving a flippant remark to get us back on track, but fuck it. Why can’t we be real with each other? They say there’s freedom in talking to a shrink because of the whole neutral party thing. You don’t know them, and they don’t know you. In a way, Aidan and I have that type of association. We may have some vague connections, but there’s no history between us, and whatever we’ve been doing will end when we leave the refuge of this beach town. We both have a temporary, non-judgmental sounding board. I have no one else in my life that I can admit to having bad days and that I’m struggling. The people who know of my cancer think I should be thrilled to be given the all clear. I feel as if I must maintain the happy façade around them. Like my
get out of cancer-free
card will be revoked if I don’t appear grateful 24/7. I decide to test the waters by saying, “Yeah, I know the feeling. Life hasn’t exactly been handing out all of my favorite things either. I guess that’s why I’m hiding out here along with you.”

He looks up, appearing almost startled at my words. “What’s haunting you, princess?”

Dammit, what do I say?
I clear my throat as I stall for time. I’m not sure what I expected when I decided on this sharing moment, because I do not intend to actually tell him the reason I’m so messed up. I opt at the last minute for a piece of the truth, hoping that’ll be enough. “I’ve just had a stressful few years. I had a health scare, and I’m taking a little time away to recover.”

Instead of looking satisfied, he appears hyper-alert. “You’re sick?” His eyes run over me as if searching for something obvious.

I’m close to panicking when I have a moment of brilliance. “It was um . . . a female thing,” I stammer convincingly. No man is brave enough to swim in those waters. No doubt, visions of heavy flow tampons and pads are going through his mind right now as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m all right, but it kind of did a number on me. I needed some time away to you know . . . deal with it.” I almost feel sorry for him; because it’s obvious he doesn’t know how to respond. Men are very basic when it comes to girl issues. They automatically think it relates to your period. He probably imagines I had one that lasted for months, which is even more terrifying for him. That would entail a prolonged period of PMS, which hell, isn’t far off now that I think about it. I certainly had the mood swings and the misery.