Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
My heart hammers under my ribs, and I swear butterflies swarm in my stomach.
His nostrils flare slightly, a clear indication he’s not happy. “You’re doing it wrong.”
I blink. What?
How can I be vacuuming wrong?
Despite the fact that the words are on my tongue, I don’t ask what he means because it’s not something I’d ever say to him. It’s something most would say, not recognizing the effect that question could have on someone like Aiden. More ridicule for a man who ridicules himself enough.
He shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’ll take over.”
“Could you show me? I’d like to know how you want it done. That way I can do it right.”
It’s as though his entire body exhales at those words. The rigid posture, gone. The blank stare that looks right through you, gone.
“Actually,” he says, glancing around. “I think you’re right. It’s good.”
When he turns fully toward me, the movement makes his pecs flex. I don’t mean to lick my lips, but shit, I do.
His hungry gaze trails over my mouth, and he takes a step closer.
“Aiden.” I don’t mean for my voice to drop seductively, but it does.
For a second, I wonder if he’ll kiss me again, but he steps back and takes the vacuum from me, essentially breaking the spell I was just under.
“Well… almost,” he says. The compulsion kicks in, and my stomach drops. At least he tried. But in the end, he couldn’t help himself.
A moment later, he’s taking over. Showing me exactly how he likes it done.
Just like he did all those years ago.
And I don’t know if I’m happy or sad that he’s still the boy I loved.
17
AIDEN
Today isn’t getting off to a good start.
Everything has gone wrong. To the average person, they might not see it, but I do.
After the bar last night, I was all types of fucked up.
When I couldn’t sleep, I thought about walking over to Cassidy’s room and saying fuck it. It was so damn tempting.
Instead, I found myself cleaning.
Not that there was anything to clean.
I knew there wasn’t. She knew there wasn’t.
But it calmed me. And she got that.
There was no mockery in the way she asked me to show her how I wanted things done. Nothing on her face that told me she was judging. She just jumped in like it was normal.
After we were done, we went our separate ways, and I managed to get some sleep. It was her presence.
Today, however, is a whole other story.
It started this morning when my alarm malfunctioned. Instead of waking at 5:01 like I normally do, I woke up at 5:22.
It’s been a shit show ever since.
Today is too important. I can’t afford not to be on my A game tonight.
It’s game three, but most importantly, it’s the first home game since I brought Cassidy on. She’ll be there watching. And something about that has me equal parts excited and anxious.
Despite the crap start due to the alarm, somehow Cassidy was able to calm me. After my morning workout, I saw the glass on the kitchen counter with three ice cubes in it.
How did she fucking know? It’s probably a coincidence, but that move alone has me on edge. Did someone tip her off? Mike? If not him, who and how did they know? Thinking about my secrets getting out practically has me in hives.
It’s just a coincidence. Three is normal. It’s not overwhelming in the glass, but it’s enough to do an adequate job of keeping the liquid cold.
I’ve been telling myself that on repeat ever since, but it’s not good. I’m losing control, and I can’t have that.
The worst part is I know what will calm me, or more like who.
I need her, and not in a way I care to admit. It makes me feel weak. Dirty somehow.
There’s nothing dirty or wrong with mutually agreed-to sex.
Sure, she’s my assistant, and she’s meant to keep my life easy with her little fixes and ensuring everything goes according to my preferences.
Right now, everything is prepared to my liking on the kitchen counter. Everything I need is waiting for me so that I can start all my pre-game rituals before I have to leave for the arena.
This is where her duties end. So why do I feel like changing the terms?
Because you want her.
I close my eyes and try to push that thought away. It would be so easy to just say fuck it, tell her I was wrong, and that we should, in fact, have sex again. I refuse to be that weak.
Instead, I find myself leaving the kitchen and heading straight to my room. The blood rushes to my cock with every step I take.
By the time I’m behind closed doors, my dick is harder than steel.
Fuck.
How does she do this to me?
I head straight into the bathroom and turn on the shower.