She looks up, her reaction a little delayed. Her eyes are hazy. “Oh, Rose. Hello.”
“Thank you for coming.” I gesture around us with one hand. “I’m sure it means a lot to Aiden and his brothers to have so many people here.”
Willow nods vaguely, and I have to resist the urge to pull her into my arms and try to get her out of here. She seems more doped up than usual, and I wonder for the first time if she’s self-administering whatever it is, or if Dmitri deliberately got her hooked on it. Either way, it’s awful.
“We’ve been busy with the funeral arrangements, and then there’s the wedding coming up,” I add. “But after that, I’d love to hang out with you again sometime. If you’re up for it.”
“Yes. I’d—”
Before she can finish the sentence, Willow breaks off abruptly, looking down at the floor. A moment later, the hairs on the back of my neck prickle as Dmitri walks up and drapes an arm around his wife’s shoulders.
He doesn’t speak to me, just gives me a look that makes my skin chill, then turns and leads her away. She goes without resistance, not even saying goodbye to me or looking back over her shoulder.
I swallow hard, my hands curling into fists.
Fuck, I hate that man. I never liked him in high school, but I never thought of him much back then, having no idea all the things he was saying about me and planning for me. But now? I despise him with every fiber of my being.
The next hour passes in a blur, and by the time we finally leave the church, I can tell Aiden is worn out. I know what it’s like. Even though I was a child when my mother died, I remember that her funeral was exhausting. It wasn’t just a physical drain, either. It took something out of me emotionally, making me feel like a wrung out rag.
We pull into the garage and head into the house, and as soon as the door shuts, Aiden turns to me, pressing me up against the heavy wood.
I expect him to kiss me, but instead, he just rests his forehead against mine, his entire body leaning into mine as if I’m the only thing holding him up.
“Thank you,” he whispers raggedly. “For being there.”
His words hit me right in the chest, and I nod as much as I can without breaking the contact of our foreheads. “Of course.”
Aiden’s crystal blue eyes drop closed, and for a long moment, we just stay like that, sharing breath in the silent stillness of the entryway.
Then, slowly, his lips find mine.
It’s soft at first, careful and exploratory, as if he’s trying to remind himself how to do this. How to feel anything but grief. Then he makes a noise in his throat, hitching me tighter against him as everything intensifies.
He kisses me heatedly, his mouth searing mine, his hands shoving up the hem of my dress as if he’s an addict who’ll die without his next fix.
Part of me feels like I should push him away. I’ve been so careful to keep some semblance of the walls up between us, to try to keep myself from surrendering to my cravings for him. But in this moment, I don’t have the strength to stop what’s happening.
He needs this so much.
I can feel it in the way he groans against my lips, groping me roughly.
And the truth is, some part of me needs it too.
So just this once, I let myself have what I need.
Kissing him back, I lift my leg closer toward his hand, pressing my thigh against his body. He slides his hand along my skin, his fingers digging into my flesh as he yanks me closer.
“Aiden,” I whisper, my breath already choppy.
He kisses me like fire, and I melt under his hands, my leg hooked around his muscled waist. I hold him tight to me as he grinds against me, his bulge pressing against me beneath his pants.
I reach for his shirt and push my hands under it, gliding my fingertips over his heated skin. I need to feel him, his hard muscles so warm and firm beneath my touch.
“Fuck, Rose,” he grunts, sounding strung out as his fingers dig almost painfully into my thighs, gripping me like he’ll never let me go. “Fucking hell. I’m so—I need—”
Without finishing his sentence, Aiden shoves the hem of my dress all the way up to my stomach. Holding the fabric there with one hand, he unzips his pants, shoving them down and out of the way, and I’m vaguely aware of the sound of his belt smacking the floor.
“Get the fuck up here,” he mutters, hoisting me into his arms as I grab the fabric of the dress, taking over the job of holding it out of the way.
