“Aaron,” she says breathlessly. “I broke up with Trey.”
And if that isn’t the best thing I’ve ever heard, I don’t know what is. But the news also has a war starting in my head. I want nothing more than to take Amelia into her house and make love to her several times until we pass out—until I literally can’t lift my body anymore—but I know that would be wrong.
She might have broken up with Trey, but that doesn’t mean she’s over him. I don’t want to be her rebound. I want her to be with me because she wants to be with me.
I press a kiss to her forehead and pull her into a hug. “I’m sorry to hear that, babe. I’m here if you want to talk about it.”
“Aaron—”
“Not now, Amelia. You need to heal. You need to process what happened with you and Trey. I’m not going anywhere. Take your time, recharge yourself, and figure out what you truly want. Okay?”
When I pull away, she’s biting the side of her lip, but there’s understanding in her eyes.
“Have a good night, beautiful. If you need me, you know where to find me.” I pull away and step off her porch. I head toward my house but turn and walk backward to see her staring back at me. “Happy Birthday, Amelia.”
The moment I close the door to my house, I make a beeline to my bathroom and strip. I consider taking a cold shower but nix that idea. I need a fucking release.
With steam billowing around me, thoughts of Amelia make me hard. Placing one hand on the tile in front of me, the shower water beating off my back, I grip my aching cock and start to pump. My eyes are squeezed shut as I pull up memories from tonight: the feel of Amelia riding me against the wall, her tits bouncing with every thrust, her laugh, her smell, her fucking moan.
Fuck, I squeeze tight and pump harder, making sure to pull tight at the tip of my cock. I grunt to myself, my legs starting to tingle as I envision her riding me in the club, of the way her eyes sparkled with arousal, the way her hair brushed against my face. I could have pulled her tits into my mouth.
“God,” I moan, leaning against the shower. I pump harder, my hand sliding fast along my hard cock.
I want her so damn bad. I want her tight, lithe body riding me, her luscious, ample breasts bouncing above me. I want to see her face when she orgasms. I want to hear the erotic sounds she makes when she comes, and I want to feel her core contracting around my cock. I want it so damn bad.
“Christ.” My balls tighten, my hand pulling harder on my cock, my legs weakening with each yank.
I squeeze my eyes tighter as I feel my orgasm approaching, waiting to fall over the edge. I envision her lips, those plump, red lips wrapped around my cock, the way she used to suck me so damn hard I saw stars. And just like that, I’m grunting as my cock convulses in my hand, orgasm violently wracking my body.
“Shit.” I breathe heavily, my eyes still closed tight as pleasure rips through me.
It isn’t until I’m dried off and lying naked in bed that my heart starts to beat at a normal rate. She’s only a few feet away, and yet, she still feels so fucking far away. I almost had a taste. I almost . . .
Tonight was a step in the right direction. She broke up with Trey.
Maybe Trey doesn’t get everything.
Chapter Twenty-Two
AMELIA
I check my phone, two missed calls from Trey and three text messages. It’s the Sunday after my birthday, and I have yet to talk to Aaron after our night or talk to Trey since we broke up. I spent the day yesterday cleaning.
Yes, cleaning.
I cleaned everything, from my bedroom to the basement. No square footage was left untouched. I dusted, swept, mopped, scrubbed the toilet and counters, and searched for cobwebs. It was the only way I could keep myself busy, busy from thinking about Aaron, about Trey’s horrible assumptions, about how angry Trey made me, and my dad who has slowly deteriorated ever since I moved here.
I’m still reeling from Trey’s “present.” How could he think I would be delighted? How could he use words of encouragement urging me to feel positive about our move, when he didn’t really believe them himself?
Is it me? Was I so determined to find a man who appeared so different than Aaron that I fell for Trey? Reliable Trey. Charming Trey. Steadfast Trey. Caring Trey. Rescuing Trey. We had everything planned . . . Why did he lie? Feeling desolate and slightly curious, I read his texts.
Trey: Please call me, Amelia. I want to talk about this some more.
Trey: I’m just looking out for our future, planning for it. You can understand that.
There is no future with Trey, not when he’s made deliberate decisions to stay in the city. I’m not leaving my dad and honestly, I like my job here. I like the people and the kids I work with. I enjoy driving to my job without having to deal with city traffic, and I particularly enjoy living in a home rather than an apartment. I do love him, and I thought he was my world. Yet, Trey and I don’t seem to have the same goals, and what’s more disheartening is he has no concept of what truly is in my heart. Something we discussed ad nauseam before I moved to be closer to my dad.
Why did he make such false promises?
And then there’s Aaron. The man who made sure I had a good birthday. Who not only called to wish me a happy birthday, but also took me out to places I loved, showering me with his ardent . . . love? He was right to press pause the other night. I wanted him. My God, I wanted him, and I knew he wanted me. I know what the look of lust and love look like on his handsome face, and they were there throughout the whole night. He didn’t ask questions. He knew I needed headspace. He knew I needed something special, and he gave it to me. For nothing in return. I was ready to give myself to him again last night, but I think he knew I would regret such a move. This time he didn’t make the decision for me without explaining why. He didn’t close the door, but left it open. Not now, he told me. You need to heal. You need to process what happened with you and Trey. He’s right.
I’m not devastated or completely broken about Trey and me. I’m actually hopeful, and again, it’s Aaron’s words that give me hope. I’m not going anywhere. Take your time and figure out what you truly want.
What I truly want.
Still in my robe with a towel on my head to dry my hair, I add two spoonfuls of sugar to my coffee and give it a stir. Looking out the kitchen window, I see the leaves have fallen from the trees, covering the grass in a brown blanket. It’s dreary, a very common look for Binghamton during this time of the year, and very fitting for my mood.
Needing a little voice of reason—or kick in the ass—I dial Amanda’s number.
“Hi, pretty face,” she answers. “How’s the city?”
Can you tell I haven’t talked to her in the last few days?
“Uh, wouldn’t know, I’m back in Binghamton.”