Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)

“Barely.”


He chuckles and takes a Baci. I watch his long fingers peel the silver wrapping and find the quote.

“What does it say?”

“‘All is fair in love and war.’” He reads the wax note quietly.

“Well, that’s not so fatal.” I’m secretly glad that the bewitched Baci didn’t say something like “a woman in a painting will fall in love with you” and terrify him for life.

“Isn’t it?” He looks at the quote again and sets it on the marble bar. “What does yours say?”

I peel mine, fishing the note first. “‘A kiss is a secret told to the mouth.’” Thank you, Rostand! That same surging emptiness ghosts in my chest as I wonder whether this is the only type of secret Aiden will share with me. Maybe I should stop reading these bloody notes altogether.

I swallow and look up. “Tell me a secret, Aiden.”

He leans in slowly until our lips meet. He tastes like milk and Baci. His lips move lightly, like he is whispering. Then his kiss changes. He stands up so abruptly that his bar stool topples behind him on the floor. He fists his hand in my hair and yanks my head back, his mouth inches from mine.

“You want to know a secret, Elisa?”

I nod, breathless.

“I never kiss on the mouth,” he whispers. “Too much taste, too much essence of a woman to remember. But I like kissing you.”

I’m so stunned by this revelation that I pull back but he pinches my chin, shaking his head. He picks me up from my waist, wraps my legs around him and saunters to the long marble kitchen counter. He sets me on it, reaches for my milk glass and takes a sip.

“There are better ways to drink milk.” He winks.

He looks wicked. There is a streak of purpose in his eyes, as though he is on a quest. I fist my hands in his hair and pull him closer. I caress his cheek, stopping at his scar. The compulsion to kiss it is so strong that I lean in, asking for permission with my eyes. He smiles and nods.

I blow on it gently. It’s shaped like an L. For love, I think wildly, high on Haleum. I press my lips to it. It’s a ridge, toughened by time. Its contours imprint the letter on my lips. I kiss it again.

He moans and starts kissing the familiar paths he blazed earlier. My jaw, my throat, my collarbone. “You want to know another secret?” he whispers against my skin.

I moan a “yes”.

He brings his mouth to my ear. “I like you in this dress because you look like you belong to a happy time.”

He unties the bow at the back. I’m too lost to decipher his words so I simply absorb them. Slowly, he undoes the zipper and peels the dress from my shoulder, raining kisses there. He takes it off and sets it on the counter. Then he steps back, gazing at me. I’m fully aware that the lights are on but his words from yesterday ring in my ear. Don’t hide from me. I fight my shyness until he smiles.

“More secrets, Elisa?”

I nod without any power of speech.

“No one looks like you in my memory. Not even you.”

With one of his magical moves, my bra comes off. I wish I could say something but the only sound I’m able to form is a sigh. His lips press on my throat and trail lower, and finally his mouth is on my right nipple. His tongue draws circles, and he weaves kisses and bites in a pattern that makes me shiver. I try to wrap my legs around his waist for contact but he spreads them apart, as far as they will go, spanning the length of the counter. I feel exposed, but my blood is boiling so I don’t quite care. Slowly, two of his fingers slide inside me. The effect on me is violent. My hips lurch forward, craving depth. He growls against my breasts.

“Behave or I won’t tell you any more secrets.” He circles his fingers once, twice. The only sound I can produce is another moan. My hips writhe feverishly against his slow, sure fingers.

“Here’s another one: I like the way you taste.”

He kneels on the floor between my legs, blows a gust of air on me, and nips at my pubic bone. His fingers are still stretching and circling. Everything inside me starts to quiver. It’s almost here. Closer. Closer.

“Now about that milk,” he says, and pours the still-hot milk between my breasts.

It inflames my skin and streams in one single rivulet down my body and between my legs where his mouth waits and closes around me. The heat of the milk and the pressure of his mouth send me over the edge. The explosion begins instantly. My arms give out as he sucks the last drop of milk, and I slump on the counter. Behind my closed eyelids, darkness is tinged with a reddish haze. His name echoes in the night. I hear it as if I’m underwater.

When I emerge, I can still feel his hushing kisses between my legs and on the insides of my thighs. I peer down at him. He is blurry around the edges. He stands up, smiling, and my vision focuses.

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