Page 162 of That Rush

Me: Smart man. He knew when to quit.

His response arrives before I reach the supply table.

Aiden: He stopped after one orgasm.

Me: Blame the publisher.

Aiden: I don’t.

The memory of Aiden in my reading chair sends a hot pulse through me. His hands stayed where I put them until I asked for more. Then he held me with all that strength and let me keep control of every movement.

Me: I remember you losing control exactly when I told you to.

Aiden: You were sitting on my cock.

Me: A detail the book handled with greater restraint.

Aiden: The book was wrong.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling at my screen like a woman who has forgotten she is at work.

Me: You’re very judgmental for a man reading romance in the middle of a ranch day.

Aiden: I’m taking a break.

I look at the dust on his hand and the strip of unfinished wood beneath his boot. Aiden does not take breaks with a novel unless he wants me to notice.

Me: Did you stage this photograph?

Aiden: I chose the angle carefully.

Me: Of course you did.

Aiden: It worked.

My nipples tighten beneath my blouse, making his confidence irritatingly justified.

I rest one hip against the supply table and type with both thumbs.

Me: Tonight, you’re going to put both hands on the kitchen counter while I undo your belt. If you follow instructions, I’ll decide what you earn next.

The typing bubble appears, vanishes, then returns.

Aiden: What time do you finish?

Me: Five.

Aiden: Come to the ranch after work.

The command sends heat pulling low in my stomach, and I let him wait a few seconds before typing my response.

Me: Try that again.

This pause lasts longer.

Aiden: Will you come to the ranch after work?

Me: Better.