Page 166 of That Rush

Aiden washes the sawdust from his arms while I pull cheese and vegetables from the refrigerator. He takes the knife from me without comment and starts slicing peppers. I find the grater in the second drawer because I have opened enough of his cabinets to know where things belong.

Knowing where he keeps the grater should feel like a small fact. It feels like evidence of a life being built around me.

I grate cheese while he heats a skillet, and we move around each other without discussing who should do what. Aiden slides the cutting board toward me when I need it. I move the oil before his hand reaches for the bottle. Dinner comes together like we’ve done this more than once.

I like it.

I’m still deciding how I feel about liking it when Aiden switches off the burner and turns toward me.

“Josie won’t be back for another twenty minutes.”

“That sounds like another assumption.”

“Dad is never early.”

“Your confidence has caused problems before.”

He steps between me and the counter. “You promised me something.”

“I promised to decide what you earned.”

“What have I earned?”

I glance toward the clean window, the quiet yard beyond it, then hook two fingers in his belt loop. “Lift me.”

Aiden’s gaze darkens. He grips my hips and sets me on the counter in one smooth motion. My knees fall open around him, and he shifts between them.

“Hands down,” I say, my voice low.

His palms flatten against the counter on either side of me.

“Good.”

I kiss him slowly, letting my tongue brush his before I catch his lower lip between my teeth. His fingers flex against the laminate, but he keeps them where I put them.

The obedience is almost hotter than the control.

I trail my mouth along his jaw. “You were very pleased with yourself in that photograph.”

“I knew what it would do to you.”

“Smug.”

“Justified.”

I reach between us and pull his belt free of the buckle. His breath changes against my cheek.

“What happens after you undo it?” he asks.

“I haven’t decided.”

“Take your time.”

His voice is steady, though the hard line of his body beneath his jeans argues with the performance.

I pop the button open. “You’re doing well.”

“Paige.”