Page 242 of That Rush

“I’m celebrating.”

My hands find the warm skin beneath his shirt. “One drawer. Two nights. Fridays here. We adjust if either of us hates it.”

His palms slide down my back, cupping the curve of my hip through my dress. “I’m going to hate waking up with you in my bed.”

“You’re very convincing.”

“I’ll suffer.”

His mouth returns to mine, rougher now. His mouth tastes of lemonade and frosting as he backs me toward the bedroom. I catch his lower lip between my teeth when we reach the doorway.

Aiden groans. “Tell me that performance review is going well.”

“You’re meeting expectations.”

“Cruel woman.”

He turns me, draws my back against his chest, and slowly lowers the zipper of my dress. His lips follow the path he exposes, touching my shoulder, then the hollow at the base of my neck.

“You chose me tonight,” he says against my skin.

“I chose my cabin.”

“With me in it.”

“Yes.”

“And next week you’re choosing my bed.”

“Twice.”

His hand slips beneath the loosened fabric and spreads over my stomach. “I like your plan.”

“I thought you might.”

“I like that you made it.”

It sinks in then. He doesn’t just want the plan; he wants that it’s mine.

I turn inside his arms. “You’re mine, Aiden.”

I used to hear surrender in the word mine. Now it is a claim we both choose, one I can make because I remain free.

His forehead touches mine. “Always because you choose me.”

“I choose you.”

He kisses me until the back of my knees hits the mattress. He follows me down, laughing when my elbow knocks a paperback from the nightstand.

“You’re losing to fiction again,” I tell him.

Aiden braces himself above me. “That book has never made you come.”

“An unfair advantage.”

“One I intend to keep.”

His hand glides beneath my dress, and any smart reply I had vanishes.