Ch 1-10

Summary

🌶️🌶️ Aidam Blackwood was my dad’s best friend. Ex-military. Suit-wearing. Growly. Gorgeous. Off. Limits. Too bad I’ve never been good at following rules—especially when I want something. And I want him. Bad. He says I’m trouble. I say he hasn’t seen anything yet. A scorching forbidden age-gap romance full of teasing, tension, and raw emotion. For readers who love dirty talk, possessive men, and the kind of love that breaks every rule.

Chapter 1

POV: Ivy

The road twists as the city disappears behind us, swallowed by endless trees and the glint of summer sun on asphalt. I watch the landscape change through the passenger window, my chin propped in my hand, pretending I’m fascinated by every tree we pass instead of the conversation I know is coming.

“What are you thinking about?” my dad asks casually, eyes on the road.

I shrug. “Nothing.”

He chuckles. “You always think you can lie to me. You’ve got your mother’s eyes, Ivy, but not her poker face.”

That stings a little. Not because it’s untrue, but because everything about her still lingers like perfume in a closed room. She’s been gone for three years, and still, we orbit around her memory like satellites that never touch down.

He clears his throat, then slides into the topic he’s been dancing around for weeks. “So, what’s the plan now that law school’s done? I know I’ve said it before, but—”

I cut him off with a groan. “Dad. Please don’t do the ‘join the company’ speech again.”

“It’s not a speech. It’s a damn good offer.”

His voice is calm but firm—Jonathan Montgomery, king of calm but firm. He’s a brilliant strategist, the mind behind Montgomery & Blackwood Security. Everyone says he can close a deal without breaking a sweat, and I believe it. He’s always been composed, powerful. In control.

Which is exactly why I don’t want to work for him.

“I need to find my own thing,” I say, voice low but sure. “Not just do what’s safe. Not just… follow the plan you made for me.”

He doesn’t answer right away. I know he’s disappointed. But I also know he respects me. He always has. Still, I can feel the tension settle in the space between us like a storm cloud.

And then, like fate laughing in my face, he says, “Oh—I forgot to tell you. Aiden’s staying with us at the lake house for a few weeks.”

I blink. “What?”

“He’s going through the divorce, remember? That bitch of an ex took the house and the car. He’s rebuilding his own lake place, but it’s not ready yet. So I told him to come stay with us.”

I go very still. My heart stutters, then speeds up like I’ve just been dared to jump off a cliff barefoot.

Aiden Blackwood.

My father’s best friend.

My forever temptation.

He’s staying with us. In the same house. For the summer.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

“That’s… generous of you,” I manage, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my voice caught on generous.

He doesn’t. Or maybe he does and chooses to ignore it.

“He needs the break,” Dad continues. “Most of his assets were protected by the company structure, thank God. But still, the divorce hit him hard.”

Poor Aiden. Poor Aiden. My inner voice is already mocking me.

The image of him flashes in my mind—tall, broad-shouldered, always so put-together in his plain black t-shirts that still somehow clung just right. His dark brown hair a little messy when he ran his hand through it, those piercing green eyes that always seemed to see too much. The man is a walking wet dream.

I’ve had a crush on him since I was seventeen. The kind of crush that ruins you for all other men. Honestly, if I’m being truthful with myself, most of the guys I’ve dated have felt like knock-off versions of him. Like my subconscious was constantly trying to find a less-forbidden, less-dangerous version of Aiden Blackwood.

Spoiler: there’s no such thing.

And now I’m going to be sleeping under the same roof as him? For weeks?

My worst nightmare. And my biggest fantasy—all in one.

When I stepped inside the lake house, it hit me instantly.

His scent.

Woody. Spicy. Dark. It wrapped around the room like a spell, soaked into the air and into me. I could swear it had a touch of leather in it too—masculine, addictive, expensive. Aiden Blackwood smelled like a fantasy I wasn’t supposed to have. Like temptation bottled up and sprayed over bad decisions.

I’d always wanted to ask him what cologne he wore. But how could I, without giving myself away?

And then I saw him.

Standing in the middle of the living room with sunlight cutting across his body, Aiden turned toward me—and time slowed.

Black t-shirt, soft with wear, molded to his torso like it knew how lucky it was. Gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, clinging to his thighs like a second skin. His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d just run a hand through it. Or maybe he’d just woken up. Either way, it made him look unfairly good. Raw. Real.

Holy hell, he got hotter.

I blinked, trying to force my eyes to behave. But they betrayed me, shamelessly dragging from the broad line of his shoulders to the subtle vein on his forearm that flexed when he adjusted his grip on a mug. My mouth went dry. And I wasn’t even subtle about it.

He looked up. Our eyes met. And I swear—I swear—his gaze flicked over me like a slow scan, pausing for a breath too long at my legs, then my chest.

Wait… did he just—?

He gave a small nod, lips twitching into the ghost of a smile. “Well, look who’s finally back. Been a while, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice tighter than I wanted. “Law school kind of took over my life.”

He stepped forward and reached for my suitcase like it weighed nothing. I couldn’t stop staring at his forearms as they flexed with the motion—muscle shifting under sun-kissed skin. My whole body tensed at the sight.

“Let me help you with your case,” he said.

Case. Bag. Yes. Words.

“Thanks,” I breathed, trying not to melt into a puddle right there. Mister Hot was officially in my personal space, and I was in trouble.

“Hey, Mister Blackwood…” I started, then corrected myself, “Aiden.”

He smirked slightly at that, like he noticed the slip. Like he enjoyed it.

“I hope I’m not screwing up any father-daughter bonding plans,” he said lightly, heading toward the stairs with my suitcase.

“No,” I said, too fast. “Of course not. You can stay as long as you want.”

I could feel the heat crawling up my neck, and I hated how shaky my voice sounded. His presence did that to me. Always had.

My dad appeared behind us, carrying the last of the groceries. “Don’t judge the wine on the counter. Divorce justifies morning alcohol.”

I glanced toward the cabinet and spotted the half-full glass of Chardonnay. I raised a brow. “Oh, I wasn’t judging. I was just thinking I’d have one too.”

Aiden’s lips tugged into something between a grin and a smirk. “Sometimes I forget you’re over twenty-one already.”

I turned toward him, slow. Deliberate.

And then I looked him dead in the eyes, letting the words hang between us like something dangerous.

“You shouldn’t forget that,” I said, dragging my tongue over my bottom lip as I reached for the bottle. “Not ever.”

Chapter 2

POV: Ivy

I poured the Chardonnay slowly, pretending to focus on not spilling, when in reality I was hyperaware of every breath he took behind me.

Aiden leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, his forearms flexing just enough to distract me again. Seriously, could someone have a license for being this distracting?

The house was quiet now—too quiet. Dad had disappeared upstairs, probably to unpack and take one of his long, drawn-out showers. It was just me and the man who starred in most of my inappropriate daydreams.

I sipped the wine, the cold crispness doing nothing to cool the heat rising in my chest.

“So…” Aiden started, voice low, rough like it hadn’t been used much today. “What’s next for you, Ivy? Fresh out of law school. Big world waiting.”

I glanced at him, meeting his eyes over the rim of my glass. Green. Intense. Focused entirely on me.

“I think my dad has it all mapped out already,” I said, walking slowly toward the couch and curling into the corner, legs tucked under me. “He wants me at the company. Thinks it makes sense—legacy and all that.”

Aiden followed, taking the armchair across from me. He sat with the kind of quiet power that made the room feel smaller. Like he owned the air or something.

“But you don’t want that?” he asked, voice gentler now.

I shook my head, tracing the lip of my glass with my fingertip.

“It’s not that I don’t want it,” I admitted. “It’s just… I want to prove I can be more than just Jonathan Montgomery’s daughter. I want something that’s mine. My risk. My choice. You know?”

He watched me for a long beat, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re not in his shadow, Ivy. You never were.”

That made my chest tighten.

He didn’t say it like it was a compliment. He said it like it was a truth. A simple, undeniable fact.

“You’re brilliant,” he continued, eyes locking onto mine. “You’ve always been smart as hell. And if you ever didchoose to join the company, it wouldn’t be to follow your father. It would be because you could run it just as well as he does. Maybe better.”

I blinked, surprised by how much his words actually mattered to me. He wasn’t just being nice. Aiden wasn’t the kind of man who said things he didn’t mean.

“But,” he added, with a small shrug, “I get it. Sometimes you have to go off the map to figure out where the hell you really want to land.”

I smiled into my glass. “That sounds like something you’ve done before.”

He chuckled, the sound low and delicious. “More times than I can count.”

I glanced up at him again, letting my gaze linger a little longer. “And what about you now? Post-divorce, lake house refugee… where are you landing?”

He smiled—but this one didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m rebuilding,” he said simply. “Not just the house. Me too, I guess.”

There was something in his voice that pulled at me. Something quiet and raw beneath all that strength. A vulnerability I’d never seen before, hidden beneath the armor he always wore so well. And damn if that didn’t make him even hotter.

“I hated her, you know,” I said before I could stop myself. My voice was soft, but firm. Honest.

His brows lifted. “Yeah?”

I took a slow sip of my wine, then met his eyes. “She never deserved you.”

Aiden tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to read the spaces between my words. Or maybe trying to decide if he should shut this down now—before it went too far.

But instead, he smirked. “So it’s two of us.”

I let my knees slide down, stretching my legs out just a little. The hem of my shorts rode up high on my thighs, but I didn’t fix it. Didn’t want to. I could feel the air shift as his eyes flicked downward, pausing for a second too long.

There it was again.

That flicker.

Heat.

Tension.

Danger.

He looked back up, and our eyes locked. His jaw was tight now, breath just a little slower. Controlled. But not calm.

Just when I thought he might say something, or maybe even stand up and cross the space between us, I heard my dad’s voice echo down the stairs.

“Ivy, go change and let’s enjoy the pool! I’ve been dreaming of that water since I woke up.”

I exhaled slowly, realizing only then that I’d been holding my breath. Damn it, Dad. Your timing is infuriating.

I stood and gave Aiden a playful smirk. “You joining us, Mister Blackwood?”

His eyes followed my movement with that barely-there tension still in his gaze. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

I turned and walked upstairs, taking my time, knowing full well his eyes were probably still on me.

And when I came back down, wearing the black bikini that left very little to the imagination, I saw him.

Already in the water.

Already shirtless.

Already looking like a Greek god carved by sin itself.

His back was turned at first—broad, sculpted, glistening under the late morning sun. The way the water curved around his torso when he turned made my mouth go dry. And when he looked up and saw me—really saw me—there was a split second where the air between us tightened.

He stared.

And stared.

His jaw ticked once before he looked away—but not fast enough to hide the way his throat worked when he swallowed.

I smirked, stepping into the water slowly, letting it wrap around my body like a second skin. My father was already swimming laps across the other side, completely unaware of the volcano simmering on this end of the pool.

I swam toward the shallow edge near Aiden, close enough to feel the energy radiating off him.

Then I leaned close, just enough for my voice to be heard by only him.

“I saw you staring, Mister Blackwood,” I whispered, letting the words roll off my tongue like honey.

He froze for a second—just one. But that was all I needed. His eyes darted toward me, sharp and dark with something he was clearly trying to bury.

For a second, I thought he’d deny it. Maybe apologize. Pretend it didn’t happen.

But instead, he narrowed his eyes and stepped closer, the water rippling around us like we were in our own little world.

“You were too,” he said, voice deep and low and husky as sin. “Miss Montgomery.”

The way he said my name… God.

It wasn’t just a line. It wasn’t a tease.

It was a warning.

Or maybe a promise.

Either way, I felt it—everywhere.

Blood rushed to all the wrong—or maybe right—places. My skin prickled, my breath hitched, and for a moment, I completely forgot how to think.

This is gonna be fun.

By the time we’d toweled off and drifted back inside, the smell of garlic and butter was already curling through the air, pulling me toward the kitchen. My stomach growled, but more than that, my curiosity sparked.

I’d spent years dreaming about Aiden Blackwood. Forbidden, out of reach, off-limits. But now… things were different.

The age gap didn’t look so wide anymore. I wasn’t a teenager with messy dreams—I was a woman. And he wasn’t married anymore. That changed the rules, didn’t it?

The fact that he looked like sin carved from marble and cooked like a damn chef wasn’t helping.

When I stepped into the open kitchen, I froze. There he was—shirt sleeves rolled, forearms flexing as he stirred something in a pan. Steam curled around his face, catching the light, and for a second, I imagined tasting him instead of the food.

He looked over his shoulder, smirk already loaded. “Pasta with garlic and fish,” he said. “Still your favorite, right?”

I blinked. “You remembered?”

His green eyes held mine a little too long. “Some things are hard to forget.”

I felt my breath catch. My heart did something stupid in my chest. My dad was already lounging on the couch, wine in hand, clearly letting Aiden take over the evening.

“You need help?” I asked, stepping closer.

“You cook now?” he teased, lifting a brow.

I gave him a knowing smile. “One more of my hidden talents. Took a few classes during college.”

He moved aside just enough for me to slip beside him at the counter, and I grabbed a knife and a cutting board, feeling his gaze track every move.

“Here,” I said, brushing past him deliberately. I took his hand—bigger, rougher, so much warmer—and guided it to the chopping rhythm. “You’re too slow. This is how you slice basil.”

His hand tensed slightly under mine. “Bossy,” he murmured.

“Efficient,” I corrected, glancing up at him. Our faces were close—too close. I could see the faint scar on his jawline, the one I always wondered about when I was younger.

“Your dad knows you flirt like this in the kitchen?” he said, voice low.

I shrugged, smirking. “He’s over there pretending not to hear. Besides, I’m just teaching.”

“I’m a quick learner.”

Oh, I bet you are.

The tension curled between us like steam from the pan. My fingers lingered on his as I adjusted the grip again, and I felt the way his breath hitched, just barely—but I noticed. I always noticed.

When I turned back to the pot to stir, his voice came from behind me, close to my ear. “You always tease like this, Ivy?”

I shivered slightly, but didn’t let him win. I turned, holding his gaze. “Only when I think it’ll work.”

That made him laugh, and God, that sound was unfair. Warm, deep, and thick with something unspoken.

“You’re dangerous,” he said.

“And you’re burning the sauce,” I said, grinning as I pushed past him again, but not without brushing against his chest.

I wasn’t sure if it was the wine, or the years of pent-up tension, or the fact that we were finally alone and no longer bound by the same rules—but something had shifted.

He looked at me like he saw me. Not Jonathan’s daughter. Not the little girl from a decade ago.

A woman.

And for the first time in my life, I let myself wonder—really wonder—what would happen if I stopped pretending I didn’t want him.

Chapter 3

POV: Ivy

The pasta was almost done, the kitchen warm with steam and spice—and yet somehow, the heat between us was worse. Or better. I couldn’t decide.

Aiden poured two glasses of wine, handed one to me with a smirk. His fingers brushed mine for a second longer than necessary. I swear I felt it in places I shouldn’t.

“To hidden talents,” he said.

I clinked my glass against his. “And to ex-military gods who can cook.”

He nearly choked on his wine. “You are trouble.”

“You have no idea,” I whispered.

My father walked in, rubbing his hands together like a kid on Christmas morning. “Smells like heaven. You two planning on opening a restaurant together?”

Aiden laughed, stepping back just in time to avoid my elbow. “Just helping your daughter remember the difference between salt and sugar.”

I rolled my eyes. “I was doing the teaching.”

We sat at the table, all three of us. It felt strangely cozy—domestic, even—but the undercurrent between me and Aiden buzzed like an electric wire under the surface.

Halfway through dinner, my dad leaned back with a content sigh and said, “So. Now that you’ve graduated, what’s next, Ivy? I still say the company’s waiting for you.”

Here we go.

I kept my voice even. “I don’t know yet. I kind of want to do something for myself. Something that’s mine, you know?”

Aiden looked over at me, a slow-burning kind of pride in his eyes. But he didn’t interrupt.

My dad laughed lightly. “Come on, Ivy. You’d be great with us. We could use someone with your brains—and your attitude.”

“She’d be brilliant anywhere,” Aiden said suddenly, his voice calm but firm. “If she wants to try something else, that’s not a problem. She always has a place with us if she wants to come back.”

I blinked. That… surprised me.

“Thanks,” I said softly, meeting his eyes.

He shrugged, but there was something solid and quiet in the way he said it. “You’ve got more fire than both of us combined. That doesn’t belong in anyone’s shadow.”

My father grumbled something about idealism and poured more wine.

After dinner, Dad headed off to his room—probably full of wine and garlic—and I stayed behind to help clean. Or more like, linger with Aiden.

We moved around the kitchen in a rhythm that felt too easy. When I reached over him to grab a dish, my hip brushed his thigh. He stiffened for half a second before stepping away.

I dried my hands, turning toward him. “Thanks,” I said.

He raised a brow. “For what?”

“For having my back back there. At dinner.”

“I’ll always have your back,” he said without hesitation.

And there it was again—that undercurrent. That thing pulsing between us, dangerous and hot and tempting.

I stepped closer, letting my shoulder brush his. “So… about earlier.”

He set down the dish he was drying and turned to face me fully. His eyes were darker now. Hungry. But his jaw was tight.

“Ivy…”

“Don’t say it,” I whispered.

He closed his eyes for a second like he was gathering strength. “You’re making this hard.”

I tilted my head. “I’m not doing anything.”

He laughed under his breath, low and rough. “You’re doing everything. And you know it.”

“I’m not a kid, Aiden. And I’m not your responsibility.”

“No, you’re not,” he said. “But you’re still off-limits.”

“Why?” I challenged, stepping closer. Close enough to feel the warmth of his body. “Because of my dad?”

“Because of everything. The age. The history. The fact that I’ve thought about this more times than I should admit.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. “So you’ve thought about it.”

His eyes burned into mine. “Of course I’ve thought about it. You think I’m blind?”

He reached up like he was going to touch my face—but stopped just short. His fingers hovered near my cheek, trembling just a little.

“I can’t,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “Not when I’m still trying to figure my own life out. Not when I’d lose control.”

I leaned in just enough to brush his hand with my cheek. “Maybe I want you to lose control.”

His breath caught, and for a second—I swore he was going to kiss me.

But he dropped his hand. Stepped back.

“I need some air,” he muttered, and left the kitchen.

I stood there, heart pounding, lips tingling with everything that didn’t happen.

But it would.

Oh, it would.

Later, tucked into my bed with the quiet hum of the house around me, I let my eyes close—only to find my thoughts circling back to him.

I couldn’t sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, he was there. Aiden. In the kitchen. Behind me. His breath hot on my neck. His voice rough with restraint.

I rolled onto my stomach and buried my face in the pillow, groaning softly. This was torture.

I tried to count backward. To recite old case law. To think of anything that wasn’t the delicious way his voice dipped low when he told me this couldn’t happen.

But that just made it worse.

Because I didn’t want to forget it.

I wanted to push it.

Push him.

Eventually, exhaustion pulled me under. But not for peace. My mind betrayed me. It gave me a dream—vivid, sinful, and exactly what I craved.

Aiden stood behind me in the kitchen, shirtless, chest brushing my back as his hands closed over mine. “You know what you’re doing, don’t you?” he whispered in my ear.

I tilted my head back, giving him my throat. “Maybe I do.”

His mouth traced the edge of my jaw. “You’re trouble.”

“You like trouble.”

And then he spun me around and kissed me like he meant to ruin me.

I woke up breathless, tangled in the sheets, thighs clenched tight, my body pulsing with need.

Fuck.

I needed cold water. Ice. A blizzard.

I slipped out of bed, still in the little pajama shorts and thin cami that had no business surviving this dream. I didn’t care. Maybe I wanted him to see.

Okay. I definitely wanted him to see.

The house was still quiet. I padded down the stairs on bare feet, heart hammering.

But the moment I hit the kitchen doorway, I stopped.

Aiden was already there.

Shirtless.

Hair messy.

Coffee in hand.

And my heart dropped to my stomach.

Because the dream? Just came to life.

His eyes met mine—and immediately dropped to my legs, my chest, then back up like he was forcing himself to look away.

“Morning,” I said sweetly, stepping into the kitchen like I hadn’t just fantasized about climbing him like a tree.

“You’re up early,” he said. His voice was rough. Tired. Unsteady.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He didn’t move. Just watched me. Like he was trying to decide if I was real.

I turned my back to him, reached for a glass, and stretched just a little higher than I needed to. I knew his eyes were on me. I felt them.

I filled the glass slowly, then leaned against the counter and sipped, letting the silence stretch.

“You said it can’t happen,” I said softly. “But you keep looking at me like you’re imagining things that really, really shouldn’t happen.”

Aiden exhaled sharply and turned away, gripping the edge of the counter.

“Ivy…”

I smirked. “You always say my name like it’s a problem.”

He turned his head just enough to glance at me. “Because it is a problem.”

I took a step closer, letting my voice drop to a whisper. “Only if you make it one.”

His jaw ticked.

He was trying so hard.

“Your dad is upstairs,” he said, voice tight.

“Sleeping. Probably snoring.”

“Ivy,” he warned again, but it didn’t land like a warning. More like a prayer. Or a plea.

I took another step until I was in front of him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his chest. I looked up and met his eyes, bold and teasing.

“Do I make it hard to resist?”

He didn’t answer.

But I saw the answer.

It was in the flare of his nostrils. The way his eyes darkened. The tight grip on his coffee cup like he might shatter it.

“I’m not doing this,” he muttered, stepping back.

I let him go. For now.

But I grinned as I took a sip of water and turned on my heel, walking slowly, swaying just enough.

Because now I knew exactly where the cracks were.

And tomorrow?

I’d make him break.

Chapter 4

POV: Ivy

The eggs were a little burnt, and the toast was uneven, but I didn’t care. Aiden had made them, which meant they were perfect.

I sat alone at the big table, legs tucked up under me in my oversized sweater I put after Aiden left, hair still a mess, slowly sipping my second coffee and stealing glances at the kitchen like he might walk back in. He didn’t.

Probably for the best. The memory of last night’s dream was still lingering on my skin like heat. And that early morning kitchen moment? I hadn’t stopped replaying it. The way he looked at me. The way he resisted.

Barely.

“Morning, sweetheart,” my dad said, walking in and already pouring himself a cup of coffee like he hadn’t just rolled out of bed. “You’re up early.”

“You say that like it’s not noon,” I teased, smirking.

He grinned, unbothered. “Time’s a construct.”

I laughed softly, finishing the last bite of toast.

“I was thinking,” he said, settling beside me with his coffee, “about taking a walk. Trails are probably perfect right now after the rain last week.”

I raised a brow. “Let me guess—you want to walk and have a full pitch prepared for why I should join the company?”

He held up his hands. “Hey, you said you didn’t want to talk about it last night. I’m just offering father-daughter bonding.”

I narrowed my eyes. “A bonding hike that just happens to lead past the company cabin, the training grounds, and probably ends with you handing me a shiny new keycard?”

He laughed. “You know me too well.”

I leaned back, considering. “Still… I kind of love the idea.”

His face lit up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. But I know how you get when you start talking business—you forget I’m your daughter and start pitching like you’re at a board meeting. I need backup.”

Before I could stop myself, I called toward the hallway, “Aiden! Want to come on a hike?”

My dad blinked. “That was fast.”

“Two against one,” I said, smirking. “That way if you start cornering me with contracts, I can hide behind your best friend.”

Footsteps approached, and a second later Aiden appeared in the doorway, now dressed in jeans and a dark green henley that fit way too well.

“Someone say hike?” he asked, running a hand through his still-damp hair.

I smiled sweetly. “Dad needs supervision.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “Give me five.”

The trail smelled like pine, fresh soil, and the kind of clean air you could only find miles away from city life. Birds chirped overhead, and the breeze whispered through the tall trees as sunlight flickered through branches. I walked between them—Aiden to my right, my father to my left—and for a few minutes, we were just three people on a hike.

But then my father launched into his first attempt at subtle persuasion.

“You know, it wouldn’t be so bad,” he said casually. “You’d be around people who already admire you. You could carve your own space, Ivy.”

“See?” I looked at Aiden. “It begins.”

He chuckled low beside me. “Told you.”

“You could have warned me harder.”

“I didn’t want to miss the show.”

I elbowed him lightly. He bumped me back—just enough to make me lose balance for half a second.

My foot slipped in the soft dirt. Not enough to fall, but enough to make my heart leap.

Aiden reacted instantly. His arm shot out, strong and fast, catching me around the waist.

And then—he didn’t let go.

His hand stayed there, fingers spread across my ribs, his grip firm. His body angled toward mine protectively, like he was still bracing me.

Our eyes met.

And for a second, everything else vanished.

Just his breath. Mine. His hand. The rush of heat between us.

I felt every inch of him. I saw the hesitation in his eyes—the war between doing the right thing and doing what he wanted.

“Thanks,” I whispered, but it sounded a lot more like you can let go now.

He didn’t.

“I’m good,” I added, voice softer.

Still, his hand stayed.

Only when my dad’s voice cut through did he pull away.

“Careful there,” Dad said, oblivious. “This trail can sneak up on you.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, forcing a breath. “Definitely sneaky.”

We walked a little slower after that. Aiden kept his hands to himself. But I noticed his fingers flexing at his side, like they still remembered the shape of my waist.

And mine?

Mine were aching to feel him again.

The sun was already low, casting a warm orange glow through the glass doors that overlooked the back deck. I needed to sweat him out of my system. That was the plan, anyway.

I was in the home gym, alone, working through my second set of squats, pushing deeper just to distract my brain. Aiden Blackwood had somehow gotten under my skin and was refusing to leave. Every smirk. Every time he said “off limits” like it wasn’t his body betraying him first.

I dropped low again, thighs burning, ponytail swaying behind me. Maybe one more set.

“Your knees are caving in.”

His voice dropped behind me like a boulder in water.

I startled a little but didn’t turn around. I knew that voice too well. Knew what it did to me.

“I’m fine,” I said, breathier than I wanted to be.

A second later, I felt him behind me. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that my skin buzzed.

“You’ll hurt yourself like that,” he said, voice low, calm, patient. “Mind if I show you?”

I turned my head slightly, raising a brow. “You’re gonna coach me now?”

He smirked, stepping closer. “You started working out while you were away?”

I bit my lip, letting a little smirk play there. “Well, you’ve been staring at my legs enough lately, so I’m guessing you noticed.”

That got him. His eyes flicked down again—just for a second—and when they returned to mine, there was a fire behind them.

“I’m trying not to notice,” he muttered.

“Not doing a very good job,” I teased, and dropped into a squat again, slower this time.

That was his undoing.

Aiden moved behind me, hands suddenly on my hips.

“Relax,” he said, fingers firm but careful, adjusting my stance. “Feet slightly wider. Chest up. And—” he crouched low, hands grazing the outside of my thighs, “—keep your knees tracking out. Like this.”

His voice was a low rumble near my ear, his body a wall of heat behind me.

I dropped again, deliberate, slower than I needed to.

“Better,” he murmured. But he didn’t move. Didn’t step back.

I glanced over my shoulder, heart pounding. “You planning to stay down there, or…?”

Aiden slowly stood, his hands dragging lightly up my thighs to my waist as he rose. The touch left a trail of sparks.

“Trying to help you not tear a ligament,” he said, but his voice was tight. Controlled. Too controlled.

“You sure that’s all you’re trying to do?” I asked sweetly, turning fully toward him.

He met my gaze—and for a heartbeat, everything stilled. His eyes were darker now, stormy green and full of heat.

“You’re dangerous,” he said, voice barely a whisper.

I tilted my head. “That’s rich, coming from a man who just ran his hands all over my legs.”

He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?” I asked, stepping closer. “You? Or me?”

He looked down at me, jaw flexing. For a second, I thought he’d give in. Thought he’d grab me and kiss me like we both wanted. But instead, he exhaled sharply and stepped back, hands on his hips like he was grounding himself.

“This can’t happen,” he muttered. “You know that.”

I smirked, not moving. “You keep saying that, Aiden. But you don’t stop looking.”

He met my gaze again, frustration and heat warring in his eyes.

“I’m not made of stone, Ivy.”

“No,” I said, letting my eyes sweep down his body slowly. “You’re definitely not.”

And with that, I turned and walked away, letting him watch every step.

Chapter 5

POV: Ivy

My skin was still tingling from his hands. Aiden Blackwood had touched me—really touched me—and the way his fingers lingered, the sound of his voice in my ear… it was all still echoing in my body as I stepped out of the shower, steam clinging to my skin.

I opened the drawer for my pajamas, only to find it empty. Laundry day. Of course.

I tugged open the wardrobe in the guest room—my father’s things, oversized and boxy—but I just needed something. I grabbed the first clean shirt that smelled like detergent and heat.

It was a soft, worn black tee. I didn’t notice the size until I pulled it over my head and the scent hit me.

Not detergent.

Aiden.

Woodsmoke. Soap. Him.

Shit.

I looked in the mirror. It swallowed me in the best way—falling to the very top of my thighs, skimming every curve. And I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. No shorts. No bra.

I should’ve changed.

I didn’t.

I padded downstairs barefoot, trying to be quiet—just planning to grab a glass of water and vanish before anyone saw me.

And then I saw him.

Aiden was standing in the kitchen, back to me, shirtless and barefoot too, sipping something from a glass. His shoulders stretched as he moved, muscles shifting with lazy grace.

He turned. His eyes landed on me.

And stopped.

Everything about him stilled.

“Seriously?” he said, voice rougher than before. “You really walked down here like that?”

I looked down at myself and raised an innocent brow. “It’s just a shirt.”

He set the glass down, slower than necessary, like trying not to break it. “That’s my shirt.”

“Oh,” I said, feigning surprise. “I thought it was my dad’s.”

“You thought your dad wore shirts that look like they were painted on you?” His voice had dropped low, almost guttural.

I stepped toward the counter, opening the fridge. “Well, now I know.”

He didn’t say anything.

I could feel his eyes tracking every movement. Every inch of bare leg.

I turned, leaned against the counter, holding the cold water bottle in both hands just under my chest.

“Does it bother you?” I asked, letting my voice drop into something softer. “Me wearing your shirt?”

He dragged a hand through his hair like he was trying to stop himself from doing something stupid. “It’s not helping.”

I tilted my head. “Helping what?”

“Helping me not imagine things I shouldn’t,” he growled.

“Like what?” I asked, crossing one ankle over the other slowly. “What are you imagining, Aiden?”

He stepped closer. Not all the way, but close enough to feel the tension crackle between us like live wire.

“Don’t do that,” he said, jaw tight. “You know what this is. You’re off limits.”

I let my eyes drag slowly down his body and back up. “Then stop me.”

His nostrils flared. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t run.

Didn’t stop me either.

I pushed off the counter and brushed past him, letting my bare thigh graze his.

He exhaled like I’d punched the air out of him.

And I smiled.

“I’ll return the shirt tomorrow,” I said over my shoulder, voice light and sweet. “Unless you want me to keep it.”

He didn’t answer.

But when I glanced back, his eyes were still on me.

Like he was already imagining it.

Just as I reached the stairs, his voice caught me.

Low. Gritty. A warning and a promise all in one.

“If I ever see you in my shirt again…” His pause was sharp. Loaded. “God help me, Ivy—because I won’t have the strength to.”

My breath caught.

And I didn’t dare look back.

Because I didn’t want him to see me smile.

I was halfway down the stairs, still wearing his shirt—because why not—when I heard the shuffle of footsteps in the hallway.

My father appeared with a laptop tucked under one arm and a phone pressed to his ear. He paused when he saw me.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, lowering the phone for a second. “I swear I wanted to join the pool today, been dreaming about it since we got here. But I’ve got this client freaking out over a merger deadline. It’ll pass soon, though. Just a day or two.”

I nodded with a small smile. “All good, Dad. Handle your empire.”

He winked and lifted the phone again. “Don’t have too much fun without me!”

And just like that, he was gone—heading toward his little makeshift office by the front window.

Leaving me and Aiden.

Alone. Again.

Exactly how I wanted it.

The late afternoon sun kissed the water, making it shimmer like diamonds, but all I could see was him.

Aiden was already in the pool, resting his arms on the edge, biceps flexed, shoulders broad and gleaming. His dark hair was wet and pushed back, drops trailing down his neck, over the thick muscles of his chest. The low growl in my throat wasn’t audible—but it might as well have been.

I slid off my cover-up and walked toward the pool, feeling the sun warm every inch of bare skin. His eyes found me. And stayed there.

“Staring again, Mister Blackwood?” I said, stepping into the water slowly, inch by inch, letting him watch.

He didn’t answer at first. Just watched me as I sank in and swam closer. When I reached him, I let my arm casually brush his in the water. Electricity surged through me.

“This has to stop,” he said, his voice low. Rough. “You keep pushing.”

I tilted my head. “Do I?”

“You know damn well you do.”

I took another step forward, letting my chest nearly brush his. The tension between us was thick enough to choke on.

“Why don’t you stop me then?” I whispered.

His jaw clenched. “Because I don’t want to.”

My breath caught. He closed his eyes for a second like he was fighting something primal. When they opened again, they were darker. Wilder.

“Ivy…” His voice broke slightly. “You need to stop teasing.”

“Why?” I asked, soft and teasing, while I lifted my hand, let it trace down his chest underwater, feeling every solid, perfect inch of him. He sucked in a breath, like my touch burned. “Because you don’t want me?”

He didn’t speak. Not with words.

Instead, his hand shot out under the water and grabbed mine. Pulled it between us.

And then… he placed it over him.

Hard. Thick. Unmistakable.

My lips parted on a sharp breath. Heat flushed through me like a firestorm.

“You really think I don’t want you?” he growled, low and dangerous. “I wake up hard. I see you and my first thought is fuck. I can’t look at you without wanting.”

I stared at him, stunned and shaking, my hand still pressed against him beneath the water.

He stepped back suddenly, releasing me, his body shaking with restraint.

“I can’t,” he said through clenched teeth. “You’re off-limits, Ivy. You’re him. You’re… his daughter.”

I moved closer again, whispering just above the surface of the water, “But you don’t feel like you care about limits.”

His eyes burned into mine. “God help me… because if I touch you again, I won’t stop.”

I stared at him, breathing hard, lips parted, skin flushed and wet and aching.

We were two inches from ruin.

And I’d never wanted anything more.

Chapter 6

POV: Ivy

I stood in front of the mirror for far too long, pretending I was still debating the dress. But the truth was—I knew exactly what I was doing.

Satin. Black. Tight enough to hug my waist and hips like a second skin, with a slit up the side that climbed high enough to make Aiden grind his teeth. Thin straps. Cleavage he couldn’t ignore even if he tried. It was a weapon, and I was fully loaded.

He wanted distance? He wanted to act like I was off-limits? Fine. Let’s see how long his resolve lasts tonight.

When I descended the stairs, both my father and Aiden were already in the living room, deep in conversation with another man I didn’t recognize. Sharp suit. Salt-and-pepper hair. A polished sort of arrogance.

Aiden looked up first. And oh, I felt it—his eyes dragging down my body, his shoulders tightening. His jaw clenched like he was forcing it not to fall open. I could practically taste the storm brewing under his skin.

My father, of course, was oblivious. “Ivy, there you are,” he said. “I’d like you to meet Richard Taylor. He’s the client I’ve been working with. He’ll be joining us for dinner.”

Aiden still hadn’t spoken. Just stared. Arms crossed. Muscles flexed. Heat rolling off him like a furnace.

Richard stepped forward, taking my hand and brushing a kiss against my knuckles. “It’s a pleasure, Ivy. Your father didn’t mention he had such a stunning daughter.”

I gave him a polite smile. “He forgets things sometimes.”

“Not something I’d forget,” Richard added, holding my gaze a little too long.

I felt it—before I even turned my head—Aiden’s jealousy. Heavy. Burning. Delicious.

“Shall we sit?” I said sweetly, brushing past both men and walking toward the dining room, swaying just a little more than necessary. I didn’t look back, but I knew Aiden’s eyes were glued to every move.

I was returning with my glass of wine, when I heard the sound—metal clinking, low voices, and my father’s laugh drifting from the back patio.

Curious, I paused near the open sliding doors.

Aiden stood near the outdoor table, two matte black rifles laid out in front of him, sleek and gleaming. He wore a fitted black shirt, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, veins snaking down strong hands as he adjusted the sight on one of the guns. Calm. Exact. Deadly.

Richard Taylor stood beside him, watching with clear admiration as Aiden explained the mechanics of each piece, his voice low and steady.

And I just… froze.

Because watching Aiden handle weapons was a whole new kind of torture.

Precise. Efficient. No wasted movement. His fingers were confident, methodical, as he chambered a round, lifted the rifle, and sighted an invisible target down the yard.

My thighs pressed together on instinct.

I should’ve looked away. Should’ve walked back up the stairs and locked myself in my room until I stopped fantasizing about his hands on something other than cold steel.

But I didn’t.

I watched the way his body moved, the subtle roll of muscle beneath his shirt, the quiet control radiating off him. There was something primal about it. Dangerous. Sexy in a way that had no business making my breath catch.

“Every piece is custom,” he said to Richard. “The grip, the weight, the recoil—all adjusted to fit each user. These are made for fast, high-pressure defense.”

God help me, I imagined him pressing me against the wall, rough hands skimming down my hips. Fast, high-pressure.My imagination was practically writing its own x-rated scene, and I couldn’t stop it.

My father was nearby, sitting with a drink in hand, talking about contracts and supply chains—completely oblivious to the fact that I was ten feet away, basically eye-fucking his best friend.

Aiden picked up a shorter piece—a sleek black handgun—and ran his thumb over the barrel before sliding it back into its case.

My knees wobbled. Actually wobbled.

I sucked in a breath and stepped back, quietly retreating down the hallway before anyone saw me. My skin was flushed, my heartbeat unsteady, and the satin of my dress clung just a little too tightly across my chest.

Dinner hadn’t even started, and I was already halfway to wrecked.

Dinner was polite, the wine flowed, and Richard was charming. Too charming. His hand brushed my arm once. He laughed too loud at my jokes. And every time he looked at me like he wanted to taste me, Aiden looked like he was this close to snapping.

I leaned in close to Aiden when Richard got up to take a call, and my father was taking more whiskey. “You okay over there?”

His eyes flicked to mine. Hard. Controlled. “I’m fine.”

I tilted my head, teasing. “You don’t look fine. Is it the dress?”

“Ivy.” His voice was low. Warning.

I smiled, lips brushing the rim of my wine glass. “Or is it watching Mr. Taylor try to flirt with me? He is persistent.”

“You’re enjoying this.” His jaw ticked.

“I’m just making conversation.” I let my foot brush his under the table—light, casual, forbidden.

The wine had started to kick in, but the image of Aiden handling those guns hadn’t left my mind. Not for a second.

And when Richard and my father stepped away to discuss something, I leaned in close to Aiden—his body tense beside mine—and let the words slide from my mouth like sin.

“You know what turned me on the most, though?”

His eyes flicked to mine. Dark. Unreadable. “Ivy.”

I leaned closer, until my lips were just at his ear, a whisper only for him. “When you pulled out those guns earlier to show him. The way you handled them… rough. Precise. Confident.” I bit my bottom lip, watching his expression shift—sharp, restrained, aroused. “I like seeing you in your element.”

His jaw tightened. His fingers curled around the stem of his wine glass like he was imagining breaking it. “You’re playing a dangerous game, trouble.”

“I know.” I smiled. “That’s half the fun, soldier boy.”

Dinner ended later than I expected. The wine had dulled the edges of my nerves, but it hadn’t numbed them completely. Not even close.

Richard stood at the door, smiling with a little too much interest, and when he took my hand to say goodbye, his lips brushed my skin like he was auditioning for a role he’d never get.

Aiden was behind me. I felt the heat of his stare like a brand.

“Thank you for dinner, Ivy,” Richard said, holding my gaze longer than he should’ve. “You’re more stunning than your father described.”

I gave him a polite smile, nothing more. “Safe drive, Mr. Taylor.”

When I pulled my hand back, I caught the shift in Aiden’s posture—arms crossed, jaw tight, barely concealing the storm building in his chest.

Oh, he hated that.

I turned away before he could speak. I wasn’t in the mood to be scolded for something I didn’t even do.

Back inside, I poured myself the last half glass of wine, not caring that it was warm now. My father and Aiden headed to the living room, already talking about business, both of them with a glass of whisky in hand. I didn’t even look at Aiden when I walked past—just let my hips sway a little more than usual and climbed the stairs.

Let him watch.

Upstairs, I peeled the dress from my body slowly, like a ritual. The silk slid down my skin in a whisper, and for a moment I stood naked in front of the mirror, wondering what he saw when he looked at me.

Did he think about it, too? Did he lay awake at night, imagining what it would be like to touch me without guilt, without rules, without lines in the sand?

I stepped into the hot water, trying to drown the thoughts. But no matter how long I stayed in the shower, they came back.

Aiden with the guns.

Aiden’s hands on my waist earlier during training.

The way his voice dropped when I teased him about wearing his shirt.

The way he looked at me. Like he was two seconds away from devouring me and hated himself for it.

I wrapped myself in a towel, slid into a soft pair of sleep shorts and a thin cami, then slipped into bed. But sleep didn’t come.

All I could hear was the low murmur of their voices downstairs. Every time Aiden laughed at something my dad said, my body reacted like it knew him too well.

My thighs pressed together, seeking friction.

I was aching. For him.

For the tension to break. For him to finally stop being the good guy. Stop pretending he didn’t want this as badly as I did.

The whiskey wouldn’t keep him there forever.

And when the house finally went quiet, I laid still in the dark, skin flushed, heart pounding, knowing—hoping—he might come find me.

And if he didn’t…

Well, maybe I’d go find him.

Chapter 7

POV : Ivy

I couldn’t sleep.

I tossed and turned, flipping the pillow, trying to count anything that wasn’t Aiden Blackwood’s stupidly broad chest or the way his hands handled a weapon like he was born for it. I could still see the guns laid out on the table, the veins on his forearms, the way his voice dropped when he explained things to Richard like he was teaching a class in dominance. And the way he’d looked at me when Richard kissed my hand?

Possessive. Hot. Barely restrained.

I groaned and kicked the sheets off, I slid out of bed an from my pijamas and tugged on the first oversized shirt I could find. It hit high on my thighs—definitely not mine. Aiden’s scent was all over it. Musky, warm, masculine. My breath caught.

Fuck.

The kitchen was dark, quiet, and cool against my skin. I moved around barefoot, turning on the kettle, pulling out flour and sugar with the vague idea that maybe baking cookies at midnight would calm me down. Something to do with my hands, anything that didn’t involve touching myself while thinking about a man I couldn’t have.

I didn’t even hear him coming.

But the sound of a safety click made me freeze.

“Shit—Aiden!” I gasped, spinning around.

He was standing at the threshold, shirtless, barefoot, gun in hand—and wearing only a pair of black boxers that did absolutely nothing to hide the shape of him. His eyes scanned the room before settling on me.

He scanned the room like a soldier, eyes sharp until they landed on me.

Then they softened. Turned darker.

“Jesus, Ivy,” he muttered, lowering the gun and setting it on the counter. “I thought—” He stopped, his eyes dragging over my legs, my shirt, my bare skin.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, voice light, teasing. “You always walk around half-naked and armed?”

His jaw clenched. “Only when I hear noise at two in the morning and think we’re being robbed.”

“Well… sorry to disappoint,” I said, pouring the tea. “Just me. Sleepless. Horny. In your shirt.”

He stilled.

I turned, leaned back on the counter, watched his eyes drop again to where the hem of the shirt barely brushed my upper thighs. I smiled slowly. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

He walked closer, slow, calculated. “You shouldn’t wear that around me.”

I tilted my head. “Why? Afraid of what you’ll do?”

His eyes flared, something primal breaking through. “You know damn well what you’re doing.”

I pushed off the counter and closed the space between us. “Do I?”

His breath hitched. He looked at me like he was one breath away from ruin.

“Thought cookies might help.”

His eyes dipped to the hem of my shirt, his jaw tensing slightly. I could practically feel the heat rolling off him. But he tried to play it cool, setting the gun on the counter and moving closer.

“You always bake half-naked?” he asked.

“Only when I’m desperate,” I said with a smirk, licking sugar from my finger. “Worked so far. You’re here.”

He let out a slow exhale. “Jesus, Ivy.”

“You keep looking at me like that,” I whispered, stepping closer. “Even at dinner, when you were supposed to be showing off for Richard. You looked like you wanted to break something.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice tight. “His face.”

I smiled, teasing him further. “You didn’t like him flirting with me?”

“No,” he admitted, teeth gritted.

“Why?” I leaned in, my voice soft and wicked. “You said we were off-limits.”

“I did,” he growled.

“So…” I glanced down at myself, then back up at him with a bite of my lip. “Seeing another man kiss me made you jealous?”

He didn’t answer. His jaw flexed. His hands curled into fists.

“That’s what turned you on?” I whispered, getting closer. “Or was it when I told you watching you handle those guns earlier made my thighs clench?”

His breath caught.

“That’s what got me, Aiden,” I whispered, voice low, sultry. “You, in control. Rough. Commanding. You were showing off for Richard, but all I could think about was how those hands would feel on me.”

He groaned—deep, guttural. It sounded like it tore from his soul.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he growled.

Then he grabbed me.

Hard.

His mouth crashed against mine like he was starving for me—months of restraint detonating in one furious, blistering kiss. I gasped, but he swallowed the sound, his tongue demanding, hot and slick and everywhere. My back slammed into the fridge with a dull thud, cold steel against my spine, but all I could feel was him—his solid chest, the heat radiating off his bare skin, the thick press of his cock grinding against my stomach.

I moaned into his mouth, clawing at him, desperate and trembling. His lips were fire and his body was a cage, locking me in with the kind of hunger that didn’t just burn—it consumed.

He kissed like he needed me to breathe. Like I was oxygen and he’d been suffocating.

My fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, wanting him closer, needing him to break me. He groaned—God, that sound—deep and animal and raw. Then suddenly, his hands were on my wrists, pinning them above my head, his grip possessive, almost punishing.

“This what you want?” he growled, voice wrecked, cock hard and heavy against me.

My brain was mush, blood rushing loud in my ears. Still, I managed a breathless nod. “Yes. God, yes.”

He didn’t wait.

His mouth dropped to my jaw, blazing a trail down the side of my neck, and then he found that spot—right under my ear—and bit. Not a tease. A full, claiming bite that made my knees buckle and my breath catch with a sharp whimper.

My core throbbed.

Then he grabbed me—effortless, like I weighed nothing—and lifted me onto the counter. The movement knocked over a jar of flour beside us, the powder bursting into the air like snow, coating us both in a fine mist of white.

We were a mess. Breathless. Dusted in flour. Burning up from the inside out.

And I couldn’t have cared less.

He shoved my legs open and stepped between them, his hands wrapping around my ass, pulling me forward until I was flush against him. My bare thighs gripped his hips as his mouth devoured me—trailing open-mouthed kisses down my neck, to my collarbone, lower still until he was licking the sweat from between my breasts through the fabric of the shirt.

I was panting now, every nerve ending crackling. “Take it off,” I gasped, tugging at the hem of the shirt—his shirt. It clung to my skin with static and heat. “I want you to see me.”

He didn’t move.

So I ripped it off myself, yanking it over my head and tossing it to the floor like it offended me. The cold kitchen air hit my nipples and they tightened instantly, aching, begging.

Aiden cursed under his breath, his eyes raking over me like I was something sacred and sinful all at once. “God, you’re perfect,” he murmured—almost reverent.

Then he latched onto my nipple with a hot, wet suck, drawing a cry from my throat. His tongue teased, then his teeth bit—just hard enough to make me jerk, to make me feel. And God, did I feel everything. My whole body was a live wire, overloaded, overstimulated, strung out on the way he touched me like I was already his.

I arched into him, clawed at his shoulders, thighs tightening around his waist, dragging him closer. “Please,” I gasped, not even knowing what I was begging for—just more.

His hand slid into my panties and I froze, breath catching.

His fingers were warm. Rough. Controlled.

He traced my folds slowly, like he was savoring the feel of me. “So fucking wet already,” he rasped, and I whimpered.

“You’ve been like this all night?” His voice was pure sin.

I looked him straight in the eye, wild and unashamed. “Ever since you touched that gun.”

Aiden’s whole body tensed, a dangerous flicker in his gaze. “Fuck.”

And then he dropped to his knees.

Right there, on the flour-dusted floor, between my legs.

Aiden Blackwood. On his knees. For me.

My breath hitched. “Aiden…”

He looked up at me like a man possessed. Eyes glowing with hunger. “I always wanna to know what heaven tastes like?” he asked, voice hoarse.

He didn’t wait for an answer.

He hooked his fingers in my panties and yanked them to the side, then buried his face between my thighs.

His tongue was hot and skilled and ruthless. He licked me like he’d dreamed about it. Obsessed over it. Like he’d been waiting for this moment as long as I had.

The first stroke had my head falling back, a desperate moan clawing from my throat. He sucked on my clit—firm, greedy pressure—his tongue circling and flicking until my thighs were shaking around his shoulders.

I couldn’t breathe.

His fingers slid inside me, curling, finding the spot that made my entire body clench. He fucked me with his hand and mouth in perfect rhythm—slow, deep thrusts that built the pressure in me like a damn about to burst.

“Aiden—” I gasped, grabbing a fistful of his hair, rocking my hips shamelessly against his mouth. “I—oh, fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Let go,” he growled, voice muffled against me. “Come on my tongue, Ivy.”

And I did.

Hard.

The orgasm hit like a tidal wave—violent, electric, world-ending. I shattered around his fingers, his mouth, every part of me unraveling in one long, breathless cry.

I slumped back on my elbows, panting, flour and sweat sticking to my skin, my body trembling. When I finally opened my eyes, he was staring up at me, lips glistening, face flushed, his pupils blown wide with lust.

“If I ever see you in my shirt again,” he said, voice low and ragged, “God better have mercy on you.”

His eyes burned into mine.

“Because I won’t.”

Chapter 8

POV: Ivy

When he stood, I reached for his shoulder, dragging him back down over me before he could move away. I grabbed his hand—the one that had just been inside me—and brought his fingers to my mouth.

I slid one between my lips, tasting myself on him, eyes fluttering shut as I sucked slow and deep, remembering exactly how it felt to have him touch me there.

“Fuck, Ivy,” Aiden groaned, voice wrecked.

I smiled around his finger and opened my eyes.

He looked wrecked too—completely undone, watching me like he couldn’t believe I was real. Like he didn’t know whether to fall to his knees again or throw me over his shoulder and devour me whole.

“If this isn’t the most fucking sexy thing I’ve ever seen,” he rasped, voice low and dark and dangerous.

I didn’t give him a chance to recover. I grabbed his neck, yanked him down, and kissed him like I was still hungry—because I was. He met me with a growl, crushing his mouth to mine, his teeth catching my bottom lip in a sharp, possessive bite that made my whole body shudder.

He loved control.

But so did I.

I pulled away just enough to slide off the counter. My bare feet hit the cold floor, and I watched his eyes follow me, brows furrowed like he couldn’t quite track what I was doing.

Then I sank to my knees.

Aiden’s breath caught.

I hooked my fingers in the waistband of his boxers and shoved them down in one smooth motion. He sprang free—hard, flushed, and huge. My mouth watered.

I licked my lips and looked up at him through my lashes.

He went completely still.

Like I was something holy. Like he was the one trembling now, completely at my mercy. The power of it flooded me with heat.

I wrapped my hand around his cock, slowly, letting my palm stroke over him as his muscles rippled beneath the skin. His jaw locked, head tilted back.

“Fuck, Ivy,” he growled. “You are—”

He didn’t get to finish.

Because I wrapped my lips around the head of his cock and took him into my mouth.

His moan was guttural, primal. His hands flew to my hair, fingers curling tight—but he didn’t force. He didn’t guide.

I set the pace.

Slow. Deep. Languid. I swirled my tongue around the tip, dragged my mouth down the thick length of him, letting him feel every second of it. The parts I couldn’t take, I stroked with my hands, working him with rhythm and focus, with need.

His thighs trembled.

Aiden. Always composed, always in control. Breaking under my mouth.

“Ivy—” he gritted out. “Enough.”

But I didn’t stop.

“Ivy.” Softer this time, almost pleading. His voice shook. “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna—fuck—”

Good, I thought. I wanted it.

I moaned around him, sucking harder, deeper, not relenting for a second. I felt him start to lose it—hips jerking, breath catching, hand tightening in my hair.

“Ivy—I’m gonna—”

And he did.

With a ragged cry, he came in my mouth, thick and hot, his body shuddering as I swallowed every drop. I didn’t look away. I watched him fall apart for me—his face twisted in ecstasy, his chest heaving.

I stood slowly, licking my lips, savoring him.

He looked at me like I’d just flipped his world upside down.

“You’re fucking unreal,” he said hoarsely, still breathless.

I stepped closer, brushing my lips against his jaw. “You haven’t even felt me from the inside yet.”

His eyes flared with something dark and wild and mine.

“Then let’s fix that.”

In one motion, he grabbed me—arms under my thighs—and lifted me off the ground, tossing me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.

“Aiden!” I shrieked, laughing breathlessly as he strode toward the stairs, bare-ass naked and full of purpose.

“Upstairs,” he growled. “Now.”

His palm smacked my ass—hard—as he carried me.

“And when I get you in that bed,” he promised, voice low and savage, “you’re not getting up until I’ve ruined you.”

Aiden kicked the door open with his foot, and we burst into his bedroom like a storm. The second we crossed the threshold, I was wrapped in him—his scent, his heat, the sound of his breathing rough and uneven like he was barely hanging on.

It smelled like him in here. That mix of clean soap, cedar, and something masculine and warm that made my head spin. It wrapped around me like a second skin as he laid me down on the bed.

Soft sheets hit my back. Aiden’s body followed instantly, covering mine, his weight grounding me like nothing else ever had. But I was still wearing my panties, the only barrier left between us.

He kissed me like he needed it to survive, hands greedy and everywhere—skimming over my waist, cupping my breasts, stroking down my thighs. Every inch he touched lit up like fire under his palms.

“I wanted this for so long,” I breathed against his mouth, dizzy from the intensity, from him.

His lips brushed mine again, gentle for one heartbeat. “Not more than me.”

His fingers curled into the waistband of my panties, and he slowly—agonizingly slowly—dragged them down my legs. He lifted each of my ankles in turn, kissing my inner thighs as he slid the fabric off.

I moaned softly, threading my fingers through his hair.

He kissed his way back up, open-mouthed, slow kisses on my belly, my ribs, the curve of my breast—until his mouth found mine again. “You’re perfect,” he murmured between kisses. “Every fucking inch of you.”

I felt the thick heat of him brush against my thigh—hard again. My breath hitched.

“Already?” I asked, teasing, my voice barely steady.

He smiled against my neck, cocky and wrecked all at once. “You did this to me.”

Aiden positioned himself at my entrance, the head of his cock nudging against my folds. My breath caught in my throat.

His green eyes locked onto mine. “I need to see you,” he said, voice low and reverent. “When I sink into you.”

And then—slowly, torturously—he pushed inside.

I gasped as he stretched me open, inch by inch. My walls clenched around him, the sensation overwhelming and perfect. His jaw tightened, eyes fluttering shut for a beat as he groaned.

“So fucking right,” he breathed, thrusting deeper. “So wet. So tight. Jesus, Ivy.”

“Just for you,” I whispered, gripping his face and kissing him with everything I had.

He started to move—slow, deep strokes that made me see stars. My hips jerked to meet him, needing more, needing everything. I dragged my nails down his back and he hissed, thrusting harder.

His hands gripped my thighs, spreading me wider, angling me just right.

“You feel like heaven,” he said, his voice broken.

“Don’t stop,” I begged, legs wrapping around his waist.

He thrust harder, faster, and one hand slid between us, fingers finding my clit and rubbing circles that sent me spiraling. My back arched, pleasure crashing through me.

“Oh my—Aiden—” I moaned, burying my face in his neck.

“Come for me,” he growled. “Let me feel you lose it.”

I shattered beneath him, my walls pulsing around his cock as I came with a cry. He kissed me hard, swallowing my moans, and a second later he groaned against my mouth, his rhythm faltering.

“Fuck—Ivy—” he gasped, spilling inside me.

We collapsed into each other, our breathing ragged, skin slick with sweat, hearts pounding like war drums.

But it didn’t end there.

We couldn’t stop touching, couldn’t stop needing. He rolled us over and I straddled him, took him again with my body still aching, still wet. Then he flipped me over, took me from behind, his hands in my hair, his mouth on my shoulder. We came again. And again.

Four, maybe five times.

It was a blur of hands and mouths, whispered words and aching, beautiful desperation.

And then… we lay tangled in the sheets, my head on his chest, his arms around me like I was the only thing tethering him to this world.

My legs still trembled. My skin buzzed.

His heartbeat was strong beneath my cheek, steady and grounding.

Aiden ran his fingers slowly down my spine. “You feel like a dream,” he whispered.

I didn’t answer. I just curled closer to him and let my eyes drift shut.

For the first time in a long time, I felt safe. I felt wanted. Not as a fantasy or temptation—but as me.

As Ivy.

And wrapped in his arms, covered in the scent of sex and skin and something dangerously close to love—I slept.

God help me, I slept like I was in paradise.

Chapter 9

POV: Ivy

I stirred at the sound of the door creaking open.

The bed dipped beside me and a familiar, heavy warmth pressed against my back. Arms slid around my waist, strong and sure, pulling me into a chest that smelled like soap and cinnamon and him.

Aiden.

I smiled before I even opened my eyes.

“You snuck off,” I murmured, voice still sleep-heavy.

“I cleaned up the kitchen,” he whispered against the back of my neck, his lips brushing my skin. “Figured flour, broken glass, my boxers, and ny shirt uou were using, on the floor weren’t the best thing for your dad to find first thing.”

My eyes fluttered open. “You’re such a gentleman.”

“Only before breakfast,” he murmured, and I felt the smile against my shoulder. “After that, I’m useless.”

I rolled onto my back, looking up at him.

God.

The soft morning light poured in behind him, catching on his tousled hair, his bare chest, the faint marks I’d left on his throat. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, but locked on me like I was the only thing worth waking up for.

“I missed you,” I whispered, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Five minutes without you and I was cold.”

His expression flickered—heat, need, something deeper—and he lowered his mouth to mine, slow and reverent.

The kiss wasn’t frantic like last night. It was soft. Tender. The kind that asked questions we weren’t ready to answer.

But my body still ignited beneath him.

Aiden’s hand slid under the sheets, over my stomach, up to cup my breast, thumb brushing my nipple until I arched into him. He groaned low in his throat, his hips pressing against mine—hard already.

“Again?” I teased, breathless.

He kissed down my throat, voice rough. “You ruined me.”

“I’ll take credit.”

He pulled the sheet down, his mouth trailing heat over my skin until he reached the curve of my breast, sucking gently, biting lightly. My legs fell open without thought, desperate for him again.

His hand slid lower, between my thighs, fingers brushing where I was already aching for him.

“So wet,” he muttered. “You always wake up like this?”

“Only after dreams about you,” I whispered, then gasped as he pushed a finger inside me.

He looked at me, eyes dark with need but conflicted, too. “Ivy…”

I knew what that tone meant.

He was thinking. Feeling. Worrying.

Guilt was creeping in.

“Don’t,” I said gently, catching his face in my hands. “Don’t ruin this with thinking.”

“I’m not trying to ruin it,” he said, forehead pressing to mine. “But he’s downstairs, Ivy. I’m his best friend. I should’ve—fuck, I should’ve stopped this last night.”

I kissed him. Slow. Intimate. Full of everything I didn’t know how to say.

“You didn’t,” I whispered against his lips. “And I didn’t want you to.”

His jaw clenched, eyes searching mine. “You don’t regret it?”

“No. Not one second.” I kissed him again. “But if we’re going to pretend it didn’t happen… at least let me have you one more time.”

His breath hitched. “You’re dangerous.”

“You love it.”

I flipped him onto his back, straddling him, dragging the sheet away. He was already hard, and I rocked against him slowly, teasing, watching him unravel.

“You said I ruined you,” I whispered, grinding against him. “Let me finish the job.”

Aiden growled, hands gripping my hips, but I leaned down and kissed him—deep and slow, taking my time, savoring him like he did me.

Just as I reached down to guide him inside me—

A loud thump echoed from downstairs.

Aiden froze. I paused.

Then we both heard the unmistakable shuffle of Johnathan Montgomery moving around below.

Aiden cursed under his breath, eyes wide. “Shit.”

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh. “Early riser, huh?”

“He always makes coffee at six.”

“And it’s…?”

Aiden checked the clock and groaned. “Six-oh-five.”

“Damn. Guess I broke your perfect military schedule too.”

He gave me a look, half-panicked, half-aroused. “I need to go.”

I rolled off him with a sigh, tugging the sheet over me dramatically. “Fine. Go be a good soldier.”

Aiden got up fast, throwing on a T-shirt and sweatpants, glancing at the door like it might blow open at any second.

I smirked, watching him try to tame his hair in the mirror. “You missed a spot. Left side. Sex hair.”

He turned to me, wild-eyed. “Not helping.”

“Just saying… if you walk down like that, he’s gonna know exactly what happened.”

He paused in the doorway, looked back at me.

And smirked.

“Then maybe I should kiss you goodbye,” he said, stalking back to the bed.

But just as his hand reached the sheet—

“Go,” I laughed, pushing him. “I’ll be right here. Pretending we slept in separate rooms.”

He kissed my forehead instead, soft and slow, before whispering, “I’ll make you coffee.”

And then he was gone.

And I was left grinning under the covers, already aching for him again.

I threw on a loose tank top and the tiniest pair of shorts I could find—no bra, no shame—before padding downstairs.

The smell of coffee hit me first, rich and dark, curling through the quiet house. My father sat at the counter, phone face-down beside his mug, while Aiden leaned against the opposite counter, broad shoulders relaxed like he hadn’t just been wrecking me all night.

His eyes found me instantly. Just a flicker—down my legs, up to my chest, then away—but my skin caught fire all the same.

I grabbed a mug from the cupboard, stretching just enough to make the hem of my shorts shift higher on my thighs. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t move.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Dad said. “I’ve got to head into the city. That Marco contract is turning into a nightmare—need to straighten it out face-to-face.”

I slid onto the counter beside the coffee pot, swinging my legs idly. “You want me to come?”

He shook his head. “No, no. I’ll be gone most of the day. You’ll be fine here with Aiden, right?”

I took a slow sip, eyes locked on Aiden over the rim. “I’ll survive.”

Dad drained the last of his coffee, muttering something about traffic as he grabbed his keys.

The second we were alone, the air shifted—thicker, hotter, charged.

Then we waited. Listening. The muffled sound of his car starting. The distant crunch of tires on gravel. Silence settling heavy in the kitchen.

Only then did Aiden turn, eyes dark, hunger breaking through every shred of restraint.

I grabbed him again, pulling Aiden’s mouth to mine, kissing him like I needed him to breathe. Like he was oxygen, and I was suffocating without him.

My legs locked tighter around his waist, grinding my hips into his hard cock, shamelessly seeking more.

“Again?” he murmured between kisses, breath hot against my lips. “Five times last night wasn’t enough for you, baby girl?”

“Are you counting?” I teased, biting his lower lip before licking it. “What’s wrong, soldier boy? Can’t handle me?”

Aiden growled, low in his throat, and pressed me tighter against the counter. One hand slid under my tank top, finding my bare breast. His thumb grazed over my nipple, and I gasped—my back arching into his touch.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re gonna kill me.”

My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, guiding his mouth wherever I needed him. He kissed down my neck, dragging his tongue along my collarbone before sucking a spot just beneath it, right where my pulse raced.

“God, Ivy,” he breathed. “If your father walks in right now…”

I smirked, wild and reckless, and met his eyes. “This just make things even more excited.”

Aiden’s eyes darkened. His control slipped.

I hooked my thumbs into my shorts and slid them off without hesitation, letting them fall to the floor. Aiden didn’t even blink—he just pushed my panties aside with one rough motion, groaning when he saw how wet I already was.

I reached down, lowering his sweatpants just enough to free him. My hand wrapped around his thick, hard length, and I watched his jaw tighten, a sharp inhale breaking through his lips.

He brushed his cock along my slick folds, teasing, rubbing against my clit until my legs trembled.

“You’re so fucking wet already,” he rasped.

I met his eyes, unblinking. “You made me this way.”

And then he pushed in.

Slow. Deep. Full.

I gasped as he filled me—every thick inch stretching me wide, forcing my body to remember every single thrust from the night before. But this wasn’t just physical. I felt him inside my body, yes—but more than that, I felt him inside me.

Like he’d carved a place deep in my soul and claimed it without asking.

His green eyes locked on mine, watching my reaction as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, Ivy,” he breathed, forehead brushing against mine. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

He started to move, slow at first, dragging every inch out of me before thrusting back in with purpose.

The rhythm grew deeper, rougher, and his hands gripped my hips tightly, anchoring me against the counter. One slid down, fingers circling my clit in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. Pleasure rippled through me—fast and hot and building by the second.

Then he pulled my tank top up to expose my breasts, and without warning, his mouth closed around one nipple, sucking hard.

I cried out, hand flying to the back of his head, holding him there as my body bucked against his.

“Too much?” he murmured against my skin.

“Not enough,” I gasped.

He bit gently, then licked, then moved to the other breast while his cock kept moving inside me, relentless.

My whole body was trembling. Shaking. My orgasm was so close, my thighs started to spasm.

His mouth moved back to mine, kissing me deep, messy, wild.

“Ivy,” he groaned into my mouth, “come for me. Let it go, baby girl. I’ve got you.”

His thumb pressed harder against my clit. His cock hit that spot just right.

And I shattered.

I moaned into his mouth, legs shaking, whole body quivering around him as my orgasm ripped through me. I felt him follow, hips jerking once, twice, before he let out a low, guttural groan and came with me—deep and hot, pulsing inside.

He collapsed into me, forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathless and clinging to each other like the world might fall apart if we let go.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

I smiled lazily, brushing my nose against his. “That’s the plan.”

His hand cupped my cheek, thumb stroking softly. “You’re trouble. You know that?”

I kissed him again, slow and lingering. “Then you better get used to it. Because from now on, I’m your trouble.”

Chapter 10

POV: Ivy

The hot water beat against my skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat pulsing between us.

Aiden’s arms wrapped around me from behind, his chest slick against my back, his mouth grazing my shoulder.

“You keep looking at me like that,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, “and I’m gonna make you late for everything you’ve ever planned.”

“Good thing I don’t have any plans,” I teased, tilting my head to let him kiss my neck.

“Good. You’re mine all day.”

His hand slid down my stomach, slow and possessive, fingers finding me already wet under the spray. I let out a soft moan, arching back into him.

“Still so sensitive,” he whispered, his fingers circling my clit with maddening precision. “Didn’t I wreck you enough last night, and half an hour ago?”

“You’d need to try harder,” I said, breathless.

He groaned, grabbing my hips and spinning me around to face him. My back hit the shower wall and he dropped to his knees, water running down his face, his green eyes devouring me.

“Spread your legs for me, baby girl.”

I did—helpless to deny him—and he lifted one of my thighs over his shoulder, diving in like a man starved. My hands tangled in his hair as his tongue worked me open again, slow at first, then wild, messy, relentless.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Could only feel.

“Oh my God,” I gasped, legs trembling.

He growled against me, and the vibration sent me over the edge, my cry echoing off the tile as the orgasm hit me, leaving me breathless.

Before I could even come down, he stood, kissed me hard, and pinned me against the wall. “I need to be inside you again.”

“Then do it,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around his neck.

He lifted me in one motion, his cock sliding deep inside me as my back slammed against the shower tiles. I cried out, legs locking around his waist.

“You feel like fucking perfection,” he rasped, thrusting into me with brutal, aching precision.

“And you,” I moaned, “feel like mine.”

His eyes burned into mine. “I am.”

We moved together, frantic and raw, like we needed this to survive. I shattered in his arms again, and this time when he followed me, groaning into my neck, it felt like more than just sex.

It felt like something I wasn’t ready to name.

---

Aiden stood shirtless in front of the stove, a towel slung low around his hips, his broad back flexing as he moved. The scent of garlic and something buttery filled the air, but I wasn’t sure if it was the food or just him.

I sat on the counter, still damp from the shower, wearing nothing but one of his shirts—huge on me, barely covering my thighs. A glass of red wine dangled from my fingers, the exact one I liked best, because of course he remembered.

“You’re fucking hot, good with guns, make me come in seconds, and cook too?” I smirked, swirling the wine. “What don’t you do, soldier boy?”

He glanced over his shoulder, grinning. “Seduce my best friend’s daughter wasn’t on the résumé, but here we are.”

I laughed, warm all over.

He plated the food—my favorite pasta, golden, crispy chicken, and some mysterious green thing I couldn’t name—and slid it in front of me like he’d done it a hundred times before.

I lifted my brow slowly, my gaze locking with his. “You remember my second favorite dish too? If I didn’t know you, I’d say you’re trying to pamper me, soldier boy.”

A slow, knowing smile curled on his lips as his eyes darkened just a little. “What’s wrong with a little pampering? Besides, I need you fed. We burned through a lot of calories. And you tend to forget to eat when you’re distracted.”

He poured himself a glass of wine, then leaned against the counter, his body angled toward me. His eyes held mine with a softness that made the oversized shirt I wore suddenly feel like a flimsy shield—one I might be willing to let go of.

The air between us thickened, charged with something unspoken, and I felt my pulse speed up just by the way he looked at me—like he was memorizing every inch, every breath.

We ate in silence for a few moments. Not uncomfortable—just full. Sated. Intimate.

“So,” I said finally, setting my fork down. “You were married.”

Aiden’s jaw ticked, not in pain, just… a shift. “Yeah.”

“Tell me?”

He sighed and took a long sip of wine, eyes on the glass, then me. “We were young. I was twenty-two, straight out of the military. She was smart, beautiful, wild in a way I wasn’t. We thought we were in love.”

“You weren’t?”

“We were… but not the kind that lasts. Not the kind that grows.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I worked too much. I was building the company with your dad. We lost dialogue, sex, care, we lost yourselves. I thought providing was enough. She… needed more.”

I watched him carefully. “She cheated?”

“I think so,” he said quietly. “There was this personal trainer. Too many late sessions. Too many lies. I never caught her, not really—but I didn’t want to. By then… I think I’d already given up.”

My heart ached, unexpected and sharp.

“Why didn’t you try harder?”

He looked up at me, eyes raw. “I did with everything I had, but at one point I didn’t recognize myself in that marriage anymore. I felt like I was living someone else’s life. And she didn’t recognize me either.”

I set my glass down and slid off the counter, walking toward him. He didn’t move as I stepped between his legs, placing my hands on his chest.

“You’re not that man anymore,” I said softly. “And I’m not her.”

His arms circled my waist, forehead against mine. “I know. But it still scares the hell out of me.”

I kissed him, slow and lingering. “Good. It means it matters.”

He let out a shaky breath, something loosening in him. “What about you? What’s next for Ivy Montgomery?”

I smirked. “World domination.”

He laughed, and it was beautiful.

“I don’t know,” I added, more seriously. “I’ve been thinking about working on my own. Law consulting, private clients. Starting something for myself.”

Aiden nodded. “You’d be amazing at that.”

“But?”

“No but.” He cupped my cheek. “Just… if you ever wanted to work with us—with me—I’d make sure you shine. You’d have freedom, impact, space to build whatever you want. I’d never hold you back.”

That hit something deep.

“You really think I could?”

“I know you could.”

My heart squeezed, and for a moment, the silence stretched, charged and vulnerable.

I stepped back, needing to lighten it. “God, you’re making it hard not to fall for you, soldier.”

His eyes darkened again, heat flickering under the softness. “Then don’t.”

We finished lunch slowly, the wine softening every edge, making the air feel thicker, slower, sweeter. Aiden cleaned up like it was nothing—shirtless, towel gone, just gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips like temptation had a physical form. I sat on the counter, legs swinging, watching him with a smile I couldn’t wipe off if I tried.

“I should probably leave before I crawl back into your lap,” I said lazily, eyes dropping to his waistband.

He stepped between my legs, hands finding my waist, lips brushing my ear. “Why not let me carry you back upstairs and do something about that?”

“Because…” I whispered, letting my hands roam down his chest. “I hear your best friend—the one whose daughter you’ve been defiling—is on his way home.”

Aiden groaned and pressed a kiss to my neck. “You’re a menace.”

“And you love it.”

We barely had time to separate before the front door opened and my father’s voice called out, “Hello?”

Aiden straightened fast, shirt on, back to business. I slipped off the counter and ran upstairs to change—fast. A casual dress, bare feet, flushed cheeks. I looked innocent enough… hopefully.

After that i just went downstairs when we had dinner, that was a quiet affair—on the surface. My father talked mostly to Aiden, sharing updates on a former client-turned-problem.

“He’s threatening to leak files. I don’t like it,” my dad said, slicing into his steak. “Especially with Ivy back.”

Aiden’s tone stayed calm. “He won’t. I’ve handled worse. If he steps out of line, we shut it down.”

“I’m serious, Aiden,” Dad pressed. “I don’t want her involved in anything. No shadows touching her.”

“I won’t let it happen,” Aiden said firmly. “I’ll keep her safe.”

Something about how he said it made me shift in my chair. He wasn’t talking like an employee—he was talking like a man who would burn down the world for me.

Under the table, I slid my bare foot up his leg.

Aiden cleared his throat, cutlery pausing mid-air.

“Something wrong?” Jonathan asked, brows raised.

“No, just—hot in here,” Aiden said, forcing a neutral tone.

I grinned, and kept going. My toes brushed higher, teasing his thigh, grazing the outline of something hardening beneath his slacks.

Aiden shot me a glare, low and warning.

I took another bite of mashed potatoes. “You okay, Aiden? You look… tense.”

He smiled through clenched teeth. “Peachy.”