Hot Cappuccino Boy - BxB (COMPLETE)

Chapter 27

An hour later finds us sprawled on the loveseat, which is as comfortable as it looks. Aden has put me in his arms this time. I'm not complaining, mind you. Fingers in my hair, stroking the line of my jaw, hot breath on the nape of my neck, the occasional kiss here and there on my still heated skin – all this would have lulled me into a doze If I weren't still so aroused in his presence.

I just can't resist – he's like a drug.

And I don't want to do detox.

Suddenly, Aden breaks the easy silence between us, licking playfully my ear before murmuring:

"Would you mind moving away just a little?"

"What for?" I ask lazily, stretching like a cat and having no desire whatsoever to budge away.

He huffs a light laugh against my nape, which makes me shiver in reaction. He strokes my chest, trailing teasing fingers down my belly till they reach my hipbones.

"So I can reach the picnic basket?"

"I ask again – what for?"

He knows I'm teasing him and it's just fair-play he teases me in return, light touches here and there on my skin, till I'm all but shivering in anticipation.

"Aden..."

My breathing grows ragged in the deep, cocoon-like silence of the room. Aden's voice, when he speaks again, is filled with a longing which makes me want to clamber into his lap, legs astride his. To lean in and plant my mouth messily on his.

Hum.

Might be time for round two, here.

"If I promise to make it up later..."

He stops to mouth along the sensitive skin of my neck.

"... can you please move a little bit?"

I tease him back, pretending to ponder his question, looking at him out of the corner of my eye. Only to laugh when his gaze meets mine, a malicious glint in his deep blue eyes.

"Tell me, Ethan..."

His fingers slide over my ribs.

"... are you ticklish?"

Okay, definitely time to move on this time.

"So, you wanted that basket, hum?"

"Oh my God," Aden gleefully exclaims. "You are ticklish!"

"Don't see what you're talking about," I retort in the most flippant tone I can muster, while watching out for his hands.

He guffaws like a little boy.

"Now, that's nice to know..." I hear him muttering as he stands up to retrieve the basket from the table it was put upon.

He goes back around the loveseat, sets the berries between us.

"Do you want another glass?" he asks, waving at the half-empty bottle.

"Gladly," I reply.

As long as the subject of tickling and other sneaky tactics is avoided, I'm fine.

Really.

Aden bites his lower lip, trying without any success to smother his smile.

"Stop laughing at me," I protest while he pours.

"I can't. You're just...."

He turns back to me, puts one kneel on the seat.

"I'm just what?"

He leans in. His mouth is soft and careful, fluttering a barely-there kiss over my still puffy lips.

"You're so precious," he whispers. "And I just... can't... get... enough...of... you..."

He's punctuating his words with kisses, pressing his lips all over my neck, my cheeks, my ears, my temple. When he finally kisses me on the lips, it's slow, deep and completely filthy.

Like he's thinking of fucking me slowly open with his fingers.

I find myself draped over one edge of the loveseat, my fingers scrabbling for purchase against the arm of the sofa, making indents, in anticipation of what is to come.

As if he has read my thoughts, Aden pulls back.

"But first..." he says, his voice rough with arousal. "Eating!"

"And drinking."

He gives me my glass.

"Thanks," I say, taking it.

Aden lift his. "To us," he says in a solemn tone.

"I'll drink to that," I say, absurdly moved by his toast. We clink glasses and drink. The champagne is good, high quality and expensive, and the fine bubbles fizz against the inside of my mouth. "I think you're only supposed to fill the glasses halfway," I say, though it's not a complaint.

"I'm really not in a glass half-empty mood tonight," Aden says, sounding smug, and I laugh.

"Are we supposed to feed each other these berries?" I can't resist teasing him.

"Of course," Aden says decidedly. "Don't you know it's my master plan? Gorging ourselves on fruit and chocolate and expensive wine until we're half-drunk and completely raring to go again?"

The blue eyes are flashing lust, desire, affection and a thousand other things I couldn't name right now, even if my life depended on it.

"Sounds perfect," I reply.

And it is.

It truly is.

Later – much, much later in truth – we are still lying on each other, Aden stroking my back, while I'm having fun kissing his chest.

"Do you want to come back to mine?" he suddenly asks. "I would like to fall asleep with you in my arms... if you're comfortable with it, of course."

I smile down at him, completely enthralled with the picture he's making right now – cherry red lips, rosy cheekbones, hooded eyes, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. And this smile this damned smile, which still makes me a bit weak at the knees.

"Don't know if you have noticed it," I say, leaning in to kiss his sternum, slowly moving up along his throat, "but I was absolutely comfortable with all the things we've done together till now..."

His laugh is vibrating under my lips. I suck lightly at his skin, playing with the idea of leaving a mark there. Would he mind terribly?

"Ethan..."

I glance up at his serious tone. He props himself up on an elbow, looking at me with newfound hesitation. I move closer to him, suddenly feeling with an acute accuracy the need to protect him, to make him feel at ease with me, whatever he's on the verge of telling me.

Our lips are an inch apart as he finally says:

"Stay. Not for anything else but sleeping unless you want that too but stay tonight. With me." He exhales, the puff of a laugh as he murmurs, "I will make you coffee in the morning."

I can't remember being asked anything so carefully, a vein of desperate hope running through the question that I would answer in the affirmative.

"I will," I answer, my absurd heart thrumming in my chest. "I will," I repeat before kissing him again, the idea of being asked to stay much longer than the night fading away till there's nothing else than us.