Chapter 19

Starla

Aaron's concentrated face across the worn green felt of the poker table at his house has got to be the cutest thing. I lock my eyes on his piercing blues as we each draw cards.

"Your move, Starla," he says. The smirk on his face tells me he's enjoying this game as much as I am.

I draw slowly and let out a breath. The cards in my hand are inconsequential; it's the way our gazes strip away the layers between us that matters. There’s an intensity that’s about to burn us alive.

With each passing round, the stakes grow higher—not in chips or cash, but in the currency of fabric we are wearing. I catch a glimpse of the tent in Aaron’s pants, making my own body respond. His rugged handsomeness, usually so composed in the face of emergencies or out on the ice, now seems to unravel under the heat of my stare.

I can feel the warmth rising to my cheeks, and there’s a throbbing pulse between my thighs. Is it the thrill of the game or the man before me who makes my blood sing like this?

"Looks like you're getting distracted, Ace," he teases.

"Maybe," I concede with a half-smile, "or maybe I'm just imagining what comes after the last card falls."

The cards slip from my fingers as I lay down a full house. Across the table, Aaron's gaze locks onto mine. His eyes slowly roam over my entire body.

"Nice hand," he says, but his focus isn't on the cards—it's looking at the loose waves of my raven-black hair that spill onto my shoulders.

"Thanks, Ace," I reply, the corner of my mouth tilting upward. "But I'm not done playing yet."

With deliberate movement, my hands move to the zipper of my jacket and gently lower it one tooth at a time. My jacket slips off, and I shrug out of it, letting it fall behind me.

I catch the hitch in Aaron's breath, and I see the way his jaw tightens.

The smirk on my lips grows wider, a silent challenge as my fingers hook under the hem of my shirt. In one fluid movement, the fabric lifts over my head, revealing rounded breasts confined by black lace against my pale skin.

"Your move, Wilson," I coax.

Aaron's throat works visibly as he swallows, and I swear I can hear the thrumming beat of his heart racing.

Aaron's gaze lingers. His mouth parts slightly. Yet, somehow, he finds the strength to reach for the next card, fingers steady despite the heat in his eyes.

"Still in the game, I see," I tease. There's something about the way he looks at me that’s intoxicating.

His well-worn T-shirt is the next to go, lifted over his head to reveal a torso carved to perfection.

"Your turn, Starla," Aaron says, his voice husky.

I smile, accepting the challenge, and slip off one of my boots. Then the other follows. Our eyes never break contact.

He mirrors my movements, toeing off his shoes, a determination in his eyes that tells me he's no stranger to competition. This isn't just a game anymore. It's a dance, a slow unveiling that shows us just how hungry we are for each other.

The flicker of the final card from my hand lands on the table, the queen of hearts lying flat between us. I tilt my head, catching the victorious glint in Aaron's sapphire eyes as he lays down his ace. He's won alright, and that smirk of his speaks volumes.

Not one to back down, I push up from my chair. The leather jacket slips off my shoulders like a second skin, and I close the distance between us.

"Congratulations," I murmur inches away from him. "What do you want, Ace? Your choice, remember the rules."

Aaron hesitates, and when he finally speaks, the words are powerful.

"I want you."

The words aren't just spoken; they're felt. They resonate deep within me and straight to my heart.

I lean in closer, and my lips find his with urgency. There is nothing but raw emotion, pure connection, and two souls entwined.

Aaron's hands roam across my skin, drawing circles of fire that leave trails of tingling anticipation in their wake. His touch makes me crave him more. He pulls me closer.

"Starla," he moans, his breath hot against my neck as he kneels between my open thighs. His fingers tease the hem of my skirt, inching upward, brushing against sensitive skin.

A gasp escapes my lips as his fingers slip past the thin barrier of fabric and lace to reach my wetness. Aaron's touch sends shockwaves of pleasure through my body. I don’t ever want him to fucking stop.

I close my eyes, surrendering to the man whose presence commands my every sense. My fingers thread through his short blond hair, urging him on, pleading for more of the exquisite torment he delivers with each caress.

My spine arches like a cat while moans spill from my lips. Yet, his hand is gone all too soon.

Aaron stands, cock hard, covered and ready as he lifts me up and lays me on top of the table and rips my thong off in one motion.

His hips line up to my center and thrust forward, entering me fully.

He dips his head, and his lips find my neck. Gentle at first, then insistent, his mouth traces a path upward, marking me with every kiss until he reaches my earlobes. His breath is hot against my skin, causing goosebumps to rise on my flesh.

"Starla," he murmurs. I lift my hips inviting him for more.

He begins to move, every thrust slow and deep. With each motion our bodies speak a language only the two of us can understand.

My fingers curl into Aaron's shoulders as my nails press into his flesh. I moan out, the sound raw and unfiltered. Each thrust he delivers is met with an upward surge from my hips.

"Starla," he groans, and the intensity in his voice sends another wave of need crashing through me. My body arches off the table. He knows just what I need as his pace quickens and I feel the tension coil tighter within me.

"Aaron!" I cry out as the dam breaks.

His response is just as primal while his body tenses above me, his breaths uneven and sharp.

Shudders rack through us, and I love the weight of his body lying on top of me.