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25 A fterward, I’m an emotional mess. I lie facedown on the sofa with my ass in the air, sobbing into the cushions, trembling all over, sweaty and spent. Aidan is bent over me, breathing raggedly. His hot forehead rests between my shoulder blades. “Oh, baby,” he whispers. “Don’t cry. It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.” He presses the gentlest of kisses to my spine and slowly withdraws from my body. Then he drags the afghan off the back of the sofa and wraps me in it. He sits, pulls me onto his lap, and surrounds me with his strong arms. “So f*****g beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead and wet cheeks. “You’re my good, beautiful girl.” I bury my face in the crook of his neck and cry harder. He tightens his arms around me and gently rocks me, cooing soft words. He strokes my hai
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