Lust, Lies And Bellani Blood

There was a time before all of this before the tiny upstairs apartment that smelled like cinnamon and wood polish, before the way the morning light crept lazily across the hardwood floors. Before Aiden. But Siena doesn’t remember it. What she does remember comes in fractured flashes like a broken mirror held up to the sun. Screams. A man’s voice, shouting her name. The acrid scent of fire. The taste of blood in her mouth. A silver pendant clutched so tight in her hand, its jagged edges bit into her palm. The rest is a void. Some days, she tells herself it doesn’t matter. Other days, she’s not so sure. That morning, like most others, she stands in front of the window in Aiden’s oversized black t-shirt, watching the city stir itself awake. Her bare legs are long and toned beneath the hem, and her wild blonde curls spill messily over her shoulders. The coffee in her hand has long gone cold, but she doesn't care. It’s something to hold. Behind her, the apartment door opens. Aiden walks in with a paper bag of groceries tucked under his arm, wind ruffling his hoodie. He pauses the moment he sees her soft light kissing her curves, one hip jutted slightly, lost in her own world. “Thought you said you weren’t gonna wait up for me,” he says, voice low and familiar. Siena turns slightly, eyes catching his. “I didn’t. Just wake up.” He places the bag on the counter. “At the window, again?” She nods once. “It’s quiet here.” He walks over and slides his arms around her waist from behind. She doesn’t lean into him right away, but her body slowly eases, the way a blade might relax in warm water. “You still dreaming about it?” he asks. She doesn’t answer. "I fought an old lady because of strawberries" he says. She laughs. Aiden buries his nose in her hair, breathing her in. Her scent is intoxicating clean skin, faint coconut from the body lotion she never remembers buying, and something darker he can’t name. Something older. “You’ve got a life now,” he murmurs against her neck. “I’m right here.” Siena’s breath catches slightly as his lips graze her skin. “You always smell like cinnamon,” she says, trying to shift the mood. He grins, tightening his grip. “You always smell like trouble.” “Mm,” she hums. “Then maybe you should stop touching trouble.” “No chance.” His hand slips beneath the hem of his t-shirt, tracing the dip of her waist. Her body is soft, smooth, warm from sleep. Siena shivers a little, not from the cold but from the way his touch sets her nerves on fire. “You really fought someone over strawberries?” she teases, her voice breathy. “I would’ve fought a hundred old ladies if it made you smile like that.” She turns in his arms, their chests brushing. Her fingers drift to the collar of his hoodie, tugging him close until their mouths are a whisper apart. “You always say the right thing.” “That’s because I mean it.” And then she kisses him. Not soft. Not shy. It’s open-mouthed, raw, tongue sliding against his, fingers twisting in his curls as she pulls him impossibly closer. He groans low in his throat, gripping her thighs and lifting her with ease. Her legs wrap around him without hesitation, locking tight as he sets her on the kitchen counter, sweeping aside a bunch of bananas and an unopened bag of coffee beans. Her shirt, his shirt rises around her hips, revealing nothing underneath. “f**k,” he murmurs, voice thick. “You’re not wearing” “Nope.” His mouth crashes to her neck, kissing, biting lightly. Siena gasps and arches into him, the heat between her legs already unbearable. He drops to his knees, his hands spreading her thighs, gaze fixed on the slick, glistening center of her desire. Her breath catches when his tongue slides across her folds, slow and deliberate. “Aiden…” He groans against her, hands gripping her hips as he devours her slow, steady, patient. She tastes like sin, like everything he’s ever wanted. Her fingers tangle in his curls, her back arching, hips bucking into his mouth. He doesn’t stop until she’s shaking, legs trembling around his head, her moans echoing off the kitchen tiles. When he rises, his mouth glistening with her, she grabs his hoodie and pulls him in for another kiss, tasting herself on his tongue. “You need to f**k me,” she breathes, voice cracked with need. “Say please.” She bites his lip. “Please.” He unzips his jeans, pushing them down enough to free himself. Hard. Thick. Ready. He grabs her hips and slides into her in one long, aching thrust. Siena cries out, her fingers digging into his shoulders, nails raking his back. He sets a rhythm deep, slow, torturous. Each thrust pushes her back slightly across the counter, her hands braced against the cabinets. The friction, the heat, the sound of skin on skin it’s too much. “Aiden,” she pants, “Harder.” He grits his teeth and obeys, slamming into her again and again until she’s unraveling around him, her voice a breathless cry as she comes, shaking in his arms. He follows a moment later, spilling into her with a growl, forehead pressed against hers, both of them panting, spent, They make it back to the room. When they finally collapse into bed naked, tangled in sheets and limbs he pulls her close. “I love you, Siena.” She doesn’t reply right away. Her fingers drift down his chest. Her head rests against his shoulder. And in the drawer by the bed, wrapped in a linen cloth, the pendant waits. Cold. Silent. Unseen. A piece of her past she’s not ready to face. Not yet. But soon.