Chapter 45 Heated Moments
Malia's POV
After I’ve given up on cramming all this in my head in my room, it’s well past midnight.
The bed is too hard, the light is too bright, and my mind keeps wandering.
So I did what has become my routine for the last week—I grabbed my textbook and shuffled down the hall to Aiden’s room.
He’s at his desk, working on something for one of his upper-level classes, shirtless because he just always runs hot.
"Is it okay if I study in here?" I say from the doorway.
He looks up, and when he sees me in one of his shirts – a grey henley that reaches to mid-thigh on me–something in his expression softens.
“Always,” he says. “You know you don’t have to ask.”
I get into his bed and lean back against the headboard, my textbook and notes tacks and quarter bends all over me.
His bed smells like him–pine, and something uniquely Aiden–and it’s weirdly comforting.
We work, in comfortable silence, for a while.
Him at his desk, on his bed me, both of us buried in our work.
But I keep getting distracted. Keep watching his shoulders as he writes.
The muscles on his back flex, the look on his face is so intent.
“Stop staring," he says without looking back.
I blush. “I wasn’t —”
“You were.” But he sounds entertained. “It’s distracting...”
“Sorry.” I bite my lips trying to cover up my smile.
He is stretching as he stands and I certainly don’t look at his muscle as they ripple under the movement.
Absolutely not.
“What are you working on?” he asks, making his way over to the bed.
“The Matter of Dynamics essay On leadership structures in contemporary/historical versions.”
“Sounds thrilling.” He seats himself on the foot of the bed. “Need help?”
“I’m fine—”
“Malia.” He moves over until he’s sitting next to me against the headboard “Let me help. What's the specific question?”
I'm trying to concentrate on the textbook, but with him so close, bare-chested, warm, smelling like heaven—it's hard to think.
"Um. It's about the development of alpha power and whether or not pack bonds have gotten stronger or weaker over time."
“Inquisitive question.” He leans down to look at my notes, his hand casually resting on my thigh a little above my knee.
The contact is innocent. But where his palm touches, my skin burns.
“So what’s your thesis?” he asks.
“Bonding has in fact eroded because we have privileged power hierarchies over real connection.” I’m proud my voice is mostly steady.
“Contemporary packs ‘are more about power structure, than actual pack bonds.’”
“Smart. “ His thumb begins to rub random patterns on my leg "But you could push that further. Talk about how political alliances have replaced mate bonds in certain families? "
I try to concentrate on what he is saying, but his hand is creeping upward.
Still innocent, still casual. But it's definitely distracting.
“Like your family?” I manage.
“Very much like my family.” His voice is closer now. “Where who you bond with matters less than what alliances it creates.”
Without really thinking my hand moves right- a little hesitantly- to run along the muscles of his forearm.
His skin is warm and soft against the cold, unyielding nature of his muscles. He goes very still.
“Malia,” he says, and there’s a warning in his voice. “If you keep touching me like that, I’ll have less incentive to help you with your essay.”
Whispering, I say, "maybe I don't want help with my essay anymore."
His eyes meet mine—blue, intense, and dark with want.
“Metaphorically speaking, you should want help with your essay,” he says, while his hand creeps further up my thigh. “It’s due tomorrow.”
“I work better under pressure.”
“Is that right?”
My fingers run up his arm and over his shoulder to trace his defined chest. His breathing is changing, getting deeper and faster.
“Do not toy with me,” he warns, smiling
"Okay." I whisper
He is quick—he pulls me into his lap before I can even think, making me straddle him with my textbook and notes flying off to the side—“Last chance,” he says now resting his hands on my hips. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”
Instead of answering, I kiss him.
He reacts almost immediately, one hand slipping into my hair, the other drawing me closer.
The kiss is deep and hungry and the first, pounds with weeks of pent up want.
My hands roam over his chest—muscles contracting at my touch, his heart racing under my palms, the warmth of his skin.
He groans against my mouth, and the sound electrifies me.
"You're going to kill me," he mutters, retreating just enough to draw a breath.
"Good," I whisper.
His fingers spread out across my bare back and he tugs me so close under the shirt I have on — his shirt.
I can feel every solid facet of him up against me.
The kiss becomes more urgent. His lips trail from my mouth to my jaw to my neck, where he finds some sensitive places that take my breath away.
I run my hands into his hair, bringing him closer.
"Malia," he groans against my skin. "We should stop."
"Why?" I'm breathless, his arm going around my waist, then my breath is leaving me.
"Because if we don't stop now, I won't be able to." He pulls back, pupils blown and his eyes dark. "And I want you too damn much to think straight."
"Then don't think." My fingers trail over his chest, I feel him tremble.
"You don’t know what you’re asking—"
"I know exactly what I’m asking. " I lean in, my lips brushing his ear. “I don’t want you to stop, Aiden. I want this. Want you.”
His control shatters; he crumbles and I stand.
He kisses me again—harder, more demanding—and we suddenly start moving, with him sliding me beneath him on the bed.
His weight pins me to the mattress, delicious and overwhelming.
With one hand holding me pinned above my head, his other hand slides down my side, making me arch up into him.
“If this is too much for you, tell me," he exhales between kisses. "Tell me when you want to stop."
“Do not stop,” I whisper.
He presses his lips against that sensitive place under my ear and I moan softly. He moans in response, his hips grinding into mine in a way that has fire pooling in the pit of my stomach.
"You're killing me," he murmurs against my neck. "The sound of you breathing, the way you feel when you walk across the room.and when you touched me—"
My nails rake down his back, and he hisses.
“Malia—”
I draw him back to my mouth, kissing him with all I’m feeling—desire and need and the connection buzzing between us, taking us to another
His hand goes under my shirt—his shirt—his fingers gliding up my ribs.
I push my hips forward to the touch, longing for even more.
With a growl he pulls on the hem, "Down!”
I raise myself just enough so he can slide it over my head, leaving me in just my underclothes.
He just stares at me for a second – eyes filled with lust, chest heaving.
“Beautiful,” he whispers. “You’re so damn beautiful.”
Then his mouth is on me again, kissing down my neck, my collarbone, lower—
Aiden emits a soft, contented noise against my skin, the vibration resonating directly through me. His tongue circles, teases, then licks lightly, I twirl my fingers through his hair, holding him there because having him stop is unthinkable.
I'm shaking now, here and now, every nerve buzzing. The connection between us is ringing—wild, electric, nearly painful in its magnitude. It’s not just desire; it’s recognition. Claim, need.
His hand trails down my stomach, fingers plunging under the waistband of my underwear, but he doesn’t go up any further. Not yet. He lingers there, palm flat against my lower belly, allowing me to sense the heat of him, the promise.
“Look at me,” he says.
I force my eyes open. His eyes are now bright blue, his pupils blown wide, the alpha within him nearly unbridled.
“I need to hear you say it again,” he rasps. “Tell me you want this. All of it. No regrets tomorrow.”
My heart is beating so fast I’m sure he can feel it through his palm.
“I want you,” I whisper. “All of you. No regrets...”
He has a look that is both fierce and tender that crosses his face then. Then he kisses me—deep, slow, soul-crushingly hard, as if he’s tucking every word he’s never said to me into the kiss. When he backs up, he rests his forehead on mine.
“I’ve been wanting this ever since the first time I smelled you,” he admits, low and raw. “From the moment I knew the bond wasn’t lying. I’ve been trying to be good. Patient. But god, Malia… you’re killing me.”
He growls—quiet, possessive—and his hand starts moving again, gliding beneath the last strip of cloth that separates us. Fingers meet slick heat and we both moan at the touch.
“So wet for me already,” he murmurs against my lips as he circles slow, taking in all the interruptions to my breath, all the shivers. “You’ve been carrying this around in your mind, too, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” I confess, hips rocking instinctively into his touch.
“Good girl.”
The compliment lands like a spark to dry tinder. I arch harder hunting his fingers, and he rewards me by sliding one inside—slow, fucking, stretching me slowly while his thumb keeps up that maddening rhythm on my clit.
I moan softly, my nails digging into his shoulders.
“Shh,” he soothes, kissing the corner of my mouth. “I got you. Just feel.”
He adds a second finger, curling them in that perfect way that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. His mouth finds mine again, devouring every noise that I produce, sucking them as if they are his new favourite thing.
I’m close—dangerously close—and he knows it.
The words, the command wrapped in vellum, push me too far. I break against his fingers, screaming his name into his mouth as I come in unending tidal waves. He’s working me through, slow and rhythmic, praising me with breath against my skin until the aftershocks render me boneless and shaking.
When I finally get my breath back, he’s looking at me with something close to awe.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he says, voice ravaged.
I make a grab for him, dragging him down until he is piled on top of me again, warm, solid, safe in the very best way. He kisses softly on my temple, on my cheek, on the edge of my mouth.
“You’re mine,” he mutters into my hair. “And I’m yours. Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever anyone says—nothing changes that.”
I’m twiddling lazy little lines on his chest, as
I feel his heart thumping steadily. “I know,” I whisper.
He lifts my chin, kissing me slowly and deeply, one last time before sleep takes us both.
And it’s not just the heat…It’s something more.