Revenge Desire

**Author's Notes:** I want to sincerely apologize to child of moon for making you wait for me to get my shit together and get this story to you. I really hope you like it and find it up to par. This was written a while ago but for some odd reason, the site was preventing me from posting it as a new story, and wouldn't you know, just as I'm on the cuff of hysteria, does it allow me to do so.

For the rest of you, it was hard to peg Aiden down when to came to his one-liners, so I apologize if he seems a bit OOC.

Whatever, I'm just glad it can finally be read and hopefully enjoyed.

All mistakes are mine and let me know if there are any I missed!

Reviews are xoxo (:

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><p>He finds her in the kitchen standing by the island, working a blade atop every strawberry plucked from its plastic basket. She slices the crowns off each one, then flicks the unwanted greenery toward the sink while dropping the freshly cut fruit in a bowl on the counter, only to repeat the process over again.<p>

It's a domestically simple task he finds highly sexy. That, and the frilly waist apron wrapped around her frame—a stark contrast to the business couture underneath.

Among the fragrance of pome filling the room floats her scent as well. An aroma so characteristically Victoria, its become just one more of her signature senses, like that of heels sounding against a hard floor or the impression of her presence when she enters; indications of the queen before being graced with the sight of her.

And what a sight it is.

His eyes trail up her legs, well toned and soft to the touch, and it never fails to beguile him how this larger than life person can fit in such a petite package. She may appear intimidating, yet in some ways will always be, seemingly towering from above balanced upon killer stilettos, but her imposing reputation proceeds her. Because behind those cold walls and barbed wire of distrust is someone who, when she loves, loves hard.

A heart so big that when she hurts, her scars run deep.

That, if let in, gives all of herself.

And he wants her, oh so badly. She makes Aiden want her in all the ways one can yearn for another, always left craving for more.

What intrigues him still, is that she doesn't need him. Even as he leans back, his shoulder pressed against the doorcase, just watching her, Victoria doesn't even care to acknowledge him, and he knows she knows he's there.

She could just as easily spend her nights with a worthier man; one who hasn't plotted, taken, stolen or destroyed. A man who will defend, provide and protect, whose loyalty will never waver.

Having allowed to see what he's seen, been allowed to feel what he's felt, heard what she keeps locked inside, Aiden considers himself almost undeserving.

But it's _him _she wants, _him _she chooses, for reasons he can't begin to fathom, and despite his convictions, and maybe it's greed, Aiden will ride whatever this is they're doing for as long as it lasts.

On the other hand, however, the fact that no man before him has had the sense to recognize the immense beauty of this strong woman—can that make up for everything else?

Victoria decides to turn around, instantly startled by his lurking in the darkened corner of the doorway. He frowns, raising his arms up to show he means no harm. She's usually very keen of her surroundings.

Fortunately, she hadn't had the knife in hand when everything within her grasp fell away. Merely a perfectly shaped strawberry which tumbles to the ground and rolls towards him.

Once shes collected herself, the brunette exhales sharply through her nose and wipes red-stained fingers on her smock.

"Must you creep around here like some double-o prowler?" she scolds, closing her eyes a moment to calm herself.

Aiden takes this chance to bend down and retrieve the runaway fruit. "That depends," he answers nevertheless, knowing her inquiry was more comment than question. "Might there be any reason why I shan't?"

He struts forward until his spine is able to rest against the bar next to her and lifts the berry to his lips, only to be slapped away and funnel down the disposal.

He's about to rebuke when she's interrupting again, flashing him a look of distaste, "Don't put that in your mouth, you just picked it up off the floor."

"It was suitable under the thirty-second rule."

"I gave the staff the night off," she counters, returning to her task, as if that's supposed to explain everything. Perhaps it does, but having just learned that they're alone and for the remainder of the evening, neither does he care. "And in any event, it's unsanitary."

Aiden quirks an eyebrow, maneuvering around so he's able to press her against the lower cabinets. "Is that so?"

"Well," he goes on after a brief pause, brushing her long curls off to one side, which in turn causes her head to roll along with it and cease her movements. "I'm not one to deny putting, shall we say," He lowers his lips to her collar bone and drops a kiss there, his breath chilling the spot when he pulls away to speak. "...sweeter things under my tongue."

He perceives rather than observes the involuntary shiver before he runs said muscle to her earlobe, above where a jewel dangles, and sucks.

The sound of the metal knife hitting the marble countertop rings out and Victoria then spins to face him, his lips immediately meeting hers. Gently. Tenderly. At first.

Their eyes slide closed upon contact and he brings his hand up to cup her face, assuring her with nothing yet the belief that she is desired—wanted, achingly so. That this, isn't an act. It isn't a mistake or a sudden rush of emotions, this is on purpose.

The edge of the kitchen island bumps into her lower back and finds herself leaning heavily upon it, literally going weak in the knees, and she fights to respond, deepening the kiss, transforming into a battle of tongues, demanding entrance and tugging the other to be closer.

Suddenly nips stray to continue her jawline, across her throat, a playful bite on the opposite ear before finding her pulse point. Her head lolls back, granting him full access as a reluctant gasp escapes.

Lungs struggling for air from the both of them vibrate against his teeth and the sensation arouses him like no other, so he squats a bit to gain purchase of more, pushing his groan against her center in the process.

She obliges by spreading her legs just so, enabling the heat resonating from there to warm him. Her hands slither their way up over his shoulders and around his neck, ruffling his hair.

He fondles her breasts, circling hard nipples with his thumps. Before long, he's practically begging to be let out of his jeans and he presses more firmly between her thighs, moans muffling in the crook of her neck, breath hot against her skin, and starts rocking against her.

The friction moistens her panties, dampening the material of his pants, and prompts a hand to slip between them, down the front, and grip him in full grasp, the organ hardening under her touch, flexing in her palm.

Unable to take it anymore, she shoves him backwards, falling into an empty dining room chair, forgotten by one of the maids, though thankful that it was. His face is flushed, heart thrashing wildly behind his ribcage, gaze darkened and dilated.

They've never done it this out and the open before. When it comes to sex, Victoria prefers a private show, behind locked doors and closed curtains, atop the security of a cushioned mattress or settee, and even then, like their first time, sometimes the lights are off.

Imagine his suspenseful anticipation as he races to undo his belt and zipper when she hikes up the hem of her pencil dress, removing her underwear in one fell swoop. The thin strap of her bra falls over the crest of a naked shoulder while she unhooks the lacy garment from a spiked heel.

One step was all it took to lift her leg and straddle his hips, his shaft splitting her folds, slowly plunging inside. Orbs roll back into their heads and mouths gape in pleasure. Both her hands float to the back of the chair for leverage as she shifts and allows herself time to adjust being filled before she claims his lips again.

His hands had planted themselves on either side of her hips, helping impale her down him inch by inch. Now, though, they descend to her ass, grasping at her cheeks and spreading them apart. Aiden bucks upward, setting out a rhythm that she quickly picks up. The pace steadily speeds until the chair is practically jumping on all fours, scrapping and jerking against the floor.

She's digging her nails into the rich cotton of the slipcover, possibly tearing through it to the wood just underneath but it's no matter. Her back curves, arching with his thrust, feeling that pressure building and she bares down aggressively, getting her that much closer to that glorious release.

Victoria's thighs clamp to the sides of his hips and he knows it won't be much longer, settling to sit stationary beneath her as she rides him, too intoxicated by it to do much of anything else. It's a task to keep his eyes open, as the sensations are enough to squeeze them shut, but with her eyes having long fallen closed, watching her and the expression of pure ecstasy on her face is memorizing, only progressing his own path toward the edge.

Her orgasm hits hard, ripping through her nerve endings like a red hot poker, and her entire body begins to convulse, her inner walls constrict around him, swallowing his length to the hilt, yet her voice, oh dear god her usually husk drops dangerously low to a seemingly inhuman growl he hadn't heard before and that does him in.

The moment Aiden's climax shoots deep inside her, he wraps his arms around her and gathers her to him as close as possible, burring his head in the crook of her neck, to immerse himself in her. To get lost. Drown. After that, all else short circuits and the world fades.

When he's brought back to life, he realizes that they've stopped moving, his shirt sticking to the middle of his back, and Victoria's slumped form covering his front, a hand coming to caress the side of his face before lips kiss him lightly. Lovingly.

His mind starts to clear, returning to the room and the position their in, how spontaneous their actions spiraled into, their normal precautions taken—discarded, and his eyes snap open.

"Bloody hell," he mutters, his vision finally adjusting to connect with her own, now creasing with concern. He glances down to where they're still together as one and frantically back up at her. "I'm sorry—I didn't—"

But he's silenced with a smile and a quick shake of her head as a finger trails across his bottom lip. "It's okay." she whispers.

His brows rise to his hairline, asking, "Are you quite sure?"

He's immediately reassured with a lingering kiss and nod of certainty, unfolding to another, more passionate one, and another and another and another...


End file.
