Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
ASHER
What the hell am I doing?
I already promised myself I’d stay away from this girl. For her sake as well as mine. Nothing good can come of me kissing her.
But she’s a motherfucking flame, and I’m the moth who doesn’t care if my wings get burned.
Her full lips touch mine, and all the shit that consumes my mind falls away. The years of abuse at my father’s hands, the daily bullshit I have to deal with running Voss Enterprises, the grief from speaking of my mother tonight.
All there is is her, Anabelle Boudreaux. Anabelle with her long, silky brown hair that I’ve fantasized about wrapping around my fist while I drive into her. Anabelle with her sweet smile and sassy mouth. She does her best to stand up to me when not many people ever will.
Anabelle who is fourteen years younger than me.
“This isn’t a good idea,” I murmur against her lips. “You’re practically a child compared to me.”
She rips her lips away from mine, and I instantly regret the small bit of conscience I have left that made me voice those words.
“I’m not a child. I’m a woman.” She scowls, and I can’t help but think that she reminds me of what a bunny might look like baring its teeth.
But she’s not wrong—she is a woman.
If I hadn’t been so in my head about my mother, I probably would have pounced on her earlier. Seeing her in her skimpy shorts and tank, ready for bed was beat-off material for my brain. Now, here I am pressed against her generous curves, desperate for more than just a kiss.
But she isn’t nearly as experienced as I am. Doesn’t hold the same sexual appetite and affinity for the things I do. I’ll ruin her, scandalize her, and then I’ll be done with her. Normally that wouldn’t bother me in the least… but with her… it matters for some reason.
“You are a woman. All woman.” I slide my hands up under my shirt that hangs to her knees. My ego likes seeing her in my shirt. It wants to roar at the visual and the thought of covering her in my scent. “But we’re not compatible.”
“How do you know?” She pushes toward me, sure to connect with my cock that’s straining against the confines of my pants. “We feel pretty compatible to me.”
A growl rips through my chest.
Her big brown innocent eyes look at me. “Please… you’re all I can think of since you kissed me.”
My eyes close of their own volition, savoring her words. It proves how little she knows me that she’d give me that little bit of truth to manipulate her with.
Fuck, the idea of sinking into her, having my way with her, here, now, in the middle of the night is almost my undoing. But some small shred of decency I seem to have when it comes to her prevents me from doing so.
My eyes snap open and meet hers. “Have you ever had a man feast on your cunt?”
My blunt words hit their target, and she blinks, momentarily stunned by my crass question. That’s nothing. If she only knew. “Um… yeah. A couple times in college.”
I scoff. “I’m not talking about some little college shit who doesn’t know what to do with his tongue.
I’m talking about a man, a man who knows how to work your clit with his tongue like he’s a maestro.
Who knows how to curl his fingers when he fucks you with them so that you see stars.
A man who will lap at you like he’ll never be able to get enough of your taste.
Who feels like he’ll die if you don’t come all over his face. ”
By the time I’m done talking, her pupils are practically blown out. Instead of scaring her off, I’ve done the opposite. I’ve turned us both on.
“I’ve never had that,” she whispers. “But I want it.” Her hands slip up under my shirt and she slides her shorts down until they land around her ankles on the grass. “Will you show me what that’s like?”
Jesus Christ. How can she be so sweet and sexy all at once? It’s a paradox I’m desperate to decode.
The scent of her arousal wafts toward me, and my cock twitches. I have to taste her. I have to. Fuck the consequences. Because there are always consequences.
But if she thinks she’s in control here, she’s wrong. I’m going to show her who owns her body.
I lift my dress shirt, getting my first look at her pussy. Her bare pussy. She’s managed to surprise me. It’s not what I expected, but I’m pleased.
She has a two-inch birthmark just above her left knee. I lean forward and kiss it, slowly making my way up her thigh.
“Hold the shirt up,” I tell her, and she takes it from my grasp.
When I reach the juncture of her thighs, I breathe her in. Sweet and tangy with a hint of musk. I cannot wait to have her on my tongue.
Using my thumbs, I spread her pussy lips and run the pad of my tongue over her clit. A small keening sound leaves her lips. When I repeat the motion, a little harder this time, one of her hands lands on my head, gripping my hair.
I smile against her most sensitive skin. I’ve barely gotten started, and already she’s close to losing it. I’m going to make this woman come so hard she’ll be dripping down my face.
I dive back in, working her clit with my tongue. Her grip on my hair tightens, and it isn’t until her legs are shaking, and I think she won’t be able to hold herself up that I pull away.
“No!” she cries, desperate for me to finish her off.
“We’re just getting started.”
I stand and pick her up in one smooth motion, turning to lay her out across the bench.
Her pale skin looks gorgeous covered in moonlight, like an offering from the gods.
When I’ve positioned her at the edge of the bench, I fall to my knees before her.
Anabelle watches my every move with rapt attention as I use my hands on her knees to spread her further.
Her arousal glistens in the night, like a beacon calling me home, a lighthouse in the dark stormy sea that draws me to shore. My face is between her thighs in seconds, unable to deny myself the temptation of her.
I fuck her entrance with my tongue, using my hands on her hips to keep her in place. Her hands explore her own body, coasting over the fabric of my shirt as I lap up her taste. It’s like a fucking drug, and if given the chance, I’d have my head between her legs every day, all day.
I work my way back up to her clit, using the tip of my tongue to stimulate her enough to make her crazy but deny her climax.
I commit the keening sound coming from her to memory and push in one finger, then two, stretching her.
She’s so tight that I imagine exactly the way she’d feel around my cock. That thought fuels me.
Anabelle cries out as I finger-fuck her cunt and vibrate my tongue on her clit at the same time. Her core clenches around my thick fingers. I curve them to hit her G-spot, sending her spiraling into bliss if the way she grinds her pussy against my face is any indication.
She comes seconds later, coating my fingers with her arousal. I force her to follow that orgasm with another right behind it, not letting up one bit until I’ve squeezed every drop out of her and swallowed it down like a savage.
I’m torn between wanting to suck on my fingers or wipe her arousal all over her as some kind of evidence of what I can do to her.
In the end, I wipe my hands on the insides of her thighs as she lies there catching her breath, loving the way her pale skin glistens.
I want her to think of me when she washes it from her body.
No.
What the fuck am I thinking?
The last thing I need is this young, relatively innocent girl getting hung up on me. I can never give her what she needs beyond the physical. I’m not built for anything more. Maybe I could have been, but my upbringing took care of destroying that.
Besides, there are so many secrets between us.
One of which is the true nature of her father’s death.
I didn’t know who I was protecting at the time I paid the medical examiner off to declare it an animal attack so there would be a closed casket, but now I’m glad I followed my instincts and didn’t allow the family to know it was a suicide.
At the time I wasn’t even sure where the instinct to protect Heath Boudreaux’s family from the truth came from.
But I would never want Anabelle to know, to have to live with the pain of knowing he chose to leave her behind.
Suddenly, the urge to run from her, to leave her lying on a stone bench, exposed to the night rises inside me.
But I can’t leave her to find her way out of the maze—there’s no guarantee she would. Even though I’ve been in here hundreds of times, I find myself lost at odd times. It’s as if the maze changes its layout, and the path you’ve always used no longer works.
So as much as I want to run from her, from the things she makes me feel, I can’t.
“We should get back to the manor.” I don’t bother helping her up from the bench. Instead, I put some distance between us and my back to her, adjusting myself in my pants so that my erection isn’t so obvious.
“Oh… okay.”
The disappointment in her voice makes me want to go at her again. Spend all night in this maze fucking her in every corner, but sooner or later, it would end like it is now.
The sound of her stepping back onto the grass and sliding her shorts on stops, but I don’t turn to face her. “Follow me.”
She does so silently, and I escort her through the rows of hedges. I’m careful not to touch her, and I don’t speak, not willing to risk saying something that might make her think that what happened between us can ever be anything other than what it was—a brief pleasure between adults.
But the way she keeps looking at me with her big brown eyes glistening in the moonlight as if I’m her savior, I realize it’ll take more than one conversation to put her off.
Good thing I have no problem being the world’s biggest prick.