Chapter 21
twenty-one
FRANCIE
His footsteps hit the hallway floor like thunder. There’s no doubt in my mind, he’s coming for me. It’s the second time today he’s stormed toward me like a one-man battalion, but this time I’m not naked and flailing on the floor while screaming at a spider.
This time I’m in control.
I lie back on the pillows, my smile wicked, because I know exactly what he’s going to see when the door bursts open. I’m propped up on the pillows, my dark hair a contrast to the white silk. My body is bare, my nipples are pebbled, and I have to concentrate hard to remember how to breathe.
The door slams open and he barges in. There’s a wildness to his eyes that makes my heart thud against my ribcage. He slides his gaze over my body and I feel it viscerally. He takes every inch of me in, his breath catching in his throat.
“Are you trying to drive me insane?” he asks me.
I shrug nonchalantly, a smile playing at my lips. “You seem very tense,” I murmur. “I thought you might need a release.”
He steps closer. There’s no smile on his face. Just a taut jaw and dark eyes that make me feel like I’m the most beautiful woman on the planet. “You’re supposed to be resting,” he tells me.
My smile widens. Sometimes this man is so easy to rile up. “I can’t rest,” I moan, running my hand over my stomach, trailing my fingers just above where I need him. “I’m aching.”
His lips part. He can’t tear his eyes away from my hands. “Francie…”
“What?” I murmur. “Sir?”
Okay, maybe that was too much. But the way my body flushes says otherwise. Oh god, I want him to command me.
Just in bed. Nowhere else. My stomach fizzes with anticipation.
“Where does it hurt?” he asks. I don’t know if he’s playing along or genuinely interested. I guess I’m about to find out.
“Right here,” I whisper. Sliding my finger down. Over myself. I’m so wet it isn’t funny. “I ache for you.”
He closes his eyes for a moment. He looks almost pained, like there’s a battle waging inside him.
I hope bad Asher wins. I really do.
When he opens his eyes they’re blazing. Heated. Dangerous.
“I’m the one in control here,” he mutters. I’m not sure who he’s trying to persuade – me or him.
“Are you?” I ask softly. I never knew flirting like this could be so much fun. I love the way he reacts to me. It’s addictively hot.
He doesn’t answer me. Just stalks toward me, like a lion hunting a gazelle. There’s a twitch in his jaw as he shakes his head. Before I can say anything else he suddenly drops to his knees, like he’s going to say a prayer.
But instead of placing his palms together, he runs them slowly up my thighs, then pushes them apart firmly.
I’m bare to him. Completely and utterly. And he’s staring at me, like a man gazing at a work of art. Appreciative. Coveting.
His breath starts to speed.
“You have such a pretty pussy,” he murmurs. “All pink and glistening.”
My cheeks pink up. I knew he liked to talk dirty. He’s done it enough over the phone. But face to face, while he’s touching me. It’s a whole other orgasm-inducing level.
“Asher…”
“You don’t say a fucking word,” he tells me. He leans in, his eyes closing and he sniffs me.
Is that a thing? Do men sniff women? Nobody has ever done that to me before. Yet I think it might be the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.
I add it to my list of micro tropes I have to put in my book before all thoughts of dragons and soldiers rush out of my head.
“Perfect,” he mutters. His lips press to the inside of my thigh, hot and reverent. I shiver, already on the verge of breaking. Not from fear. From anticipation. From the sheer weight of his gaze on my skin. I feel every cell in my body vibrating. Waiting. Needing.
He kisses my other thigh, his lips teasingly warm, then he looks up at me through hooded eyes. “Do you know what it was like, watching you fall apart every night on my screen. Knowing I couldn’t touch you?”
I shake my head breathlessly.
“It was torture, Francie. Pure agony. I wanted to taste you. To feel you. To make you come so much you’d be begging me to stop.”
I can’t remember how to breathe.
And then his tongue flicks out to taste me. Just a slow, single stroke, and I lose every coherent thought in my brain.
“Oh God,” I gasp, my head falling back.
“He won’t help you.” For the first time a smile flickers across his lips. Like he knows the tables have turned. The hunter is being hunted.
And I’ve never wanted to be caught more in my life.
“You’re already so wet for me,” he says, running a finger along my opening. Then he presses it between his lips, his tongue flicking.
“Asher…” I need him. Oh god, I need him.
“What did I tell you? No talking.”
It’s a game. I know it. I love it. My body responds to it like it’s a dance it has always known the steps to – a timeless waltz only we can follow.
His thumbs press gently into my skin, parting me wider.
His mouth follows. I feel his warm breath on me, so tantalizingly close to what I need.
Then he devours. Not gentle this time. Full of intent.
Savoring, worshipping, fucking me. My fingers flutter down, raking through his silky hair, my nails scraping his scalp.
He groans out my name and it vibrates through me in the most pleasurable of ways.
I want to cry out. I want to say his name. I want to beg him. But I have to keep my lips clamped together to stop myself. No talking. Instead I let him take the lead, dragging pleasure out of me with every lash of his tongue.
And then he pushes a finger inside of me and groans again.
“So tight,” he mutters. “Fuck.”
It’s too much. It’s not enough. I’m being undone with every touch.
It’s so clear by the way he uses one hand to press down my stomach, the other to tease me into oblivion, that I’m not in control anymore. Maybe I never was.
I arch against him, unable to stop the way my hips buck to meet every stroke of his tongue, every curl of his fingers. My thighs are trembling; my world is narrowing to nothing but the slick heat of his mouth and the filthy sounds he makes as he devours me like I’m his last ever meal.
He pushes a second finger in, cursing at my tightness, then curls them, just slightly, but enough for the delicious pressure in my belly to uncoil. Stars start to burst behind my eyelids. I’m one tongue lash away from climaxing.
And then he pulls back.
I whimper, the sudden emptiness making my eyes snap open.
He looks at me, his mouth wet with my slickness. “You don’t get to come until I say so,” he growls. “You gave me control. Don’t think about taking it back now.”
I open my mouth, not too proud to beg, but he shakes his head, reminding me that the game is still on. I’m still not allowed to speak.
And then he stands, unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes not leaving my face.
His chest is pure sin. Broad, sculpted. I follow every ridge of his muscles, my lips aching to trace the valleys beneath them. My gaze slides down, taking in the defined cut of his abs, the sharp vee of his hips. His biceps flex as he tosses the shirt to the floor like it’s offended him.
He watches me watch him. It’s his turn for a dirty half-smirk. He runs his tongue along his lips then reaches for the button of his pants.
Slowly. Like he knows how tortuous this is. This is payback, I realize. He’s letting me look like he’s looked at me all week. Letting me ache like he’s ached. And God, I really do.
He drags the zipper down, his cock straining beneath the fabric. It’s thick as it pushes against his black shorts. My mouth feels dry as I stare at him. As he pushes his pants down and steps out of them, before following suit with his shorts.
He’s fully naked. And so fully aroused it makes my thighs clench.
I want to reach for him, but I know better.
Wrapping his hand around his cock, he fists it, slowly, firmly. And I swear I almost come from that sight alone.
“Now it’s your turn to watch,” he rasps. “Don’t move. Don’t speak. Just lay there and see what you do to me.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from him. He’s like a marble statue, all perfect lines and impossible strength.
His hand moves again. Faster this time. Rougher. He’s not teasing himself the way he teased me. This is furious, raw. Like every moment he held back from me is erupting from him.
“Look at you,” he growls, his eyes locked on mine. “Lying there all wrecked and needy. You have no idea what it does to me.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. I curl my fingers into the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping me grounded.
“I’ve been dreaming about this. About you. About tasting that sweet pussy.”
He drags his hand harder along his cock. His muscles are taut, strained. Like he’s holding back a detonation.
“I’m going to fuck you until you forget your own name,” he rasps. “Until all you can say is mine. But not now. Not yet. It’s your turn to watch.”
I inhale raggedly. This man is coming undone in front of me. And I’ve never seen anything hotter in my life.
“You think you’re in control? You think you’ve got me undone? Baby, I’ve been hanging by a thread since the first night you whispered my name.”
I press my thighs together. Whimpering. I’m only seconds away from begging.
He sees it. Smirks. “You want to touch yourself so badly, don’t you? You want to come while you watch me lose it.”
I nod, because that’s all I can do.
His smile widens. “Too fucking bad.”
Then he groans out my name. It’s loud and rough, like it’s coming from the depths of him. And I know he’s so close to coming.
“I’m going to cover you with me,” he groans. “I’m going to mark you. So every time you touch yourself you’ll remember this. Remember that you’re mine.”
I nod, though I’m already his. He has to know that. His thumb trails across the head of his cock, then he steps closer to me as he comes.
With a low, broken growl of my name, his body jerks. Spilling over my skin. His hips flex once, twice. The cords of his neck taut as he throws his head back and rides the wave. He looks feral. Untamed.
Mine.
I lie there, my breath caught in my throat, watching the way his chest heaves, his hand still loosely wrapped around his cock, glistening from release.
And when he looks at me, there’s no smugness. No victory. Just hunger. I reach down, wanting to touch his release on my skin. To feel the mark he’s made on me. More permanent than any tattoo.
But he’s not done. Not even close.
“I told you not to move,” he says hoarsely, his voice wrecked from his release.
I don’t speak. I don’t dare. I want to play this game forever.
“Come here,” he says, his gaze sliding down my body like he’s already planning his next sin.
I blink at him. Confused for a second. But then I do as he tells me, scrambling to my knees and crawling across the bed to him. It doesn’t feel demeaning, though. The way he stares at me makes me feel on top of the world.
He curls his fingers around my hair, fisting it, then pulls back until my face is tilted, looking at his.
And then he kisses me.
His kiss isn’t dirty or demanding. It’s reverent, like he’s worshipping me with his mouth. His lips press against mine, slowly at first, as though he’s trying to prolong the first touch, to memorize every curve, every sigh, every shiver that trembles from my body.
My hair is still in his hand, but he’s not pulling anymore. He’s holding. Steadying. Like I’m something precious he’s afraid he might drop and break.
It makes my heart stutter.
My fingers curl around his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin. He’s damp with sweat. Still tense. I feel the rise and fall of his breath as he tries to catch it.
Pulling back, he rests his brow against mine, our breaths mixing.
“You undo me,” he whispers. And those three words hit harder than anything else. I stare up at him, feeling an ache in my chest that matches the one between my thighs.
Then, before I can even breathe in, it’s like a switch has flipped. His grip tightens, his eyes darken. Bad Asher is back.
“Now,” he rasps, voice raw as he climbs into bed next to me. “I want you on my face.”
My breath catches. “What?” I whisper.
“You heard me. Ride me, Francie. I want to taste you again. Until you fall apart.”
I hesitate for a beat. Not because I don’t want it. I think I might cry if I don’t come soon. But because nobody has ever asked for me like this. Like I’m the treat. Like I’m the one who deserves to be worshiped.
Asher sees the flicker of uncertainty in my eyes. And he shuts it down with one look.
“I’m the one in control,” he murmurs, leaning back against the pillows and dragging me with him. “So don’t you dare deny me this.”
I climb over him slowly, planting one knee on either side of his head. My heart is beating like a war drum. Bracing my hands on the headboard, I try not to shake.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs. “Now put your cunt on my face.”
It should sound awful. So dirty. But somehow he makes it pretty. Like he’s asking politely.
So I do it.
And he groans so deep it rumbles far into my bones.
His mouth finds me instantly. He’s hungry, possessive, a man starved.
There’s no niceties, no soft beginnings.
Just his lips and tongue taking me apart piece by piece.
He groans like I’m his favorite flavor, his hands gripping my thighs, keeping me over his mouth since I can’t help but rock against him.
I lose the rhythm quickly. My body’s trembling, my arms shaking as I clutch the headboard like it’s a life raft. He devours me like I’m his last meal. Like I was made just for him.
Maybe I was.
My thighs clench. My breath shatters. My vision blurs.
And when my orgasm hits, it’s physical and emotional and shatters something deep inside of me. A sob catches in my throat as he holds me close, letting me ride the wave he’s created.
And then I collapse. A warm, boneless heap on his perfect body.
He catches me easily, wrapping me in his strong arms, pulling me down beside him. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, pleasure still wracking my body.
Asher doesn’t speak. He just holds me, one hand running along my spine, the other curled possessively around me.
The only sound in the room is our shared breath. And the steady thump of our hearts.
He presses a kiss to my temple. It’s so sweet it makes my breath catch.
“That,” he murmurs against my skin, “was worth every second I’ve waited for you.”
And somehow, I know he’s not only talking about tonight.