Chapter 22 #2
“You say steal,” I say through bites. “I say taste test.”
“Put it back.”
The way he says it sends a shiver down my spine. Like it enjoys his commanding voice way too much.
“I bit it. It’s mine.”
His grin is feral. “Give it back or I’ll make you.”
I take another bite. There’s barely a morsel left, but I don’t care. I hold it like a treasure.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
I take a step back, feeling protective of the tiny pancake remains in my fingers. He turns off the burner and steps toward me, closing the gap between us in one easy stride.
Then he reaches for my hand.
I pull it away, ducking behind the tiny kitchen table, trying not to laugh. God, this is stupid. But riling Asher up is officially becoming my favorite pastime. “If you want it, you’re going to have to catch me first,” I tell him.
“We’re in a lighthouse. You have nowhere to run.” His voice is low. Teasing. My body heats up. He walks around the table, but I’ve already started to run, almost making it to the kitchen door before his arm wraps around my waist, spinning me around until my body slams against his.
I can feel every hard plane pressing into me. And a hard ridge, too. Heat pools inside me. “Remind me to teach you self-defense,” he murmurs, running his nose along my neck like he’s an animal, breathing me in.
I deliberately pull my head back and slide the last piece of pancake between my lips. “Mmm,” I say. “Stolen pancakes taste the best.”
He reaches behind him. “You forgot the maple syrup,” he says, his voice teasing. He flicks the lid open with his thumb.
“Oh no, don’t you dare.” I try – and fail – to squirm from his hold.
But he does. He squeezes out a large dribble of syrup on my collarbone, watching with amusement as it trickles down my cleavage. Sticky and wet.
“Dammit, I just showered.” I pout at him.
He leans his head down, licking a long, slow trail across my skin. His tongue follows the syrup’s path like he’s savoring every drop. I swear I have a mini-orgasm. I grab onto his shoulders to stay upright.
His mouth finds my neck. His tongue hot and purposeful. His hand feathers my side, his thumb right below my breast. My nipples press hard and needy against my top.
“Asher…”
He lowers his head, running his tongue over my nipple through the thin fabric. “Hush,” he murmurs against my breast. “Take your punishment like a woman.” His mouth closes around my nipple, wet heat soaking through my tank as he sucks gently, then bites. My knees nearly give out from pleasure.
“This isn’t in the Geneva Convention,” I mutter, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
He looks up, his eyes dark as they gaze into mine.
I try to read his expression, but this man is a master at hiding them.
He takes my chin in his palm, lifting his head to capture my mouth.
He kisses me slowly, like he’s savoring me.
His tongue is soft, his lips warm, his hand gentle as he cups my neck and deepens our connection, his body pressing against mine.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he rasps when we break for air.
I taste of pancake. There’s a cut behind my ear and my hair is dripping water from my shower. And yet this man makes me feel like I’m the center of the universe.
Like I’m his.
He picks me up without warning, setting me on the kitchen counter like I weigh nothing. The cool granite against my bare thighs makes me shiver.
“Tell me if you’re sore,” he murmurs, kissing along my collarbone.
“From your fingers?” I ask breathlessly. “No. They’re not that big.”
His eyes flash, wicked heat sparking behind them. “Not exactly the words any man wants to hear,” he says, but he’s grinning.
I laugh, soft and warm, but there’s something fluttering in my chest. I wrap my legs around his waist and touch his cheek, tracing the stubble along his jaw.
He leans into me, putting his weight against me, and for a moment, the playful tension shifts into something deeper. Something real. I swallow hard, the heaviness of it pressing on my chest as much as his body.
“Asher…”
He tips his head to the side, like the way I say his name does something to him.
I take a deep breath. “I’m not… I don’t…” Well this is excruciating. “I’m not as experienced as you are.”
He watches me like I just handed him something priceless.
“Are you a virgin?” There’s a softness to his voice. Like he’s only now finding out something he should have known all along.
I shake my head. “No. But I haven’t… done it often. And it’s been a long time.” I swallow, feeling suddenly vulnerable. “I just need you to know.”
He lifts his hands to cup my face. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he says.
“Oh god, no. I want to,” I say so quickly my words stumble over each other. “I really want to. I’m just worried I might not please you.”
He looks at me silently. Like he’s assessing me.
Then his thumbs stroke my cheeks, his gaze on mine.
“Francie,” he says, low and rough. “You please me just by looking at me the way you do. You saw me come apart just by touching myself. That was due to you. All of you. You might not have been touching me, but every part of my body could feel you.”
He presses his brow to mine. “You’ve been the only thing I could think about all week.
The only person that got me through my days.
I couldn’t fucking wait to get home and watch you.
” He takes a breath, like his confession is making him just as vulnerable.
“You say you’re inexperienced, but I am too.
In this. In being obsessed by something other than work.
” He shakes his head. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”
The way the hard ridge of him presses against me, I’m starting to figure that one out.
“If you need gentle,” he murmurs, kissing my neck. “I’ll be so fucking gentle it’ll make you sigh.”
I drag my fingers through his hair, his lips against my throat making me shiver.
“I don’t want gentle,” I whisper. “I want you. All of you. Everywhere. I want you inside of me, fucking me. Making me come so hard I forget my own name.”
He smiles against my skin, lifting his head. Food forgotten, his hands slide around my waist as he hitches me up, my legs wrapping around his waist like an overexcited monkey, carrying me back to the bedroom.
The bed is unmade, the sheets kicked to the floor, but I don’t care. He lays me down like I’m precious, then straightens upright, his eyes locked on mine as he unbuttons his shirt – slowly and deliberately – like he knows he’s baring a masterpiece and wants me to admire every stroke.
I pull my tank over my head and shimmy out of my shorts, my breath catching at the way he watches me. Like I’m a piece of art he’s outbid everybody in the room on.
“Francie,” he says hoarsely, stripping off the last of his clothes. My eyes drop, and I swear I forget how to breathe. The thick ridge of him strains against his shorts. Every part of me clenches in nervous anticipation. I’ve never had anyone this big. I’m not even sure we’ll fit together.
But how I want to try.
“Yes?”
“Birth control. I have condoms. Latex. You’re not allergic, right?”
“No I’m not.”
He nods, grabbing his wallet, taking out a silver disc. Then he pulls down his shorts, revealing that stupidly sexy, magnificent cock. Slowly, he rolls the condom on, and I can’t take my eyes away.
When he climbs onto the bed, he immediately seeks out my mouth, kissing me, his hand brushing back my hair. “If it hurts you tell me.”
“It’s fine. You’re fine.”
His mouth takes mine again, slower this time, like he’s trying to memorize the way I taste.
He covers my body with his, warm and heavy, but he doesn’t rush.
One hand cups my cheek as he settles between my thighs, the other slides down between us, seeking me out, teasing me until I’m arching against him.
“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice reverent and filthy all at once. “I’m not even inside of you yet, and here you are, dripping.”
He flicks his fingers against me and I moan, unembarrassed by my response to him. “Please,” I murmur, spreading my legs wider.
Asher groans, rubbing the head of his cock against me, teasing me, torturing me. “You want me to fill this pretty little pussy? Stretch you open with my cock.”
God, he knows how to talk dirty. My whole body heats at his words.
“Yes please.”
“Say my name.”
“Yes, Asher. I want you inside of me.”
He stares down at me like I’ve handed him a secret. And maybe I have.
He shifts, lining himself up, but before I can feel the blessed relief of him he pauses to kiss me again. “So fucking beautiful. The way you look at me.”
And then he starts to push inside.
My breath catches in my throat as he slides into me inch by slow inch. My body stretches around him, the delicious burn making my toes curl.
He stills once he’s fully seated, his brow pressed against mine. “Fuck,” he groans. “You feel like heaven. So fucking tight.” His eyelashes flicker against mine. “Tell me you’re okay.”
I kiss him, his breath warming my lips. “I’m more than okay.” I’m not sure there are words to describe just how okay I am with Asher inside of me.
His mouth curves against mine. “Told you I’d go slow.”
But he doesn’t. Not really. Once he starts to move, with long, deep thrusts that press every inch of him right where I need him the most, my body forgets everything except him. The way he makes me feel so full. The way he kisses me when I gasp. The way he starts muttering against my skin.
My nails dig into his back. My hips rise to meet every thrust. He’s everywhere, inside of me, around me, breaking me apart in all the ways I never knew I wanted.
And when he snakes a hand between us and presses a finger against me, it’s over. I spiral, my whole body shaking as I unravel, crying out his name, my orgasm crashing through me like a tidal wave. He holds me through it, his rhythm faltering as I clench around him.
And in that moment, he owns me. Heart, body, and soul.
“Fuck, Francie,” he groans, his voice cracking. He buries himself deep, shuddering as he comes, his head tucked into the crook of my neck. Every muscle in his body tightens as he spills inside of me.
For a moment, we don’t speak. We just lie there, tangled and breathless, our bodies still connected, our skin sticky with sweat and syrup and everything that just passed between us. My heart pounds against his in the quiet aftermath. Like it’s trying to match his rhythm.
When he finally lifts his head, there’s an expression on his face I can’t quite read. Something tender. Something open.
“You okay?” he asks, voice raw.
I nod, too wrecked to find the words.
He leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. Like a promise. Like a beginning.
Then he lowers his forehead to mine, our noses brushing. His hand finds mine on the bed, lacing our fingers together.
“I’ve never…” He trails off, his throat working. “That was—”
He shakes his head, like the words aren’t coming. But I understand. I feel it too.
The shift. A quiet weight of something that might matter.
I squeeze his hand. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Me too.”
We stay like that for a moment longer, just breathing each other in. No teasing. No tension. Just him and me and this fragile bubble we’ve created.
He pulls the sheet over us, holding me tighter than before. “Whatever this is,” he murmurs, “it’s not going away.”
And neither am I.