Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Ash answers his door in nothing but a pair of boxer-briefs and a smile, which is enough to actually make me speechless for a moment.
“Took you long enough,” he says, grinning his saucy boy-next-door grin as he leans one arm against the door frame, one chestnut curl falling over his forehead.
“What? I—no,” I hiss, and I kind of wave both hands around in a way that’s probably not very erotic. “Go. Go, why are you answering your door naked and backlit, get inside, what’s wrong with—"
Ash pushes me against the wall next to his front door and kisses me hard, his tongue sliding into my mouth, past my admonishments, and I moan, my hands already in his hair.
He’s mostly naked already and I can feel the heat rolling off his skin, turning me gooey and pliable.
Ash makes me feel like my bones are melting.
“Nobody was out there,” he finally says when he pulls his mouth off mine, lips moving to my neck. I can feel him smile every bit as well as I can feel his hands under my t-shirt, wrapping around my ribcage and squeezing just hard enough.
“How do you know? It was dark,” I point out.
“No one’s ever out there.”
I slide my hand down his belly, letting the line of hair that descends from his bellybutton tickle my fingers.
“You don’t know that.”
Ash sucks at my neck and grinds against me, my fingertips just below the elastic on his boxers. I run them along that line, teasing, and he hisses and grabs me harder.
“Then they got a well-deserved eyeful,” he says, and pulls my shirt over my head, throwing it on the floor.
Then he takes my chin in his hand and just looks down at me for a moment, his pretty blue eyes dark, pupils wide.
He runs his tongue along his upper lip and for a moment I hold my breath because it seems like he’s about to—I don’t know. Say something, maybe.
“You gonna touch it or tease me all night?” he finally asks, voice rough as sandpaper. I shove my hand into his boxers and grab a handful of ass, drag him against me.
“Touch what?” I ask, and stroke his hip with one thumb, head back against the wall. “Be specific. I’m touching a lot right now.”
Ash just grins and grabs my wrist.
“My dick, you jerk,” he says, and hauls my hand around until it’s pressed against his erection, hot and hard against my palm. I wrap my fingers around it lightly, his boxers still on it, and give it a gentle stroke.
“Oh, this?” I ask. “You should’ve said something.”
He captures my mouth again, slower this time, thrusting himself into my hand as he groans.
“Fuck,” he murmurs between kisses. “Why does your hand feel so much—God—better than mine?”
“Super good at handjobs,” I murmur.
“I could just come like this,” he says into my mouth. “Without even getting you undressed first. In my boxers like a teenager.”
“Rude,” I tell him, and slide my thumb over his slit, smearing pre-come around the fat head of his cock. Ash shudders and bites my lower lip.
“Your fault,” he says, and I can feel him smiling again. “Showing up here in shorts like that and being all good at handjobs.”
I stroke him one last time. “Shorts like what?”
His hands are on my thighs. Ash isn’t particularly tall but he’s wide, built like a brick wall, with big hands to match.
“All short and hot,” he says, sliding his fingers beneath the cutoff hem. “You know. Fuck me shorts.”
He slides one thumb into my panties and over my pussy as he says it, and now I’m the one biting my lip and trying not to make a desperate, animal noise at the sudden rough heat.
“Let me hear it,” he says, eyes dark.
“They’re not fuck me shorts,” I say, which is true. They’re the boring-ass cutoffs I threw on to get pizza with friends, because it was a million degrees today and way too hot to think about anything but comfort.
“Hmm,” he says, that grin on his face again, head tilted. He pulls a hand out of the bottom of my shorts, gets the button and the fly undone in about half a second, and slides his hand back in, sinking two fingers into me without a pause, the heel of his hand grinding on my clit. “Really?”
He moves his fingers and hand and God, I feel like I could melt into the wall.
“Because it kinda feels like you want to get fucked,” Ash says, voice low and slow as sin.
“Obviously,” I say, and it comes out all breathy and rough, my head against the wall, my eyes closed. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, you are,” he says. “How do you want it?”
“Soon.”
Then we’re kissing again and he strokes my clit as he withdraws his hand, fingers slippery from being inside me. His boxers and my shorts come off and my bra winds up somewhere between his front door and his couch, where he’s got a box of condoms on the coffee table.
“Really?” I tease, already falling onto the couch and pulling him with me. Ash fits between my legs like he was meant to be there.
“You’re the one who told me what to wear,” he teases right back, reaching out to grab one.
“Your bedroom is like twenty feet away.”
He hauls himself up on his knees, still between my legs, and rolls the condom down his cock. I watch, pulsing with anticipation, as he gives himself a good, hard stroke. When he catches the look on my face, he does it again.
“It’s a long twenty feet,” he says. “But if you really want to spend the time…”
“It’s okay,” I say, and roll over onto my hands and knees. Behind me Ash makes a noise somewhere low in his chest and I arch my back, offering myself.
“Jesus,” he murmurs, hands stroking up my thighs to my ass, my back. I push back, wanting his skin on mine, wanting him to touch me and grab me and above all, fuck me the way I can’t stop thinking about. “God, Bridget.”
“Come o—" I start, but then he’s budging his thumb into my pussy and dragging the wetness down to my clit, rubbing me in slow, slick circles that turn whatever I was going to say into a long, drawn-out moan.
“There it is,” he says, other hand still on my lower back. “You wanna come now, or wait until we’re fucking?”
I make a noise that’s not an answer, and I buck back into him, desperate for something more: more pressure of his fingers on my clit, the grip of his hand around my thigh, the slide of his cock against my entrance.
I know he just asked me a question but I’m mindless, a molten pool of want and need and—
“Bridget,” he says, and his fingers on my clit slow until they’re brushing over me, shocks of pleasure that scatter over my skin. “Now, or wait?”
I force my eyes open. It helps.
“Wait,” I manage to get out. “Make me wait.”
He slides his fingers into me again, and there’s something so casual and fucking dirty about it that I moan, then bite my upper arm so I stop moaning.
“You sure?” he asks, and presses his fingers to my clit again, circling. Rubbing. “You seem like you might be pretty close.”
“I’m sure,” I gasp.
“It’s no trouble at all,” he says, and he’s teasing me, fucking teasing me because Ash is an asshole and a jerk and Jesus Christ I want him to fuck me already.
I whimper in response.
“And I don’t mind,” he goes on, and fuck, fuck I’m close, biting my lip to keep myself from coming because now it’s a game, a challenge to see if I can keep my word. “I like fucking you after you’ve already come once. You take me so well when you’re blissed-out and relaxed.”
Now I’m bucking back at him with every stroke of his fingers, getting slower and slower but the pressure is relentless, keeping me right there at the edge. We’ve only been sleeping together for a few months. I have no idea how he’s so good at this, but he is.
“Of course,” he says, and finally stops stroking my clit. I take a deep breath and try not to make a disappointed noise as my clit aches with the loss, my toes curling. “You take me so well all the time.”
Then there’s the thick, blunt head of his cock stroking up me, from my clit to my pussy, and I nearly moan with relief.
“That’s it,” he says, and he pushes in as I push back and the head of his cock slides inside me, pushing me wide. God, it’s good. “Go slow for me.”
I sink back an inch, pause, pull him out. Do it again and take him a little deeper, letting him watch me work himself on his cock. I’m already keyed up, on the edge, and with every thrust he’s hitting all the nerve endings inside me.
“Too slow?” I say, and I mean it to sound teasing but it comes out desperate.
“No,” he says, low and rough. “You’re perfect.”
I have to fight myself to keep up the pace, because I want it all, right now: the hard, relentless rhythm that will make me forget there’s a world outside his front door, the obliteration that follows waiting.
When he’s fully seated at last, his hands wrap around the front of my thighs so tightly he’ll probably leave bruises and I roll my hips against him, seeking friction or movement or just the subtle slide of him inside me.
“This is so good,” he whispers, voice shattered. He lets go of one hip to slide a hand up my spine, and I can feel him trembling so I bite my lip and flex around him, just to hear the way he inhales. “God. Fuck. You can’t—"
“Come on,” I say, and it works because Ash finally starts fucking me.
Slow at first, like he’s trying to hold out, but it’s not long before it’s hard and fast, my elbows braced on the arm of the couch as he pulls me back to meet him.
He keeps talking, half nonsense, keeps going on about how good it is and how perfect I feel, and in return I ask for more and harder and probably blaspheme every deity who’s ever been worshipped, but I don’t care.
“Bridge,” he finally warns, sounding like he’s just run a marathon. “You gotta come soon if you want it like this.”
He holds back for half a second while I move my arm and brace myself with just my left so I can find my clit with my right, the one problem with this position: he’s at a bad angle for clit access and I’m less stable.
“Okay,” I say, once I’ve got two fingers around my clit, and Ash slams into me again, and I can feel the way my pussy stretches around him as he does and fuck, fuck I wish I could see it but this is so good I can’t really wish for anything else.
I come like a lit match to dry kindling, burning me out from the inside.
I push my face into the couch and swear a lot and say Ash’s name at least once.
He fucks me through it and past it, the crashing oblivion followed by spirals that work their way through me once it’s over, twisty sensation that was good before and now it’s almost too much, almost, almost—
“Did you,” he gets out, because Ash likes to make sure.
I’m too boneless to speak but I manage a thumbs-up that he’ll probably tease me about later, but right now, he just groans and picks up speed, pulling me back against him.
I feel floppy, mindless, like I want to let him use me however he wants because this feels good, too, until he finally gasps and swears and goes still, pushed all the way inside me.
A few moments later, his forehead’s on my back. We’re both covered in sweat and his hair drags little trails across my shoulder blades. A droplet falls from my nose to the arm of his couch, and I couldn’t care less.
“Nnngh,” I say.
“Yeah.”
He pulls out and I flop down. The couch is too warm against my skin but fixing that might involve, like, moving or something and: no thank you. I hear him go into the bathroom to deal with the condom, and when he comes back out, he swats at one leg until I move, then put both legs in his lap.
“So, how’ve you been?” he asks, and all I can do is laugh.