19. Disney World for Horny Adults #2
A smirk comes my way. “So that body part will get a lot of action, if I’m doing the spreadsheet math right.”
“You are.” Because him plus touching me equals all the O columns.
Asher steps back. “Was that nice enough?”
“You whispered dirty things in my ear just to get me to show you my spreadsheet?”
He lifts the mug to his lips, and says yes with his eyes, then takes a drink.
“Good move, St. James. You’re learning a thing or two about negotiation,” I quip, as I head to my room and snag my laptop.
Less than a minute later, we’re seated at the kitchen table, and for the first time ever in my life, I let someone into my fantasies. I never did anything like this with Bridget. True, I didn’t have a detailed list back then. Though I doubt that’s the reason I didn’t reveal them to her.
But now I’m compelled to share this with him. It’s not just necessary, but important. After I tap in my password, the first seven digits of pi, I click it open while Asher scrubs a hand across his jaw.
He’s silent as he stares at the screen.
For several long seconds, he's frozen with that hand on his face. Maybe a minute.
He can’t think I’m too dirty?
Or too . . . type A?
Lowering his hand, he turns to me in slow motion, his eyes registering Vegas-slot-machine-payoff glee. He curls that hand around the back of my neck. “You filthy fucker.”
His lips come down on my mouth and he spears his tongue with mine in a hot, dirty kiss that tastes like coffee and the promise of morning sex.
When he breaks the kiss, he rubs his palms together, glancing at the time on the computer.
In a flurry, he points to the cells.
This one, please. And that one, I absolutely call dibs on that. When I do this one, I will make you forget how to trade bonds, or stocks, or piggy banks, and when we’re doing this, all you’ll be saying is don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop .
My throat is dry. I can’t speak. I don’t want him to stop talking.
“Let me tell you something, Banks. I don’t know how your probability curves or equations or what-have-you work, but the probability of us getting to as much as we superhumanly can in four nights,” he says, then points to the screen again, and drags his index finger past all my dirty gifs and porn clips, “is only going to work if we get started really fucking soon.”
“Yeah. Good. That.”
He cracks up. “You and your one-syllable words when you’re horny.”
“Your fault.”
“And I take the blame,” he says, emphasizing the short sounds. But then his excitement drains away. He’s dead serious as his eyes laser in on mine. “But we need to finish that list of rules, Banks.”
I square my shoulders, and use his original words. “Rules for . . . harmless vacation fun .”
That's the biggest rule of all. This will be harmless. I don’t have room in my life for anything more. And even though I don’t know Asher well, I’m confident he lives every day of his life by that motto, harmless fun.
“I'm game for anything on here. So let's pick your top fantasies,” Asher says. “And they'll keep us busy for the next four nights.”
But that’s not quite right. My convertible days are numbered. “I’m jetting Saturday night right after the wedding. I’m taking Rosie to Disney World on Sunday when it opens so we need to hit the road.”
“In a minivan?”
I roll my eyes. “Dude. No. There are just two of us.” I don’t tell him I rented a Subaru.
“Okay, three nights then. Tonight, Thursday, and Friday.”
I clear my throat. “Did you forget about the existence of mornings too?”
He chuckles. “I like the way you think. Morning and evening. Hell, add in an afternoon handy J for me as well. Wait, make it a double. You can have one too,” he says, light and breezy.
That’s his style, spontaneous and spur of the moment, but I’m a planner. “Consider it done. But after Friday night, it’s over.”
He lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug, his eyes saying not quite . “Mark, did you now forget about the existence of mornings? Don’t give Saturday morning the cold shoulder when you can give me your hard cock instead.”
I laugh, and I definitely don’t mind his carpe diem attitude when it comes to sex. Still, I’ve gotta do me. “Then we’re done on the wedding day,” I repeat, for emphasis. “New York is not an option.”
It can’t be. There’s a reason for my unfortunate celibacy, with Bridget handing me the majority of the parenting, I don’t have time for more.
Rosie’s at home with me most nights, and that’s the way I like it.
I can’t imagine bringing hookups home. Hey, cupcake.
After you fall asleep, Daddy’s gotta take care of 11A and 11B with his Tinder date.
Pass.
New York sex spreadsheet tabs are out of the question.
“Got it, Banks.” Asher smiles at me. “I didn’t think it was anything more. And that’s fine by me.”
Of course it is. Asher screams the good times guy . Has he ever even had a relationship? I don’t know, and also, I can’t care about that. We are in agreement on all the points. This is a win-win.
“That’s what I figured. But it’s good to be on the same page. But there’s one more rule.”
“Hit me up.”
“We keep this quiet. Between us.”
He snorts. “I was going to post it on my Insta, but now that you’ve laid down that law, I’ll just write it in my diary instead.”
“I mean, no Flip. No Hannah.” I don’t want my sister thinking she can’t trust me with the most important moment in her life because I’m distracted by dick.
Asher’s eyes go introspective, like he's weighing something for a few seconds. “My stupid lips will be sealed,” he says, a little coolly.
I’m tempted to ask if there’s a problem, but maybe I imagined the tone, since it’s gone seconds later when Asher swirls his finger at the screen, points to 11B and 11C, then gives me bedroom eyes.
My dick jumps.
Why didn’t I put bedroom eyes on my list? But hey, I've always liked bonuses, so I’ll take that as an extra.
“Banks, we’ve got an hour till we meet the caterer. We have just enough time for a shower.”
I’m already up and stripping off my clothes.
Sometimes when I watch porn, Logical Mark argues with Dirty-Minded Mark. Would that position truly work in the real world? Does water make matters harder or easier?
I have nothing to argue about right now as the rainfall shower beats down my body, and Asher St. James crowds me against the tiled wall, wrapping a hand around my hard shaft.
When he grips me, I shudder. When he slides his hand up and down, I moan. And when his other hand cups my balls, I grab onto his shoulder.
“FuckFuckFuck,” I mutter.
With a sexy laugh, he drops his mouth to my shoulder, and nips. “I lied when I said I didn’t bite.”
His teeth on my skin feel crazy good too. Go figure.
As he strokes me, all I can figure is I am officially a sex fanatic. I fucking love everything. I want everything.
Water sluices over my skin, and I peer down at his hand stroking my shaft. Talk about dirty dreams coming true.
The temperature in me shoots higher than the water. I burn everywhere under my skin and this feels so good. But it would be better like this . . .
“11B,” I murmur.
“You dirty man,” he whispers with an approving rumble. My cock jerks in his hand as he pushes his body against mine, grips our dicks at the same time.
Words can’t find the path from my brain to my mouth.
I can’t even utter nothing has felt this good .
Grunts are all I can manage.
Ungh.
And ohhhh .
As he jerks us together, he watches my face, my mouth, my throat. I don’t think anyone has ever stared at me during sex before, like my every reaction thrills him.
Asher stretches an arm to the soap dish, grabs a lube pack. I didn’t even notice him bring it in here, but then, I did set a land-speed record to get in the shower.
He rips it open and I have no idea if he’s going to explore my ass or . . .
“Finish us off,” he growls, then he grabs my palm, drizzles some lube in it, and guides my hand to our dicks.
I won’t last more than thirty seconds.
But I don’t think he cares. The second I wrap a hand around our cocks, pleasure twists in me.
And I learn something brand new?two dicks are better than one when jerking it.
As my body overheats, I take over the double hand job, my fist flying up and down our lengths, fast, determined.
And fueled by him.
His mouth hangs open, and he braces his hands on the wall behind me. “Fuck yes. So good. Want to come on you.”
Done.
Consider it done.
My orgasm steals all my brain cells. I come so goddamn hard in my hand, shooting on his abs.
“Yes . . .” He grunts and he’s right there, seconds later, painting me.
11D. That's where my fantasy has always ended. On finishing. That’s all.
But my reality gets better.
Letting go of us, I step closer and cup his face under the water, then capture his lips with mine. I try to tell him with my kiss that I can definitely stand him now.
After I get dressed, I meet Asher at the door of the guest house. He doesn't even bother to bust my chops about my shorts. They’re navy.
“Question for you, Banks,” he says, focused. “About your single-malt-scotch-fueled text fest. Remember that one?”
I groan. Here we go again. “I thought we’d already clarified all the points in the text.”
He claps a hand on my shoulder as we walk past the pool, toward the house.
“ Nearly all. And they’re all in the I was right column,” he says, clearly delighted to poke and prod me again.
But admittedly, I like our new style of poking and prodding, since it involves the use of body parts.
“But there is one more little thing I wanted to address, since we sorted out the blow job hair and the stupidly hot lips last night.” He draws a deep inhale.
“You referred to me as, and I quote . . . like a fucking comic book hero in those graphic novels I used to read. ”
I don’t bat an eye. “Yes, Asher?”
He taps his chest. “If I’m Superhot Wingman, what’s your superhero name?”
I stifle a laugh. “And why do you think I have one?”
“You do, Banks, you do. Do you want me to play dirty to get it out of you?”
Playing dirty sounds like a great game. “I mean, if you think that’ll work,” I deadpan.
I bet it works. I bet it works so well.
Asher stops at the sliding door, grabs the back of my neck, and plants a scorching-hot kiss on my lips. Jesus. This man can kiss. When he breaks it, his lips are inches from mine, and he drags a thumb along my jaw. “Soooo.”
My head is a daze. “Captain Filthy Mind,” I mutter, since his kisses are my truth serum.
Asher laughs, and even his laugh makes it sound as if he’s just had sex.
“Perfect. So fucking perfect.” As we resume our pace, he says breezily, “And by the way, for a split-second yesterday when I mentioned we’d hit errand 2A, I thought tasks got you all hot and bothered, but then I realized 2A wasn’t an errand.
It was . . . me . And now that I’ve seen the world’s greatest list, I can confirm 2A was you putting your mouth all over me. ”
Oh, he’s good.
Then Asher adds, “For the record, 2A was excellent.”
His eyes flicker with that big charm the man breaks out anywhere and everywhere, using it on the designer, the gate agent, the florist.
And on me.
I kind of wish I were immune, but his charm is coming at me full throttle now. I simply nod my thanks as I try to fight off a smile, so he doesn’t know what his compliment just did to my stomach?made it flip.
“What are you smiling about, Captain Filthy Mind?” he asks, as we near the front door of the palace.
“Lunch. You know, Cubanos and all,” I say, offhand. “Just thinking about Cubanos.”
“Yes, same for me,” he says, then he stops me in the doorway and kisses the corner of my mouth. “Sandwiches,” he repeats, and it sounds like he’s keeping my secret. That he knows I wasn’t thinking about ham and cheese.
I have a secret about him too.
Asher really likes kissing me.
When we reach the car, he smacks my ass. But before he gets in the driver’s seat, he says, “Wait.” Then he grabs the waistband of my shorts, tugs it back, and peeks. “Mmm. Purple.”
A tingle rushes down my spine. “Guess you like some of my clothes.”
“Seems I do.”
But we aren't talking about clothes anymore.