Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Julie
M y head feels light as air, and the spot on my forehead where Asher kissed me buzzes with electricity. All I wanted was his lips on mine, but he had to go and be all gentlemanly and kind and fucking perfect . God. What does a girl have to do to get a little action around here?
I want to Do. Him.
In a moment of clarity in my tipsy state, I remember I packed my vibrator for just this kind of moment. I am definitely the smart one. I jump out of bed a little faster than my still partially drunken state will allow and trip over the shoes Asher lined up neatly on the floor. They go flying, and I would too, but at the last minute I slap a hand against the wall to break my fall.
Rushing over to my second suitcase that sits on the floor, I unzip it and root around, looking for the small toy I buried in there. Not able to find it, I toss open the top, expecting to find the jeans and sweaters that usually live in there. But instead, I find myself looking at a pile of boxer briefs. Calvin Klein boxer briefs to be exact. It takes my alcohol-soaked brain a couple extra seconds to catch up to what my eyes are seeing and realize what happened. I flip the top closed to confirm. This is Asher’s suitcase. When they brought up the luggage, they must have switched one of our bags.
Knowing that Asher is still out getting my phone, I march to the connecting door between our rooms and fling it open, happy he had the foresight to leave it unlocked. My eyes immediately fall on my suitcase sitting on his luggage rack. It’s only when I’m halfway across the room that my brain registers the noises coming from behind me.
Running water. A low groan. I whirl around and Holy Jesus Christ .
The bathroom door is wide open, and a very naked Asher stands in the shower, water cascading down his body. His muscled back is to me, the highest, tightest ass I have ever seen on full display. His left hand is splayed out on the wall, and his right hand is in front of him. I can’t see it, but with the way his arm is moving I know he’s stroking his cock, and my eyes practically burn with the need to see what it looks like.
With each slow stroke, his muscles bunch and twist, and I don’t know how it’s possible with the noise of the shower filling the hotel room, but I can hear his heavy breathing as if he is breathing right into my ear, and my entire body shivers, my nipples pebbling against my pajama top.
I should turn and walk away; I know I should. It’s wrong to stand here and watch him, but I’m rooted to the spot; I can’t get the message from my brain to my feet to get fucking moving . It seems like my entire body agrees that we are staying right here and watching the show.
Asher lets out a gasp as his strokes speed up, and it’s a lightning bolt to my clit. I must make some noise then, or maybe he just senses me, because he turns slowly, his right hand still gripping his cock. Our eyes meet, and if he’s surprised to see me there, he doesn’t let on. His face darkens with an emotion I can’t name and don’t understand. Neither of us speak, and I still don’t move.
My eyes travel down his chest to his muscled torso and words I can’t make out tattooed across his ribs and the deep v that points straight down. His body is a work of art, and I want to run my hands over every inch of him.
Then my eyes drop down and take in his erection, and I swallow audibly. It’s long and thick and I haven’t seen that many cocks in my life, but I know I’m looking at a prime specimen. My hands twitch at my sides, desperate to touch him, but still, I don’t move.
My gaze trails back up his body and when my eyes meet his, he starts stroking again, slowly moving his hand up and down his length, groaning with each twist of his hand over the head. The unfiltered pleasure and raw lust on his face have my entire body heating to intolerable levels, and I wonder what he’s thinking about as he strokes himself. For one crazy, lust filled second, I hope it’s me, and only me, on his mind.
Our eyes stay locked as his strokes speed up and his hips start to rock, fucking into his fist as if just his hand isn’t enough anymore. My nipples could cut glass and my clit throbs, and for a minute I wonder if it’s possible to come from visual stimulation alone. In this moment, watching Asher take his own pleasure while locked in a stare-off, it feels possible.
Hand never slowing, he smirks at me then, as if he knows what I’m thinking. But as quickly as it comes, the smirk disappears, and a sound comes from him, something between a groan and a gasp. He rocks faster and faster, and our eyes never break contact as he slaps his free hand to the shower door and his hips start to lose their rhythm. They jerk forward, thrusting his cock into his fist hard and fast as a groan rumbles out of his chest, long and low, and I watch as he comes, ropes of cum erupting from his cock and covering his hand and the shower door in front of him. It’s so fucking hot I’m shocked I don’t combust on the spot.
His hips slow, riding out the last of his orgasm, and he drops his head down as he leans into the hand on the shower door, his chest rising and falling rapidly and his knees locking with the effort of staying upright. He takes another minute to recover as I stand there, still unable to move. Then he lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine again.
“Juliette.”
My name from his lips is what shocks me back into consciousness. Suddenly, all too aware of what just happened, what I just watched happen, I spin around and run back through the adjoining doors, slamming my side shut and leaning back against it. My breaths come fast and hard, and my entire body vibrates with a mixture of embarrassment, lust, and raw, unfiltered need. As scenes of Asher jerking off filter through my brain, I admit to myself the thing that I have been pushing to the back of my brain since I first met him last summer.
I want him. All of him. Badly. As soon as possible.