21. Doomed
Doomed
I’m going to combust.
I could do it—my ancestors apparently did. It wouldn’t be that difficult, and it especially wouldn’t be difficult now.
I stare at the sprawling, custom-size bed dominating Ash’s lumberjack-wet-dream bedroom and want to burst into actual flame.
The movie is over, and if I thought two hours of low lights and moments of skin brushing against skin would be easier than that game .
. . Well, let’s just say I was completely wrong.
“This is my room,” Ash says softly from behind me. Entirely unnecessarily, really.
“Of course it is, what else would it be?” I snap back, no real bite in my tone.
He only chuckles in reply to my attitude. “Would you like to borrow something to sleep in, or did you bring some PJs in that teeny tiny purse of yours?”
“Your arrogance is astounding.” I run a hand through my blonde waves. “Obviously I’ll have to borrow something, but I don’t know how I’ll fit. You’re—what—eight feet tall and seven hundred pounds?”
“Six foot seven, and you never ask a person’s weight.” He gives me a mock glare. “It’s rude.”
“No wonder I feel like a pixie next to you! You’re an actual forest creature!”
“And you like it. I’ll grab you a t-shirt.”
I refuse to verbally agree with him, because it’s quite obvious I like it. He’s huge and while I’m not almost miniature-sized like Hazel, he makes me feel small. Protected.
How entirely patriarchy coded.
I take another step forward into his space. This bed may be large, but no space is large enough when it comes to me and Ash. How am I supposed to share a bed with him?
He emerges from the closet with a shirt in hand, but that’s not the part that steals the very breath from my lungs.
His own shirt is gone.
The man is built like a god. Muscles on muscles on muscles, poured into a delicious vee pointing straight to a bulge that I don’t think anything could hide. Gray sweatpants are both the best and worst invention ever created.
He has black hair on his chest following the musculature, and it somehow heightens how perfectly crafted he is.
“You’re staring,” he says, leaning against the doorframe of the walk-in closet.
“You’re half-naked,” I reply, my voice breathier than I’d have liked.
He shrugs in agreement. “Fair point. You should probably join me.”
My heart leaps, galloping like wild horses in the summer sun. Trying to run to him, no doubt.
“Ash . . .” I don’t know how to finish the statement. I just keep hurting and hurting him. Hurting Hazel. Hurting everyone. All I want is to be left alone and safe, and to not hurt anybody anymore.
Understanding softens his face as he approaches me. His palm slides along my cheek, his comforting electric buzz soothing my nerves. “I wouldn’t ever push you. We can just sleep.”
I close my eyes, reveling in his touch despite knowing I shouldn’t. The way his calluses brush against my skin.
“You really are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I knew the moment I first saw you I’d seen a goddess walking among men.”
“The first moment I saw you, I knew I was doomed,” I reply, opening my eyes. “I knew my life would never be the same.”
His fist clenches in my hair, tilting my head up toward his. “Then stop fighting us.”
“No.”
Frustration rips a growl from his chest, rumbling against me. He slides his nose against mine. “Let me take care of you, Goldilocks. Let me show you that you don’t need to fight this entire world alone. Let me give you everything you deserve. Let me give you everything.”
I lift my hands to his chest, the softness of his skin contrasting the hardness of the muscle beneath.
“Let me,” he repeats.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the intimacy of his gaze. I can’t give in. I can’t.
“My darling,” he whispers. His other hand wraps around my waist, pulling us flush together. “Let me.”
I melt into his touch, but don’t say yes. I know he won’t push me, won’t kiss me, until I say yes to what he needs.
“And if I run away in the morning?”
“I won’t allow it.” He kisses my forehead. “As determined as you are to keep me away, you can’t.”
“I can,” I reply. My voice is shaky. He’s winning and he knows it.
“No, Goldilocks. You’re mine, and there’s no walking that back. Say it and let me kiss you.”
My lashes flutter against the urge to open them, to meet what I know is a piercing emerald gaze full of love and stubbornness.
“I’m yours,” I reply. “Kiss me.”
He doesn’t kiss me immediately, despite finally getting my okay.
He waits.
Waits until I finally open my eyes and face his liquid-forest stare. Waits for me to see the joy, the pure, unfiltered joy. Then slowly dips down to take my mouth.
He’s slow, soft. Our first kiss was angry, frustration-fueled passion based on weeks—months—of buildup.
But this?
This is all the soft feelings underneath, the ones that threaten to burn down all the carefully constructed walls I’ve spent so long building. An adoration that I’ve spent my life craving and pushing away.
My fingers dig into the muscles of his chest as I tip my head back to allow him better access. He practically leaps at the opportunity, sucking my lip into his mouth and nibbling on the sensitive, kiss-swollen flesh.
“Will you let me touch you?” he asks, hand tightening in my hair in a way that’s just on the right side of pleasurable.
As if I’m capable of saying anything but yes at this point. Fighting him takes so much energy, so much effort, and I can’t pretend right now. I’m exhausted and I just want him to make me feel something other than alone, scared, and angry for the first time in weeks.
“Please,” I whisper.
“While I enjoy hearing you beg,” he says, hand on my waist traveling lower until he squeezes my ass. “You never have to beg for me, Goldilocks. I’ll give you everything I have the power to give, you just have to tell me what you want.”
“I want to forget about life. To turn off my brain. To relax and feel cared for. I . . .” My eyes plead for him to understand.
He shushes me, face full of kindness. “I’ve got you. You’re safe with me. Relax.”
“I’m going to be such a pillow princess.”
He bends for a second, lifting me by the thighs into his arms. “That a fucking promise?”
I lean in close, my lips just barely brushing against his. “It can be.”
He tosses me so I fall back on the bed with a whoosh of breath. I scoot up toward the pillows as he stands there, chest heaving at the end of the bed.
Throw me around, daddy.
“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined you like this? On my bed?” One knee falls to the bed as he crawls over my body until he’s hovering above me. “Do you know how often I’ve imagined what you’ll smell like? Taste like? Sound like?”
I practically pout. “Then why are you dragging it out?”
He shakes his head. “Savoring. I’m savoring every second.”
His hands find the base of my shirt and drag it up, slowly exposing each new inch of skin. When my lacy, red bralette is revealed, he groans.
“Like it?”
“You’re trying to kill me,” he replies, palming the side of my ribs. His thumbs just barely grazing underneath the lace.
“I like pretty things,” I counter. “And the look on your face is worth it.”
My shirt hits the floor with a gentle hiss of fabric. His fingers pluck at the button on my jeans before he pulls them down my legs to join the shirt.
“Give me your mouth,” he demands, all patience apparently gone. His lips are harsh, demanding, and only serve to wind my body up to a fever pitch.
His hands are everywhere. Pressing, smoothing, discovering every single inch of my body as if he may never get another chance.
That doubt is understandable.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, mouth pressing to the center of my chest. “Exquisite.”
Before I can reply, he drags down the fabric of my bralette with his teeth, sucks a nipple into his mouth, and my back bows. The wetness and the electricity meld together into an almost-but-not-quite overstimulating sensation that has me suddenly on the brink already.
“So responsive.” Pride drips from his voice as his teeth nip just a little. “So desperate for my touch. My mouth.”
“How’d I know you wouldn’t shut up in bed?” I pant, practically overwhelmed with need for him to do something more. Anything.
He chuckles, whipping the bralette over my head. “You are the most stunning creature I’ve ever seen.”
“Obviously.”
“Confident. Sexy. A woman who knows her worth.”
“Oh my God, will you stop talking and just touch me already?” I demand.
“I am touching you.” His smile is downright devious. “Tell me what you want, and you can have it.”
“If you’re going to make me do everything, then I can just go home to my vibrator and do it myself.”
He captures my nipple between thumb and forefinger, teasing the taut bud. “Next time, I’ll tie you down and use your vibrator to make you cum until you sob.”
Wetness pools between my thighs so quickly little goosebumps prickle all over my skin. “Promises, promises.”
He trails kisses down my body, nibbling just a moment on my belly button before meeting the top of my red lace underwear.
He pulls them off slowly, dragging lingering kisses down my legs until my mind is a warm puddle.
Until all I can think about is the next touch, the next kiss, the pleasure building.
“You smell so goddamn good. Every time I’m around you, I smell melted marshmallows and brown sugar. I can’t wait to see if you taste the same.”
Before I can form some sort of reply, his mouth is on me. He’s no longer gentle and slow. No.
His tongue dives for my clit, sucking it into his mouth and flicking at it so quickly I can barely breathe.
His groan of pleasure vibrates through my body like an electric shock.
“Tastes like fucking heaven,” he growls. A finger enters my body, curling just right to hit that spot inside of me that wrenches a gasp from the depths of my soul.
“Cum for me. Take what you need and give this to me.”
Despite it only being a few minutes—seconds, maybe—I can feel an orgasm creeping up. The way my body responds to him is otherworldly.
“Laura,” he growls. “Laura, my goddess.”
My name is what tips me over, what causes waves of white-hot pleasure to roll through my body until I’m an overstimulated mess.
He slowly withdraws, biting my thighs just roughly enough to leave marks for a few hours.
“Tell me when you’re ready for more.”