Chapter 12 #2
“Oh, we’re back to that? Look, it’s not my fault you’re so inexperienced, but I’m not interested in being your mentor. Why don’t you go find Cara? I bet she can help you out. I mean, I would feel a little bad for her considering you don’t even know how to find a clit.”
I’m waiting for him to lash out. To say something equally as harsh to me.
He doesn’t.
He just laughs. It’s smooth and carefree, like a summer breeze floating through a clothesline of white linens.
Then it changes—turns darker and more manic.
He takes a step toward me and leans in as if he’s about to tell me a secret even though there’s no one else around.
He’s so close I can feel his hot breath on the shell of my ear when he speaks, and it sends an electrical current down my spine.
“We both know that’s not true, Alexandra. ”
A blush instantly spreads up my neck, heating my cheeks. “I was faking,” I rush out, desperately trying to get the upper hand.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Faking, huh? I didn’t realize you could fake your eyes rolling into the back of your head, but what do I know?”
God, I hate him.
“Well, now you know, Ashton. Sometimes women fake it. Not all men know what they’re doing.
It’s nothing personal,” I say sweetly as I turn around and trudge up my walkway that’s still covered in snow.
Luke usually shovels it for me, but he must not have gotten around to it yet.
I throw the door open and walk inside the frigid house.
I contemplate turning the heat on, but I’m just going to shower off the self-pity and head back out to the office. No sense in wasting electricity.
I shrug out of my coat and am about to turn the shower on when there’s a knock at the door. No, not a knock. Banging.
“Okay, Jesus.” I stupidly open it without checking the peephole, and there he is, his hair messy like he’s been running his fingers through it, eyes wild, darting back and forth between mine as if searching for something.
His cheeks are bright red and he’s breathing hard.
Why is he so out of breath from walking up the front steps?
His body would suggest he works out regularly. Not that I’ve noticed or anything.
“What are you—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence before he’s pressing his hands to my cheeks and crashing his lips to mine.
I stumble slightly but right myself so we don’t fall to the floor.
I’m stunned. So stunned that, without thinking, I part my lips, granting him access, and he slips his tongue in, tangling it with mine.
I hesitate for a moment, a split second, and then I’m kissing him back, and it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
It’s heady and feverish, and a faint numbness spreads throughout my body, like I’ve just been injected all over with lidocaine.
Ashton walks me backward until my back hits a hard surface and removes one of his hands from my cheek, pressing it against the wall next to my head.
I should push him away. Nothing good can come from this, but neither of us makes a move to break the kiss.
It’s not as gentle as I would have imagined coming from him.
It’s a mess of lips and teeth, urgent and frantic, and suddenly all I can think about is his hands on me.
I want to feel him the way I felt him that night all those months ago. I want him to make me come apart.
Distract me.
Make me forget.
I take his hand from where it still rests on my cheek and slowly lower it down to my belly, giving him ample time to stop me.
He finally breaks the kiss, and two amber pools angle toward me, glittering with unspoken words.
With a slight nod, I let go of his hand, and he continues tracing it down my body until he reaches the hem of my skirt.
He bunches it up from the bottom and slips a finger into the elastic of my tights, near my hipbone.
Then he slowly lowers them down, just enough to realize that I’m not wearing panties.
I only had the pair I wore yesterday and ditched them this morning after having slept in them all night.
He curses softly as he pulls the tights down even more until they come to rest at the middle of my thighs.
Then he presses his thumb on my clit, looking up at me to gauge my reaction as he slowly begins moving it in tight little circles.
He looks down at what he’s doing again, then back up at me, like he can’t decide which sight is more deserving of his attention.
When he slips his middle finger inside me, my eyes flutter closed of their own accord, a steady moan escaping my lips.
“Open your eyes, Allie.” Those are the first words he has spoken since he came to my door and kissed me out of thin air. It’s a soft command, almost whispered as it floods my brain, latching onto the synapses that fire without my consent, forcing my eyes to snap open.
His lips turn up at my obedience, that smug smirk of his taking its place across his mouth. “I want you to watch.”
Watch? Watch wh—
Before I can finish my thought, he drops down, the thud of his knees hitting the hardwood floor echoing throughout the room.
Then he’s spreading me open with his thumb as he licks a line straight up from my entrance to my clit.
I gasp, my breath getting caught in the back of my throat in the process.
It takes me several seconds before I realize that I’m doing exactly what he told me to.
Watching him on his knees in front of me, fully clothed, still wearing his coat for God’s sake.
Somehow that makes this whole situation even hotter.
Like he needed me so badly, he couldn’t be bothered to take it off.
Before I can examine that thought any further, he tilts his head and places a single kiss to my clit.
My breath hitches. The move is so intimate, so soft, that it takes me completely off guard.
It should make me squirm. I don’t do sweet.
I don’t do sensual. Sex has always been a means to an end for me.
Get off and get out. I should be uncomfortable with this.
Not only because he’s my boss or because I hate his guts, but because it feels… too good.
But when he leans back and looks up at me, his lips glistening with my arousal, his eyes conveying a silent request for permission to keep going, I nod. Slow at first and then faster, bobbing my head up and down almost frantically.
He wastes no time, burying his hot mouth between my legs, but this time, he’s not as gentle. He circles my opening with his tongue several times before he plunges it inside me, and I scream out, refusing to call his name. I have to keep some shred of dignity here.
People often think that being on your knees makes you submissive.
That the person above you has the power.
Sometimes that’s true. It all depends on the dynamics, but right now?
I can say with certainty that Ashton has all the power and he knows it.
He’s playing me like a fucking fiddle, and I’m loving every second of it.
His tongue darts in and out of my opening, fucking me slowly until I grab his hair. A familiar warmth spreads up from my belly. He knows I must be close, but instead of increasing his speed, he stops completely, and I whine at the loss of his mouth.
“What the f—”
Before I can finish, he reaches up and grabs the middle of my tights, ripping them down the center.
The shredded fabric pools on the floor and he grips my leg, hauling it over his shoulder to gain better access.
Then his mouth is back on me and he’s flicking my clit with his tongue as he slides his middle finger back in.
He continues that way, tonguing my clit and pumping his finger until I’m panting, my cheeks hot, sweat starting to bead at my temple, despite the freezing temperature of the house.
My fading orgasm returns full force, surging like it’s going to completely wreck me, but it still hovers at the edge.
That’s when Ashton looks up, we lock eyes, he crooks his finger while his thumb rubs my clit, and I shatter.
I don’t fall. I’m knocked off a fucking cliff.
Waves of ecstasy crash into me and I scream and curse, my legs shaking as I come hard on his tongue.
Ashton works me through the aftershocks, not moving his mouth until it becomes too much, and I gently guide his head back.
He lets go of my skirt, righting it so it covers me as he gets up from the floor.
He’s completely disheveled now, his clothes wrinkled, hair sticking up in all directions, lips red and swollen.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smooths out his shirt.
I wait for the regret to claw at my back, but it doesn’t.
Instead, my ragged breathing starts to even out and I take a tentative step forward, though my legs are still wobbly.
Ashton takes a step toward me as well, angling his mouth so it’s close to my ear like he likes to do.
“Didn’t seem like you were faking that time,” he whispers. Then he turns around and walks out the door.