22. Ash #2
I point at the long windowless wall he’s completely filled with work that has no business being hidden up here, trying to hold a serious expression until he crashes back into me.
“Absolutely not.”
Walking backward, I try not to knock over the drying rack. My hip clips the rolling cart, and Kael catches the jar I nearly send flying while keeping one hand twisted in my shirt. Smooth. Casual. Infuriatingly competent.
The bed, made up with dark blue sheets and a gray blanket folded cleanly at the foot, is tucked near the far wall under a tall window.
“There it is,” he says, pointing behind him like I might have missed the only bed in the room.
“I see it.”
“Good. Because I’m done pretending I brought you up here for the ambience.”
I catch him by the waist before he can make another joke and pull him in. His back hits my chest, his laugh rumbling through us both, and the fact that I’m in his place settles over me just before he turns in my arms and drags me down onto the bed.
I kiss him hard, then force myself to slow down.
I want to savor stripping him, even if my body has already moved well past patience.
The flour on his shirt and streak of sauce near his wrist are proof of our date.
Proof of talking and laughing and the strange, terrifying truth that I liked him more after every minute we spent together.
Maybe I’m not breaking the rule if it already served its purpose.
By the time I get him naked, he’s flushed and impatient beneath me, legs spread, hair a mess against his neatly made bed. He has condoms and lube in the drawer, and he gives me a fond, devastating look when I fumble both like I’ve never seen either one before.
“This is me trying to stay calm,” I say.
“Great news. It’s incredibly convincing.”
I flip the cap open and squeeze. Way too much slick, cold lube floods my palm and drips between my fingers onto his thigh.
“Oh, fuck. Sorry.” I stare at my hand like there might be a responsible next step written on it.
Kael laughs, low and breathless, then catches my wrist before I can make it worse. “Ash.”
“I know. Too much.”
“Perfect amount.” His voice roughens as he guides my hand between his legs. “See?”
The joke frays the second my fingers touch his entrance. His breath catches. His hand tightens around my wrist, holding me there.
I laugh against his shoulder, then take my time watching his face for every change and hitch of breath. He grips my shoulders hard enough to leave marks. When he finally rocks down against my fingers, all that curated control around us vanishes from his expression.
“Okay,” he says, voice rougher now. “I’ve been very patient, considering I have been half hard since your fruit mobile rolled up. Now, please stop looking at me like you’re waiting for a permission slip and fuck me.”
I’m shaking when I roll on the condom and line myself up. I’ve had sex before. Plenty of times. It just never felt like stepping into a room I wasn’t sure I deserved to enter.
“Tell me if you need me to stop.”
“I will.” His hand slides behind my neck, pulling me close enough that his mouth brushes mine. “And Ash? I mean it. I want you here. Don’t make me say something earnest twice. I’ll get hives.”
A laugh slips out of me, and it’s enough to help me relax enough to push in slowly, the world narrowing to the heat of him taking me and to the sound of his gasp against my mouth.
Then it expands. Somehow, impossibly, it expands.
The room, the bed, the art, the man beneath me. More than I know what to do with.
I pause until his hips tilt up in demand.
Calculation falls to the feeling of him saying my name like he wants me here.
Kael’s head tips back, wrecked, his glasses slightly crooked, and somehow still perfectly himself.
“You feel good,” he says, before one deep breath. “Really fucking good.”
That does more to me than any dirty line or joke could have.
I kiss him and let my body take over. It’s been ready for this since before we stepped inside.
The bed knocks softly against the wall. A jar rattles on the nearby rolling cart.
Kael laughs into my mouth, breathless and bright, and I have no idea how laughter makes this hotter, but it does. Everything about him does.
His hand slides between us, and watching him touch himself while he takes me almost ends me on the spot. I lean closer to breathe him in, sweat and sauce and flour and paint, like the whole night has gathered on his skin.
I reach down to replace his hand, and his hips stutter up into mine.
“Fuck,” he says. “Okay. Yeah, but—”
He comes hard over my fist, spilling across his chest with a broken sound that turns into laughter, like even he can’t believe how little it took. Before I can do anything but stare, he hooks both hands around my ass and pulls me deeper.
That finishes me. I come hard, barely managing to hold myself over him until my arms threaten to give out.
Kael kisses my jaw, soft enough to undo me all over again, and I flop to his side. We end up tangled together, breathing too hard, both of us inching closer instead of away.
Eventually he slides out of bed. “Stay there. I’m just going to clean up.” His cheeks go blotchy in the low light. “Also, you should stay the night. You don’t have to. I’m only saying it because it’s late and your clown car is probably legally classified as a scooter and—”
I stand. “Oh, I’m staying the night. But there’s no way I’m letting you clean up in peace.”