Chapter 17 #2
Asher exhales, low and filthy. “Jesus Christ.” His thumbs press into the soft flesh of my inner thighs, holding me open, and his breath fans over my pussy, making me twitch.
“So fucking wet for me already.” His tongue darts out, just the tip, tracing my slit from entrance to clit in one slow, deliberate stroke.
My back bows off the couch, a whine tearing from my throat.
“Please—”
“Please what?” He blows a cool stream of air over my heated flesh, and I shudder, my hands flying to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands.
His chuckle vibrates against my thigh. “Use your words, baby. Tell me exactly what you want me to do to this.”
I can’t. I won’t. But my body betrays me, hips lifting, chasing his mouth, and he laughs again, dark and knowing.
“That’s what I thought.” His lips seal over my clit, tongue flicking in quick, relentless strokes, and my vision whites out for a second.
“Fucking greedy for it,” he mutters against me, the words muffled, vibrating.
His fingers dig into my thighs, holding me still as his tongue continues to fuck me.
“Asher—fuck—”
“Say it,” he demands, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with me. “Say ‘Asher, please make me come with your filthy mouth.’” His thumb presses against my clit, rubbing in slow, maddening circles while his tongue pushes inside me again, curling, fucking me with it.
I’m going to die. I’m going to combust.
My fingers tighten in his hair, yanking, and he groans, the sound sending another wave of heat through me.
“Such a good girl,” he praises, voice rough, his breath hot against my skin. “Taking my tongue so well. You like that? Like being used like this?”
I can’t form coherent thoughts, let alone words, but my body answers for me—my hips rocking, aching for more. He gives in, his mouth sealing over me again, his tongue working me over like he’s starving, like he’ll never get enough.
And when his fingers finally join in, two of them sinking inside me, curling at just the right—
I shatter.
Kissing his way back up, he hovers above my face, eyes searching mine. “Once I've been inside you, Venom, you're done. You don't touch your husband ever again.” I'm about to tell him the truth, that I—his cock slips in as he groans over my mouth.
Goosebumps rise across his skin. “I mean it.”
He drags his cock through my folds, coating himself in how wet I am.
The slow, deliberate slide makes my breath catch, makes me aware of every nerve ending between my legs.
Back and forth, he works himself against me, gathering my slickness on his length while I fight not to move, not to push down and take what he's denying me.
I sink my teeth into my cheek until copper floods my mouth.
The metallic taste spreads across my tongue, mixing with the salt of sweat beading on my upper lip.
My heart slams against my ribs—each beat violent enough to crack bone.
I can hear it in my ears, feel it in my throat, this frantic rhythm that belongs to him now whether I want it to or not.
Heat pools low in my belly, my thighs trembling where they bracket his hips.
My body opens for him, betraying every wall I've built, every promise I made about keeping him out. Years of control, of careful distance, and here I am melting against him like wax near flame.
My hair spills over the sofa's edge as his body drives mine deeper into the cushions, air punching out of my lungs. His hips pin me, legs spreading me without asking, every muscle in me going loose under the press of him.
His tongue drags along my jaw, hot and slow, each stroke deliberate, possessive.
His hand moves down, knuckles brushing over my ribs, my waist, the dip between my hips until silk stops him.
He cups my pussy through the thin fabric, his whole palm covering me, fingers flexing like he owns the place.
Heat floods out from that point, sharp and needy.
My spine arches, limbs useless, bones turning to water under his hands.
Our tongues collide, wet and demanding, and then he pulls back just enough to control the pace, kissing me slow, deep, dragging it out until my head spins with regret.
Regret that I waited so damn long to go all in.
Pressure coils tight in my core, a spring wound to breaking point, my release hovering just beyond reach.
His lips peel away from mine, his breath ghosting over my swollen mouth.
“I've never—” My words dissolve into a gasp as he fills me completely, stretching me in ways I never knew possible.
My nails dig crescents into his shoulders as he drives back in, claiming me with a possessive force that steals my breath and my sanity in equal measure.
He drives into me with calculated brutality, each thrust designed to break me apart. The rhythm punishes—slow enough that I feel every inch, fast enough that I can't catch my breath.
His eyes hold mine, feral and focused. The hunger there swallows me whole. All those years of circling each other, all that vicious restraint—it was foreplay stretched across time itself. Every memory, every loaded glance, every moment we denied this was just winding the spring tighter.
Now it snaps.
He doesn't fuck me—he dismantles me, piece by broken piece, and savors every second of my unraveling as if he saw it all along and lived for the day I allowed him to pet it.
Taste it.
Own it.
Resting his forehead against mine, his hand cradles my cheek as he forces my gaze to his.
“If only I met you first.” His voice breaks on the confession, causing me to hesitate.
He claims my mouth. With each drive of his hips, my head collides with the couch. In this moment, the world narrows to just us.
His lips never leave mine, one arm locked around my back like he’s afraid I’m going to disappear.
In one fluid motion, he pulls me back up until I'm straddling him. He leans back, eyes darting behind me every few seconds.
“Harder,” he commands, voice thick with need.
His fingers dig into my ass hard enough to leave marks I'll feel tomorrow. I groan, falling forward against his chest and picking up my pace. His cock stretches me full, hitting deep as he drives up from underneath. Every thrust knocks the air from my lungs.
My muscles lock, breath catching as heat coils low and violent in my belly, dragging me toward that edge again.
His hand wraps around my throat, controlling my rhythm as he guides me up and down.
I break apart. The orgasm tears through me, violent, merciless, and I'm screaming into the granite while my pussy clenches around his cock in desperate, rhythmic pulses.
My thighs shake so hard I can barely hold position as he slows, grinding deep through each aftershock while his cock throbs and empties inside me, hot spurts of cum marking me from the inside out with every final thrust.
I'm flipped again, ass high, face down, tasting blood where I've bitten my tongue.
Fingers slide beneath silk like he's playing an instrument he knows by heart, but my muscles lock at the memory. The one I've buried so fucking deep it takes touch to resurrect it.
Without a word, his mouth finds my inner thigh. Hot. Wet. Deliberate.
His palm cracks against my ass. “Grab your ankles.”
“What—”
“—ankles, Ivy.”
I obey. I've fucked enough men to know what experience looks like. I don't blush at mirrors or flinch from my own reflection, but right now, bent in half with my cunt dripping his cum down my thighs, I'm flayed open. Not the nakedness. Him. The way he sees through skin to the marrow beneath.
Kicking my legs wide, the thick head of his cock drags through my soaked folds from behind. Teasing. The wet slide of him against my entrance makes my thighs shake, makes me want to slam back and impale myself on every brutal inch just to kill this hollow ache.
As if I needed reminding that so long as he's around, I'll never feel empty inside.
The drive of his hips has me collapsing forward, and I fist the side table as he hammers into me. My pussy clenches around his cock, insides liquefying as his palm brands the hollow of my back, each finger a point of electric contact that shoots straight to my clit.
Barely catching my breath or the slaughter of his wrath, I choke. “I can’t–Asher, I’m gonna–” Pleasure detonates through my body, fatigue dragging me under. My body howls for him, to wear his violence like a brand that screams who owns me.
To remind everyone who I belong to.
“Yeah, you can. How's that cock feel splitting you open, hmmm?” he coos, his hips grinding deep and deliberate now, his palm skating up my ribs until his fingers graze the underside of my breast—a promise, a threat, everything I need him to take.
“Real good,” I moan, chewing on my bottom lip. I’ve never, ever been vocal in bed.
“Real good, huh?” Asher growls, thrusting hard until my ass claps against his hips. “How good?”
“The best,” I breathe through a smirk, my orgasm coiling tight in my core, ready to detonate. “Mine.”
His cock twitches inside me at the word, every muscle in his body going rigid beneath me, but I don't care because I'm there, right fucking there, and this one's going to destroy me.
The pressure builds too sharp, climbs too high, stretches too long—my pussy clenching around him like I'm trying to break us both.
“Fuck.” The word tears from my throat as I shatter, every nerve ending firing at once, my spine bowing as pleasure rips through me.
He collapses backward against the couch, his cock pulsing deep as he empties himself inside me, and his teeth find the tender spot between my shoulder blades—not gentle, never gentle—marking me as his hips jerk up one final time, grinding out every last second of his release.
We stay locked together, my thighs still trembling against his hips, his cock staying hard inside me while neither of us moves to separate.
His chest expands beneath me, each breath slower than the last until his heartbeat steadies under my cheek.
I trace the ink that wraps beneath his biceps, following each delicate leaf with my fingertip. “Huh.”
His arm flexes around me, muscles shifting as he angles his head to see what I'm studying. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” I whisper, my throat swelling as sadness sweeps in. “It’s just that this tattoo looks like a vine.”
He pauses. “Huh. Weird.”
I rest my chin against my hand and peer up at him as he widens his legs and pulls the blanket over my body. His chest is a canvas for every artist, and each tattoo draws my attention to different things. Beautiful. Everything about him is beautiful.
He lifts his outer leg, caging me in, and my heart constricts at the thought of it just being him and me and no one else like the last time we were here together, only we wasted that time fighting what fate had planned for us anyway.
“What’s the matter?” Simple words from a not so simple man. One I’ve known for longer than I do most, yet it feels like I’m meeting him for the very first time. As if I didn’t know him at all.
I can’t even see past the fact that once we leave here, there’s a possibility that I will lose him forever. That everything leading up to this point was for me to say goodbye after Winter Games.
I hate him.
I wait for the guilt to hit. The kind that should strangle me for thinking these things while wearing another man's ring. For being the type of woman who lets herself want this.
It doesn't come.
My father's voice cuts through the quiet. Let yourself love one day, Ivanya, or you might wake up one day and find yourself unlovable.
Shit advice, looking back. But at twelve, his words were gospel.
“Just thinking about my father.” I lose my thoughts on the perfect lines of his lips, how the top one dips in to form a bow, not the kind you wrap pretty things with, the kind you shoot with.
“You got my dick inside you, and you’re thinking about your dad?”
His smirk hits me somewhere deep, somewhere I've kept locked. God, I've missed this. Him.
My shoulders drop. “Asher, ew…”
He sees right through my deflection. His hands slide beneath my arms, dragging me up his body until we're face to face. His lips brush the tip of my nose. “Enough about that.”
Then his mouth claims mine again, harder this time. Something wars behind his kiss. Desperation, or restraint barely holding. The tension in his jaw, the grip of his fingers against my ribs, all of it screams of a man fighting himself.
Thank fuck for our no question zone friendship. Now more than ever.