45. Better Than Tacos
BETTER THAN TACOS
Mark
“Hannah, hey.” I smile at my sister and try to look casual. But it’s possible I have crazy eyes and mussed hair.
My poker face is gone forever, I think. It met its match in the form of Asher St. James.
“Hey to you,” my sister says, giving me a funny smile. “Did you read my text?”
“No. Why?” I pull my phone out of my pocket and tap on her name.
That message I didn’t want to read about Asher? It says:
Hannah : Mark, before you get here, you should know that Asher is here, and he is watching the door like a lonely dog at the end of the day. I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but please show up and put him out of his misery.
I laugh out loud. “You’re hilarious.”
“Can I assume from the beard-burn on your face that you two got reacquainted?”
“Yeah.” My laugh turns embarrassed. “About that . . . We’re, uh, leaving. Sorry to take off. But he’s going to spend the weekend so . . .” I feel my face burn bright red.
Hannah doubles over laughing. “This is great. I’m going to tease you about this for years . Remember when Flip turned thirty and you spent five minutes at his party and then left to have sex?”
“We’ll probably go out to dinner first,” I sputter.
She laughs harder.
“Weekends are short, and then he’ll go back to France.” I clear my throat and try to clear my head. “This is our only chance.”
“I see how it is.” She gives me a little shove toward the door. “Go on. You know you want to.”
“Thanks.” My face is still aflame. But it’s totally worth it. I lean in and kiss her cheek. “Love you.”
“Love you too, Marky Mark. Now scram.”
I don’t make her say it again. With a wave and a smile, I head for the door. On my way I spot Asher, standing beside Flip, the two of them lost in conversation. So I head outside alone to wait for him on the street.
Because, unfortunately, there’s someone else I need to talk to.
Bridget answers on the second ring. “Talk fast because I’m frosting cupcakes.”
“About that,” I say slowly. “I’m sorry, Bridge, but I can’t do T-ball tomorrow.” I could do it. But I don’t want to leave Asher in my bed at seven-thirty in the morning to handle something that’s Bridget’s problem. Not this time. Not when I have less than forty-eight hours with him.
“Mark! I’m literally frosting the cupcakes.”
I take a deep, slow breath so I don’t explode. “Look. Earlier I said I could do it. I was wrong. You can find a way. Ask Valencia. Ask Morgan. There’s a friend in town that I never get to see, and I’m going to do that. I’m going to live my damn life.”
“A friend in town? At seven-thirty tomorrow morning?”
Clearly, she doesn’t think I deserve a life if she can’t do the math here. My silence fills in the blanks for her.
“Oh,” she says, with a sigh. “Well, look, like I said earlier. I’m glad you’re doing your thing. That’s great. But what if you swung by the ball field later? At nine? We could do a handoff.”
“No,” I say immediately. “We’re not negotiating right now. I never say no to you. Never. I’ve spent the last year terrified that Rosie would think I don’t care about her. But you take advantage of that, Bridge.”
She makes an irritated squeak. “I do not .”
“Not intentionally,” I concede. “But you never hesitate to ask me to step in. And for once in my life, I’m saying no.”
“Fine,” she snaps. “Fine. I’ll figure something out.”
“I’m sure you will,” I say softly.
She hangs up.
Huh. I guess I won’t be getting any more of those tacos anytime soon. But damn, that felt good. A whole lot better than tacos. I take another deep, cleansing breath and wait for my weekend surprise ?yes, I like the surprise of Asher very much?to emerge from the preppy mansion.
He doesn’t make me wait too long, either. Only two minutes have passed when the door opens for the man who’s got a weekend bag slung over his shoulder. “All right, Banks. Where to?”
“Let’s see . . .” I check the time. “It’s barely past seven, and you’ve been on a plane all day. Want to walk a bit in Central Park?”
“That sounds great,” he says. “Although, you’re probably hungry. I could find us somewhere to have dinner.”
“Actually . . .” I eye the V of golden skin that’s visible in the open collar of his shirt. “I already ate.”
“Did you?” His gaze travels to my mouth. And he licks his lips. “I took a nice long walk already too. I asked the cab driver to drop me at the corner of Sixtieth, so I could wake up a little before walking into that party.”
“Interesting,” I say.
“Mmm,” he agrees. “So what’s your next idea?”
I stick my hand in the air. “Taxi!”
“More,” Asher growls. “Yes. Harder.”
I look down at the muscular Adonis that I’m currently drilling into my bed. He’s on his back, strong arms braced against the headboard, staring up at me with lust-filled hazel eyes. His chest is flushed and his lips are swollen from our make-out session in the taxi.
Barely twenty minutes have passed since we stumbled into my apartment and began shedding our clothes in a breadcrumb trail from the entrance, through the living room, down the hall, and into my bed.
We’d communicated in only one-word commands, like yes , more , baby.
Except for when Asher managed to string four words together at once: fuck me right now .
Yessir . So here we are, with me groaning through ragged thrusts, losing my ever-loving mind. “Fuck.” I’m valiantly trying to stave off the inevitable. “Close,” I warn.
The problem is made worse by Asher’s big hands that wander along my bare chest, lighting me up wherever they land. And then there’s the view of his flexing pecs, dusted with honey-toned hair. The six pack makes me drool, too.
But the thing that’s got me hanging by a thread is the look of ownership in his sex-darkened eyes. Like he needs me as much as I need him right now. Like he’s burning up for it.
“Fuck,” he moans with all the eloquence the moment calls for. “Roll.”
“What?”
He doesn’t explain. He takes action instead, wrapping his legs around my ass, grabbing my shoulders and rolling me underneath him. In the time it takes me to do a slow blink, I’m on my back while Asher rides my dick with athletic finesse.
And, whoa . If I thought the view was good before, now it’s mind-shattering. Asher’s pistoning body rocks over mine in a feral swagger as he takes me deep. Those bright eyes roam my frame with an intensity that I can feel almost like a sunburn.
The change in position has done good things for my stamina, too. I reach for his cock and give it a lazy stroke, his hot girth sliding against my palm.
He groans, a vein in his neck pulsing. “So. Good.” He locks his arms against the headboard and stares into my eyes. I’m so turned on, but I’m also completely at peace with this man and his warm gaze and the sound of our skin slapping in a naughty rhythm.
This moment is everything . I’ve missed him so much.
But then Asher does something that blows up my self-control once again. He leans down to kiss me.
I have to crane my neck to meet him. But the moment our tongues touch, I let out a moan. Because it’s all too much. His taste and his skin and the scent of sex.
“Come,” he whispers against my lips. “Do it.”
And, yup. I’m done just like that—pouring my entire soul into the condom with a teeth-rattling groan.
“Baby, yesssss,” Asher says, the words a scrape against my lips. Then he shudders and paints my chest as he slows down the pump of his hips. Like a wind-up toy winding down, he slows to a stop before collapsing in a sweaty mess on my chest.
Everything is silent except for the thump of my heart against his. We’re still in the midst of a long, slow kiss that eventually ends with a wet snick .
After a long moment of stillness, I realize I’m clutching his body to my chest, as if afraid that he’ll get away from me. I relax my grip, and Asher eases off with a quiet moan. “Wow.”
“Wow.”
He flops onto the bed beside me, and neither of us says a word for a few minutes. My thoughts are billowing around the room. I wonder briefly what I did to deserve this bliss.
“So this is your place,” Asher says in a gruff, blissed-out voice.
“Yup,” is all I can manage.
“You have navy sheets and a one-eyed cat.”
I pick up my head just a few degrees and spot Blackbeard licking his paw on top of my dresser. “Yup.”
“I think he’s plotting to kill me.”
“He is. But I’ll save you.”
Asher laughs. He reaches for my hand, lifts it to his mouth, and kisses my knuckles.
This small maneuver makes me unreasonably happy. “So, what do you want to do this weekend?”
“I just did it,” he says. “And as soon as I’m able, we’ll do it again.”