Chapter 23 Asher
ASHER
Back in our bedroom, now that we’re finally alone, I bury my face in Ella’s neck, inhaling her scent.
A light vanilla and amber. It’s my favorite smell.
I run my hands down over her ass, squeezing.
I’ve been ogling it in this black gown all night, tormented that I couldn’t touch it.
With all my self-control officially used up for the night, I unzip the back of her dress, unable to wait another second.
It flutters down her body, landing in a light heap at her feet.
Then I let go and walk past her, pulling my phone out of my pocket.
“What are you doing?” she asks, clearly puzzled that I unburdened her of her dress but then walked away. I ignore her question and pull the chair from the small table in the corner to the center of the room as I thumb through my playlist until I find the perfect, slow, sultry song.
I sit down on the chair and take in the gorgeous siren of a woman standing in front of me. She’s perfect. And all mine.
“I officially dare you to give me a lap dance, Ms. Hale.”
Her eyes light with a playful glint.
I push play on my phone.
“You think you can handle a lap dance, Mr. Langford?”
“I know I can.”
“It’s been two days since we had sex,” she says, smirking.
I pause the music. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, you must be . . . backed up.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes. “That won’t be a problem.”
“We’ll see. If you want a lap dance then you’ll need to pay up, and I’m not cheap. What kind of bills are we working with?”
I pull my wallet out of my pants pocket. Then I pull a wad of bills out. “Hundreds.”
“How many are in there?”
I thumb through them. “Twenty. But you’ll have to work very, very hard to earn all twenty.”
She smiles wickedly again. “I don’t want to work too hard; it’s been a long day after all. But I do have a counteroffer—a raise in the stakes, if you will. You reward me as you see fit with those bills, but if I make you come prematurely, I get all of them.”
I scoff again. “That won’t fucking happen.”
“We’ll see. Turn that music up.”
She stalks toward me in her black lacy bra and thong and her sleek black heels.
God, I’m already hard and she’s just walking toward me.
Walking like a sex goddess, but still just walking.
I cough and adjust myself. There’s no way I’ll let her win.
I couldn’t give two shits about the money, but it’s the principle of the thing.
I don’t lose. And I certainly don’t blow my load in my pants.
She steps up to me, straddling my legs while standing above me.
Then she bends and rolls her body into mine, dragging her tits, then her pussy up my chest. Motherfucker.
I bite down to keep from groaning. Her first move, and I’m already almost panting.
I shove the first hundred-dollar bill into her thong.
I may be determined to win, but I always reward exemplary work.
She threads her hands through my hair and yanks my head backward until I’m looking up at her, then she brushes her tits lightly over my face. I now realize I need to pray to God and thank him—her, them?—for blessing her with the hottest, more gorgeous set of tits ever created.
I slide the next bill into her thong.
She flips around and straddles my legs, facing away from me, and I’m frozen, staring at her bare ass cheeks and her slip of a thong directly in front of my face.
I flex my jaw, and my groan is reduced to a grunt.
She bends down and wraps her hands around her ankles, and it takes everything in me to hold back and not clamp my mouth down and bite her ass.
She arches her back and slowly stands up, flipping her hair, and it tumbles down her back.
Then she slowly, so slowly it’s almost criminal, lowers herself until she’s sitting, straddling my lap, still facing away from me.
She reaches behind with one arm and wraps her hand around the back of my neck and rolls her hips, grinding her ass into my cock.
Fuckity fuck. I’m already hard, and now it’s torture keeping my cock in my pants, it’s straining so hard. I tuck a third bill into her thong.
Good god, this woman.
I refuse to lose.
But I may have very much underestimated my opponent.
Just as I grab her hips, wishing she was moving like this with my cock inside her, she flips around and slides off, kneeling in front of me.
She places both of her hands on my knees, and rolls her body up along mine again, this time brushing her tits over my cock.
Her breath grazes my neck before she arches back again, and those perfect tits are once again thrust right in my face as the rest of her arches away.
I shove two more bills into her thong.
She moves away from me, still swaying, moving sinuously to the slow erotic pulse of the music.
She turns, facing away from me, and slides her hands up her ass, up her sides, then her arms reach the clasp of her bra.
She undoes it then slowly peels the bands away from one another.
She turns to the side just slightly. I can’t see her tits, she hides them with a slightly raised shoulder, but I watch as the black strap of her bra snakes its way down her arm until it’s around her wrist and falls with a soft thud to the floor.
When she turns around, both her hands cup her breasts, but her breasts are large enough compared to her hands that ample cleavage spills out in all directions. I adjust my cock again. The traitor. My pants feel like a jail, and my cock is begging for freedom.
She walks back toward me, and this time she slowly lowers herself to straddle me while facing me.
Then her hands turn inward, and she leans back and with aching slowness, sliding her hands down her breasts then down her stomach.
When her hands leave her breasts, I’m rewarded only a partial view of her perfect tits since her hair hangs over them, but as she leans back more, her nipples peak through, and her hair slides out of the way.
All I want to do is lean forward and take one of those perfect nipples in my mouth.
Her hands finish their descent, brushing over her pussy, and I hiss as they ghost over my cock. I add three more hundred-dollar bills to her thong. She arches more, with her hands anchored on my knees, and grinds up and down the length of my cock.
Shit. Junior isn’t handling this well. It’s too sensitive, and the straining against my pants with the perfect, rolling motion of her pussy is sending sparks and blood pumping through it.
Her back straightens from its arch, and she leans forward, placing both hands on the back of my chair and resting her forearms on my shoulders, and then she starts to move again. Now all I can think of is how much I want to be inside her.
Focus, brain.
She rises, rolling her hips in ways that are definitely illegal in some places in the world—I’m sure of it—and again, she lightly drags her tits and then her pussy up my chest. Her tits brush my face, and this time there’s no hiding my groan.
Fucking hell, I’m going to lose.
No, I’m not.
Focus, brain. Shut up, cock.
But shut up, it will not. And maybe Ella has a point.
Maybe because I haven’t been inside her for two days, maybe because I’ve been near her all day and couldn’t touch her, and also maybe because I watched that leaked video of her doing that dance in those fucking heels, like, fifteen times—but my cock is near its end.
I’ve had an entire day of temptation without release.
An entire day of looking at Ella and imaging all the depraved things I want to do to her.
An entire day of wishing my cock was sheathed inside her because lately that’s the only place I want to be and the only place I feel whole.
No matter the reasons, I’m about to lose this little contest. No matter how hard I’m concentrating. No matter how much I hate losing.
And she’s not just winning, she’s about to fucking destroy me.
And when she leans back and grinds her pussy again along my lap and up my chest, I can smell the dampness between her legs. My last tether slips, and I explode. Like a fourteen-year-old, I bust a nut in my pants, staining my very expensive tux with a load of hot cum.
Ella leans forward again, hearing my shout, and smiles triumphantly. She reaches down and runs her hands over my cock, chuckling darkly when she feels the damp circle on my pants.
“Pay up, Langford.”
Now I chuckle and slap the wad of cash into her waiting palm.
I’ve never enjoyed losing so much.
She surprises me by dropping to her knees in front of me, unbuckling my belt, and unzipping my pants.
“Let’s see what we have here,” she says, yanking on my pants and underwear. I lift my hips to oblige.
My cock is now half-hard and covered in cum. She brushes her finger over the head, and I hiss.
“Poor thing has been neglected the last two days,” she says, giving it a sweet kiss.
I groan. “We’re about to rectify that. Get on the bed.”
She giggles as she stands and saunters over to the nightstand, dropping her wad of cash onto it. Then she pulls the other bills out of her thong, and they join the others on the nightstand. She starts to step out of her heels, but I practically snarl at her.
“Don’t you dare take those off. Between the video and that fucking lap dance, I’ve watched you dancing like a minx in heels all day, and now I’m going to fuck you in heels.”
She laughs and climbs on the bed, and I’m tearing off my clothes and throwing them any which way as I make my way toward her.
I practically leap onto the bed and hover over her, then take her thong between my hands and shred it, tearing it off her.
With no other preamble, I shove my already re-hardened cock inside her, hissing and groaning at the pleasure.
“This cunt is mine,” I remind her in a growl.
“Yes,” she breathes.
“Only my cock gets to be inside you.”
“Only you, Asher.”
“That’s fucking right.”
And then I fuck her hard and fast, unable to see or think through the lust blinding my mind.
Ella is my drug of choice. My addiction.
The need to be inside her, to fill her, to come inside her, dominates so many of my thoughts lately.
It’s overwhelming, consuming. Because as I feel sweet relief at finally being inside her, I realize she is more than my addiction.
She’s my home.