Chapter Twenty-Three Imani
Asher’s suite is identical to mine, just on the other side of the hotel. While I have a picturesque lakeside view, his balcony opens onto the French Alps. But even with that kind of beauty just metres away, the only thing I’m focused on right now is Asher.
The second the door clicks shut behind us, the rest of the world falls away until the only thing I can hear is the sound of blood pounding in my ears.
‘Do you want—’ Asher starts, shifting slightly so he can gesture to the kitchen area to the right of the corridor.
‘No,’ I say, without waiting for him to finish his sentence.
It doesn’t matter anyway. I know exactly what he’s going to say.
He’s going to ask if I want a drink or something to eat or some other banal social nicety, and then we’ll awkwardly dance around the real reason I’m here in the first place.
We’ll pretend like we don’t feel the heat crackling between us every time we catch each other’s eye.
I’m tired of pretending.
And from the way he’s looking at me? I think he is too.
I step forward, feeling bolder and more like myself than I have in months, and cup his face in my hands. I run my thumb along his cheekbone and he tilts his head into the touch, eyes fluttering shut ever so slightly. ‘The only thing I want right now, is you.’
His eyes snap wide open and he makes a noise that sounds halfway between a whimper and a desperate groan. It takes me a second to realise he’s saying my name. ‘Imani.’
‘Please,’ I murmur, and I don’t need to elaborate. He knows exactly what I’m asking for.
Without a hint of hesitation, we pick up where we left off earlier this afternoon. It’s as if the hours between then and now were just one long inhale we’re finally letting go of.
There’s nothing tentative about this kiss. There’s no hesitation, no room for second thoughts or self-doubt. It’s the kind of kiss that steals every rational thought from your mind and replaces it with something raw and fevered.
I need more.
I grip the front of his shirt just to stay upright as he backs me towards the wall, his lips tracing fire down the side of my throat. His hands find my waist; mine slide up his chest, popping off the buttons on his shirt as I go.
I drag my nails down his chest and enjoy the way he breathes my name against my mouth like a prayer. I slide my hand back up to his collar and tug him closer until there’s no space left between us, until I can feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat against mine.
It feels like I’m pouring every last emotion that’s been building up inside me these last few months into the kiss; the ache of pretending, the frustration, the impossible pull towards him that’s been coiling tighter and tighter in the pit of my stomach every day.
I want him to feel what I can’t say out loud.
That I like him.
That I like him so much it’s starting to terrify me.
That I wish things were different and we actually had a chance at being something together.
That I’m sorry.
Asher kisses me back like he already knows all of it.
Like he’s already forgiven me. His lips trace the corner of my mouth then the curve of my jaw and then the space just below my ear.
I let out a soft moan when his nose grazes the line of my throat.
He pauses there for a second, and I feel the way his lips curve slightly against my skin before he bites down on the spot where my pulse is racing the hardest.
I let out a cry and arch against the wall, as he goes seamlessly from biting the spot to sucking at it gently.
His tongue laps at the sore spot and the sensation of it sends a jolt of arousal shooting through me.
I can feel my nipples hardening to tiny, pointed peaks through the fabric of my dress and I squirm underneath him.
Off, I think. I want them off. My clothes. His. Off. Off. Off.
I open my mouth to voice the thoughts running circles in my mind, but Asher takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside and I melt against him, all my thoughts and words dissolving into a breathy whimper.
My hands find his shoulders, then his hair, and I tug just hard enough to make him groan into my mouth again.
It’s a sound I want to bottle and play back on every lonely night when I’m up late wondering, what if we ever had an actual chance?
He grinds into me and I gasp as I feel, for the first time, the weight of his firm dick pressing against me. God. I lift a leg and wrap it around his waist and have to bite back a moan of pleasure as he slides against the fabric of my panties.
Have I ever wanted anyone this badly before?
Have I ever been so desperate? So wet and ready?
I don’t think so. There’s something about him – something about the way his hands dig into the curve of my ass as he effortlessly carries me like I’m weightless across the room – that seems to set every nerve ending in my body alight.
‘You,’ he groans, face buried in the crook of my neck, ‘are going to be the end of me.’
So we’re on the same page, then.
He comes to a stop at the foot of the bed and sets me down gently in front of it. Before I have the chance to question him and ask why he didn’t drop me down onto the soft duvet and ravish me like I deserve (and desperately want), he reaches behind me and finds the zipper of my dress.
He doesn’t drag it down right away; instead, he toys with it, letting it slide a few millimetres before he tugs it back up again. Each slow inch feels deliberate, and I realise he’s giving me a preview of what’s going to come later.
I make an irritated sound and he laughs. ‘Alright, love.’
Love.
After everything we’ve done so far, I’m not sure why this in particular makes my heart skip a beat.
Maybe it’s the gentleness with which he’s touching me.
Maybe it’s the way he’s staring at me, refusing to break eye contact as his finger plays with my zipper.
Whatever it is, my breath catches in my throat.
He finally tugs the zipper all the way, then hooks a finger beneath the strap of my dress and slides it gently downwards, his lips chasing the path his fingers just took.
‘Ash…’ I start, squirming on the spot. My legs feel like jelly and I want to move onto the bed, but his mouth drifts lower, to the curve of my shoulder and his name evaporates on my tongue.
He tugs at my dress with his other hand and it slides down my body, pooling at my feet in a waterfall of black silk.
I kick it to the side, suddenly acutely aware that I’m standing in front of him wearing only a thong and some heels.
I have no urge to cover up though. Not while he’s staring at me like that.
It feels like his gaze alone could set me on fire. My skin prickles and warms in quick succession as he reaches out and traces a finger around the swell of my breast. He circles my nipple with his thumb and every single coherent thought I’ve ever had evaporates in an instant.
I reach for him and then step backwards, pulling him down onto the bed with me, my legs automatically wrapping around his waist to keep him close. The point of my heels scrape against his back, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
He groans my name again and again like a mantra as he rocks into me. His dick is straining against the soft fabric of his trousers and I reach down to unbuckle his belt.
The metal buckle slides loose in my hand and suddenly it feels like we’re both teetering at the edge of something massive and inevitable.
I can feel the heat of his body pressing into my palm as I push his trousers down over his hips.
He shoves them the rest of the way, kicking them off with a shuddery exhale, and now it’s just his boxers between us.
The outline of him straining against the dark fabric is insane and I don’t even bother pretending to be shy. I reach for him. He groans, low and rough, when my knuckles brush against the hard outline of his dick beneath his boxers.
He’s so hard it’s almost obscene.
He leans in, mouth hungry on mine, and the kiss is all teeth and tongue and a desperate, frantic need that matches my own. I can taste the yes, yes, yes in every slide of his mouth and the pressure of his hands on my body.
‘Tell me you want this as much as I do,’ he manages to rasp out, voice so raw I barely recognise it.
There’s a searching look in his eyes that makes my stomach drop.
He looks like he’s terrified this isn’t real.
I answer by arching my back and pushing my breasts against his chest. He cups them in both hands, thumbs circling my nipples until they’re pebbled and aching until I’m seconds away from actually begging for more. Warmth blooms everywhere he touches.
He hovers over me and flicks his tongue over my nipple before pulling it between his lips.
I let out a deep, keening cry, but he doesn’t stop. His mouth is hot and hungry and every pull and lap of his tongue makes my breath come out in ragged, high-pitched bursts. I arch my back, offering more, desperate for more, and his hands pin my hips to the bed like he’s afraid I might float away.
‘Asher, I…’ but I don’t even know what I’m asking for.
He moves to the other breast, lavishing the same attention on that peaked, over sensitive bud until I’m nearly seeing stars. My hips tilt up, searching for friction, and his free hand finds my thigh, stroking up, up, up until he’s gripping right beneath where I want him most.
I’m seconds from combusting.
He palms at my hip then hooks his thumb around the delicate lace of my thong and pulls, not slow this time but a rough, urgent tug that has the flimsy piece of fabric sliding down my legs in record time.
‘Look at you,’ he rasps, voice half shattered. ‘You’re perfect.’
I want to laugh, but it comes out as a whimper instead. I want to say, you make me like this, but there’s no spare air in my lungs for words. His mouth drags up my chest, along my collarbone, licking and kissing, until he finally takes my mouth again.