Chapter 21 #2
“No.” I grab his hands and place them directly on me again, and a corner of his lips quirks up, amused. He watches every reaction, catalogs every gasp, every tremor.
Cool air hits my skin. I'm wearing a simple white bra, nothing special or sexy, but the way he looks at me makes me feel like I'm wrapped in luxury. “My god, you're so fucking beautiful.”
His hand hovers over my stomach, not quite touching. “May I?”
My heart thunders. “Please. ”
His palm flattens against my rib cage, and heat radiates from that one point of contact. His massive, scarred hand is so warm. He slides it up slowly, his thumb brushing the underside of my breast.
My back arches off the bed. I want him to touch me. I want him to touch me everywhere.
“Sensitive here,” he says, his accent thick. “Look at you, my beautiful girl. You're so responsive, aren't you?” I can't trust myself to speak right now, so I only nod. His smile is pure, unadulterated sin. “Good to know.”
He leans down and presses his mouth to my stomach, right above my navel, an open-mouthed kiss that's warm and wet, making my abs clench. I'm so sensitive there.
“Ashland, you can't—” He takes my wrists and pins them on either side of me. “Can't what?” he growls.
“Do you mean to tell me that you just told me to take you… that you've given me full permission, and now you're telling me what I can't do? What are you afraid of?”
“You know…” I say, gesturing to my curves. “I can't… I just… I don't?—”
“I know how you feel about yourself,” he says roughly. “You've said it. But I want you to know something right now, Bianca.”
He tips my chin up so my eyes are directly focused on his. There's nothing but sincerity in his gaze when he says to me, “I will worship your body night and day until you see that you're worthy of a shrine. Do you understand me?”
I nod.
“Are you going to behave yourself, or do I need to warm you up with a spanking before I continue?”
I shiver. My pussy aches, and yeah, I… “I… I want that. But not—not now,” I whisper.
Just for the hell of it, he bends down, rolls me over, and gives me a good, hard slap on the arse that sends arousal straight to my core. “Good girl,” he growls.
“Now, let me worship you. Not another word or I'll give you a proper spanking. Do you understand me?” The heat in his gaze tells me he knows exactly how turned on I get with the threat.
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
His stubble scrapes against my skin, and the sensation shoots straight between my thighs.
“You smell so good. Vanilla. Something sweet.” He presses a kiss, then another just below my bra. “Like summer.”
My hands reach for his head and I hold him there, needing the contact and the reassurance of my man against me. He kisses across my ribs, then down, following the line of my hip. His hands work on my jeans, undo the button, and I lift my hips to help him slide them down .
“So eager,” he murmurs against my hip bone, his Irish accent thick. “My sweet, eager girl.” The denim drags down my legs, torturously slow.
When I'm in nothing but my bra and panties, he groans. “Perfect. You're fucking perfect .”
His hands run up my calves, my knees, my thighs. “Fucking hell, lass.” Every touch leaves a trail of fire because my skin is so sensitive.
Every nerve ending is screaming. I'm trembling, and he's barely touched me. He settles between my thighs, his broad shoulders forcing my legs apart.
It's obscene and intimate, and when his breath ghosts across my inner thigh, I nearly die. “Ashland, my god. What are you?—”
“Shh,” he whispers and presses a kiss to my thigh. “Trust me. Are you alright?” His beautiful eyes meet mine. “Do you want me to stop?”
“I—yeah, I—” I swallow hard.
He reaches his left hand to mine and entwines our fingers, holding my hand. “Breathe, Bianca. Take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Just like that. That’s my girl. Do you want me to stop?”
I shake my head. “No, no.”
“I'm treating you the way you deserve to be treated. Please,” he says quietly, his voice thick with need .
Then his mouth is on me—not where I'm aching for him, but close.
He kisses up my thigh, his tongue licking against my skin. His teeth graze the sensitive flesh, and I gasp, my hips bucking. He does the same to my other thigh, taking his time as if he's learning me.
“You're more beautiful than I even imagined. I can't—you smell like heaven. Like I couldn't even imagine what you'd taste like. I'm going to lose my fucking mind, lass.”
“It's okay,” I whisper because I don't know what else to say. I’m shaking.
His fingers hook into the waistband of my panties. “These too?”
I nod. I love that he’s asking for permission. He pulls them down, and I'm bare to him, completely exposed. My instincts scream to cover myself, but the look on his face stops me.
“Christ.” His hands shake as they run up my thighs. “ Look at you.”
Then, somehow, I see myself through his eyes. Curvy, yes, but soft, pretty, feminine. Then I look at him.
He's still fully dressed. His jaw is clenched, as if he’s fighting for control, and there's a bulge straining against his jeans. His hands flex like he wants to grab and take.
He forces himself to slow down. “You're still dressed,” I manage .
“Aye.”
“That's not fair.”
His smile is dark and promising. “Life's not fair, lass. And I promise this will be a lot more exciting if there's a little bit of”—he shrugs—“imbalance here.”
He leans down and kisses my stomach again… then higher, between my breasts. His hands slide under me, and with practiced ease, he unhooks my bra, the last piece of fabric between us.
He peels it away slowly, and when my breasts are bare, his breath stutters. “Christ,” he whispers.
Then his mouth is on me, hot and wet and perfect. He takes my nipple between his lips and sucks. The pad of his tongue is rough and perfect and gentle. The sensation shoots straight to my clit.
I cry out, arching, and he pulls more of me into his mouth. His tongue circles and flicks and teases, and he palms my other breast, brushing over the peak of my nipple. I'm drowning in sensation. “So fucking eager,” he growls, his accent thick. “So fucking perfect for me.”
He switches sides and pays attention to the other breast.
His teeth graze my nipple, and I actually whimper. “Good girl. That's right, lass. Let me hear you.” His mouth moves lower. He kisses down my sternum, my stomach, my hip, as if he's mapping every inch of me, and when he reaches my thighs, he spreads them wider .
He looks up at me from between my legs, and it nearly undoes me. “Fuck,” he growls, his eyes dark with need. “You’re soaked.”
I should be mortified, but the way he says it, it's like he found treasure. “It's your fault,” I whisper.
He grins at me, and his whole face lights up. I want to make him do it again.
“Guilty as charged.” His thumb traces along my inner thigh, so close to where I'm aching, and then he bends, closes his eyes, and inhales deeply. “Fucking hell… Holy Christ, lass.”
He tongues the inside of my thigh, and I shiver with want. “I want you desperate for me. So needy you can't think.”
“Mission accomplished.”
His grin widens, and it makes him look younger, less haunted. His thumb brushes against me.
My thoughts scatter. “Oh god.”
His dark chuckle makes me squirm deliciously. Another deliberate stroke of his thumb makes my hips lift straight off the bed. “Just me. Just you.”
Then he gently pries my legs apart wider, and I feel myself trembling in anticipation. My hands fist the sheets, and my body is wound tight, climbing toward something I have only ever given myself. “That's it, love,” he says. “That's it. ”
I sigh as his tongue touches my clit, and I whimper.
“Oh, that's it.” He licks me again and again, slow and deliberate. How does he know exactly where I need the soft, wet pressure of his mouth? He goes all the way down to the bottom and drags all the way up again.
He circles and presses and circles and presses until I'm whimpering, dying, shaking. “That's it, girl. That's it, my girl. Just like that,” he says, his words thick with devotion. Then he takes two rough fingers and slides them inside me, pumping them as he licks my clit again and again.
My hips rock as the first spasm of pleasure washes over me.
“That's it, baby. Come on my tongue.”
I gasp, and then I shudder. Absolutely shudder. I can't see or breathe. My body's writhing in perfect ecstasy.
Over and over—he licks me until I can hardly stand it, and when I finally shatter, he's there, kissing my thigh, my hip, my stomach—slowly, gently modulating the feel of his tongue against my clit until it's too sensitive and he knows exactly when to pull away.
“Beautiful. You're so fucking beautiful when you come.”
I'm still trembling when he kisses his way back up my body. Still shaking when his mouth finds mine and I taste myself on his tongue. It feels so dirty, so wrong, and I fucking love it.
“More. I want more. ”
“Greedy little girl.” His hand cups my face with devastating gentleness—the contrast between his words and his touch makes my breath catch.
“We're just getting started.” Then his mouth claims mine again—deeper, harder, more possessive—and I realize he's right.
We are just getting started. I can still feel the coiled violence in his body, like he's holding back. Being careful.
I don't want him to be careful.
“Stop being gentle,” I whisper. “I won't break.”
He growls against my lips. “You don't know what you're asking for.”
“Show me.”
His eyes search mine, storm-gray and intense.
I’m not a virgin, but I’ve never had good sex. Nothing like this. My god.
“Listen, I’m not a virgin, but I—I don't—I don't know much. I don't know how to?—”
“I'll show you. I promise, I will.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “I’ve got you. I’m going to take care of you, alright? I’ve got you.”
He brushes the hair out of my eyes. “Why are you nervous, sweetheart? You're safe now. I know you don't believe that yet, and you need to see it with your own eyes. I get that, love. But you're safe now. Do you believe me?”
I nod. It's not… Why am I on the verge of tears? “It's not that.”
He bends down and kisses my cheek. “Just say it. Anything you need, say it. You need me to stop? I'll stop. You need a break? We'll take a break. You want to wait? That's fine, just tell me.”
“No.” I reach for him, desperate. “Don't you dare.”
“You don't understand, Bianca?—”
“I chose you.” I pull him closer. “I came back to you. Don't treat me like I don't know what I want.”
“Are you sure?” His voice breaks. “Are you sure?”
“I am. You're the only one who ever loved me enough as I am.” My thumbs stroke his cheeks. “I don't see some safe, boring boy when I—when I can have you.”
Something in him cracks. I watch it happen—his eyes go from stormy gray to black.
He kisses me again, harder this time, more desperate. His fingers slide inside me, and I arch off the bed. The intrusion is strange, tense, not quite painful, but not comfortable either.
“That's it,” he says. “Take what you need.”
I want him inside me. I've never wanted this before, but after feeling him make me climax, I feel incomplete. I need him inside me.
“Atta girl.”
He pushes himself up, slowly undressing. When he shoves his jeans down, I reach for his cock, warm and throbbing in my hand. I can hardly breathe.
My hands fly to his shoulders as he positions himself. He presses the head of his cock to my entrance, gently nudging inside.
He inches forward, and a burning sensation takes over. My fingernails dig into his skin, and I try to relax, but…
“Fuck, you're so tight.” He groans. “So fucking perfect.”
Another inch and I whimper.
“Bianca—” He freezes.
“Don't stop. Please don't stop.”
“You're crying.” He looks devastated. “I'm hurting you.” He goes to pull away.
“No. I need you. Please, Ashland. I want this. I want you.”
“Aye, lass, almost there. Just a little more. There you go.” He pushes forward in one final thrust, and I cry out as he fills me completely.
It's exactly what I want and nothing like I expected. It's intense and overwhelming, but beneath it, there's something else. Fullness. Rightness. Connection .
He's inside me. He's mine now too.
“Breathe, love,” he whispers. “Just breathe.”
I force myself to relax, to adjust to the intrusion. Slowly, he builds a rhythm. Very slowly, the burn fades to a dull ache, and then something else. Something beautiful begins to build.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I'm okay.”
He starts to move, slow and careful, shallow thrusts. “So fucking perfect.”
The movement sends sparks through my body.
“More,” I whisper. “Show me.”
He thrusts again, harder. “Mine.”
His hips snap against mine. “ Mine .”
“Yours,” I whisper. “Yours.”
“Say my name,” he growls before another thrust. “Say it so you remember who owns you when you come.”
“ Ashland .” My voice is choked as pleasure and emotion tangle together. “Ashland, please .”
“What do you need?”
“Everything. All of it.”
Then he lets go, and I'm not scared. I'm turned on by his lack of control as he thrusts and groans, holding me and kissing me. The evidence of what I do to him, his obsession made flesh— I do this to him.
“You okay?” he whispers.
“ Yessss. ”
He pounds into me, all pretense of gentleness gone.
“Come for me,” he whispers. “Come on my cock.”
His thumb presses my clit, and I shatter in a second orgasm, sweeter and more complete than the first. I feel him pulse inside me, feel the heat of him filling me—primal and possessive.
Mine.
“Fuck. Sorry. Did I hurt you, lass? Was I too rough? Christ, I knew that I?—”
“No. No . You didn't hurt me, Ashland. You saved me.”
His forehead presses against mine. “Then why are you crying? Christ, I was too rough.”
“ Stop. You were perfect. You gave me what I asked for.”
He kisses me. “Stay here. Shh. Stay here.” He positions himself beside me, still inside me, then slowly eases himself out. “You stay right here. Okay?”
I nod.
He returns with a warm washcloth and a towel, and his hands are so gentle as he cleans me.
“I don't deserve you,” he whispers as he slowly cleans me, then dries me carefully. He pulls me into his arms .
“Maybe not,” I say, poking teasingly at his ribs. “But you have me. And I'm not leaving. Not now.”
I worry about Marcus. Will he find me? What will he do? What will the retaliation be? I worry about what a future with Ashland looks like.
But right now, all I feel is his arms around me, possessive, protective, and perfect.
And I don't want him to ever let me go.