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He exhales, leaning his forehead against mine. His hands cup my ass, pulling me close. His hardness presses against my stomach, and desire whips through me like a hot blaze. My cheeks are burning. My hands claw hungrily at his arms, his shoulders, wrapping around his neck.
I don’t want to beg him to make love to me, but I will if I need to. That’s how deep my desperation goes. How violent my thirst is. I need his touch. His kiss. I need him to give me just a taste of pleasure, when my life has been a barren, loveless void for so long I don’t remember anything else.
Would it be so wrong to give in, just this once? Would I regret it if I let him take my body, if nothing else? It doesn’t have to mean anything.
Asher doesn’t make me beg. With one hand on my ass, his other hand sweeps up my spine and curls around the nape of my neck. He pulls me back, devouring me with his eyes. Yearning stares back at me, as fierce as my own.
I’m bare before him. My soul is cracked open, and I want to show him everything I’ve been holding inside. I want to offer it to him on a plate and let him heal me, hold me, love me. Heat curls low in my stomach as my desire mounts. Every stitch of fabric is sensitive. My breasts feel heavy against his chest, aching for his touch. His mouth.
Then, Asher lets out a sigh, leans in, and kisses me. There’s no preamble. No question. No need for me to beg at all. He sees what I want—what I need—and gives it to me without another word. His lips are soft yet demanding, and I yield—to him, to his kiss, to my own fervent need. His kiss tastes like danger, taking my own lips between his and sweeping his tongue into my mouth. I moan against him, loving the way his hands hold me tight.
Unlike any kiss I’ve ever had, Asher’s lips transport me to another place. Another world. One where I can let desire rip through my veins like molten metal, and let him lay claim to my body, my lips, my heart. Claim. That’s what his kiss does. It claims me, demanding, uncompromising. It teases my lips open and shows me what I’ve missed. It makes me feel.
The fire in my stomach spreads lower as I roll my hips against him. My heart pounds against my ribs as I kiss him harder. More. I need more. I let my hands drift over his shoulders, his chest, curling into the fabric of his shirt. I wish he weren’t wearing it. I sweep my hand up his neck and grip the back of his head, pulling him for a deeper kiss.
It’s hungry. So utterly inappropriate it makes my whole body ignite. My underwear clings to my body, already damp with my arousal. Every time I feel Asher’s cock pressed hard against me, another wave of heat crashes against my thighs.
Asher, feeling my need, lets out a low growl. Oh, what that noise does to me, it’s indecent. So completely at odds with my life as a cold, heartless queen. Asher’s growl is pure fire. Pure heat and desire and lust, rumbling through his chest and into mine. He drops his hands to my thighs and claws at the fabric of my dress, bringing it up above my hips. When his palms touch my bare skin, I let out a whimper.
When was the last time someone touched me—really touched me? When was the last time I felt a palm sweeping over my ass, gripping it tight, pulling me close?
His touch feels like magic. My skin sparks against his palm, core clenching, and I forget who I am. I forget where I am, and what I’m supposed to be doing. Queen who? All that matters is me, and Asher, and the locked door that ensures we’re alone.
“You’re perfect, Pen,” Asher growls, using both hands to grip my ass and spread it apart. I gasp. The cool air on my skin only heightens the heat coursing through my veins.
I’m dizzy. Breathless. My lips find his, kissing him hungrily.
I need this so badly and I didn’t even know it was missing. I need him to fuck me. To treat me like a woman. To take me and show me what it means to be alive.
Need.
I don’t say that lightly. I feel like I’ll die if I don’t taste his kiss. If I don’t feel his cock.
Asher drops his lips to my neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to my shoulder. His hand rests on top of my breast, teasing the neckline of my dress. I want to give him everything. Bare myself for him and show him I’m real. I’m a woman. I need this. Him.
Asher growls again, wordlessly this time. I feel his teeth gently biting against my neck, and I let my head fall back. I feel like I’m floating in space, my only anchor being Asher’s body. His arms around my waist. His strong legs propped up against mine.
“I want you.” My voice is a rasp I barely recognize. I pull away from Asher, staring at his eyes. “I want you, Asher.”
Dark eyes stare back at me, desire etched into every feature. He nods, sliding his hands down to my thighs and picking me up. I wrap my legs around his hips and let him carry me to one of the sofas, where he lays me down across the cushions more gently than I expected from a man who looks as fierce as he does. His hand sweeps up my dress and finds my ruined underwear, tugging it off in one motion.
Asher leans over me, kissing me hard. This kiss is bruising, and my back arches. Yes, I want this. I want it hard and fast and dirty and now. Desperately. I want him to devour me. Show me what it feels like to be his. His hand sweeps up my thigh and slides between my legs, and he lets out a low groan when he feels the wetness there. His fingers feel warm and thick as they drag through my arousal. When he brushes against my clit, desire pierces the pit of my stomach.
Seven years of buried needs. Seven years of buried emotion. Seven years of loneliness, all coming to a head in this moment.
Ice that had grown thick and permanent within me starts to melt and crack. Heat flows through my veins for the first time in years.
Asher groans, dropping his lips to my jaw, my earlobe, my neck. His fingers slide inside me as we both moan, my hips rolling to get more, more, more. I close my eyes, unable to think of anything except the fire burning in my veins. He’s doing something with his thumb on my clit and the pressure is just right, so good, oh—
I come apart, arching my back as I cling onto his shoulders. My orgasm rips through me, making my legs tremble and my back arch. I cry out, but Asher clamps a hand over my lips.
“Quiet,” he says, lids hanging low. “They’re just outside. They’ll hear.”
Do I care? Not really, but the heat in Asher’s eyes makes me want more. His hand over my mouth winds my desire even tighter.
I shouldn’t like this. I shouldn’t enjoy being fingered on an old sofa in the servants’ quarters of a foreign castle. I shouldn’t be sleeping with a man I knew two decades ago, with only a thin door separating me from scandal, but the naughtiness of it all only makes me hotter.
“I don’t have a condom,” Asher says, regret in his eyes. His breath comes in short gasps and when I reach down between his legs, I feel the throbbing hardness of his erection.
