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“Are you okay?” His hand moves gently over my waist.
I nod. “Yeah.”
Gently, he thrusts another inch. And another. My body slowly stretches to accommodate him, and I flick my eyes up to his. He’s staring down to where we’re joined. His cheeks are red, lips still glistening with my arousal. He looks totally, completely enraptured, and I let myself relax.
He groans, pushing deep inside me with one long movement. I shift the angle of my hips and wrap my legs around him, taking him deeper. He falls forward, catching himself on the counter with hands on either side of me. I let my fingers slide over his temple, curling into the strands of hair that fall over his forehead.
When we had sex the first time, it was hot and dirty and rough. I loved every second of it. It made me feel alive.
But this…this is different. Asher drags himself out of me and pushes in deep and slow. It’s torturous, as if he’s dragging the pleasure out of me and teasing me for endless seconds before pushing back in. He knows how badly I want his cock filling me up. He knows how desperate I am to feel him bury himself inside me—but he pauses, slows, and stretches every second of pleasure out longer than I can bear. His mouth hovers over mine. I can feel every sigh. Every grunt. Every moan. I rock my hips against him as we move slowly, my hands exploring his beautifully scarred body.
This isn’t a hot fuck in a dingy old break room. This is intimate. It…it feels almost…real.
Asher’s hands wrap around my waist and he holds me close, spearing me over and over in steady, slow movements. We fall into a rhythm that has me quickly spiraling out of control. Still, Asher refuses to speed up. Even when I buck my hips against him and try to take charge of the pace, he stills until I sigh, whimpering. His slow thrusts continue, urging me higher and higher as I struggle to maintain control over my own rioting body.
Every time he pushes inside me, heat pulses through my veins. The build is sweet, slow torture. A bundle of heat tightens deep inside me, coaxed to life by his thrusts. He moves as if we have all the time in the world. As if there’s no risk of someone walking into the kitchen. As if there’s nothing between us that says this is a bad idea.
His eyes watch me, hanging low, taking in every bit of me as if he’s mesmerized.
When Asher reaches between us and presses his thumb over my bud, I gasp. When he rocks against me at just the right angle, I cry out, the noise muffled by his body. He cages me against the countertop and drives his cock inside me again, slow and deep and—
My orgasm rips through my body like wildfire. Everywhere he’s touched in the past hour lights up, as if my cells have memory encoded specifically with him. My breasts tighten, my core clenches. I cling onto him, wrapping my arms and legs around him as my teeth sink into his shoulder. He urges me on with low grunts, kissing wherever his lips land.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Come on my cock just like you came on my tongue a minute ago. Give it to me.”
No one has said those things to me. Not even my late husband. No one has said dirty, delicious things in my ear as I come, urging me to let go and let my pleasure take me higher and higher.
Asher’s fingers don’t stop moving over my clit and before I know it, another wave of pleasure is crashing into me. I’m trembling. Panting. Saying his name over and over like a mantra. A prayer.
With a grunt, Asher finds release. Our orgasms twist and wind around each other as I hold on for dear life, my nails sinking into his skin as he fills me up with his seed.
I…I love it. I love feeling him inside me like this, throbbing and panting as pleasure relaxes every line in his face. I love feeling connected to him on a primal level. I love knowing his orgasm is inside me, as if it belongs to me now. Mine.
When we pull apart, Asher’s eyes are clear. I kiss his cheek, his jaw, his chest. It’s only when I pull away and see his face that I notice the way his eyes shine. His hand drifts over the spot where I kissed his chest, where the burn scar covers his heart.
Asher leans over and kisses my lips. He’s trembling. It’s a soft kiss, but it contains a thousand unsaid words, hidden emotions, and layers of pain.
I know what his kiss means, because I feel exactly the same thing.
I’ve found someone who knows me—the real me. The only problem is we can never have each other.
14
Asher
My fingers drift over Penelope’s skin as I nuzzle my lips into her neck. She tastes sweet, and I know we’ve just shared something special.
Her eyes drift over my neck, following the jagged edge of my scar all the way down to my hip. She runs her fingers over the skin as I try my best not to wince.
No one’s touched me like this before—almost reverently. Flicking her eyes up to meet my gaze, Penelope smiles. “You look like some kind of gladiator,” she whispers. Her hands sweep around my back, and there’s no disgust in her face. No hesitation at touching the scarred skin.
It covers a third of my body, and Penelope…likes it?
I try not to frown as she lets her hands drift over me, struggling to understand how she could see me as anything more than damaged. Because isn’t that what I am? Broken? Marred?
“Do you remember the fire?” Pen asks, smoothing her palm over my shoulder and sliding it up to my neck. Her thumb teases my jaw, and I lean down to nip the tip of her finger, grinning when she yelps.
I nod. “I do.”
