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“Maybe.” Asher walks forward slowly, closing the distance between us but never breaking gaze. “I like beautiful things. I like appreciating beauty, capturing it in a way I can keep with me forever when the world feels a little too dark and gray.”
“Using technology to capture something that reminds you the world isn’t overrun with technology,” I smirk and my heart begins to flutter the closer he gets.
“Exactly.” Asher lifts his camera and takes a picture of me, sending a shockwave through my entire body. His gaze finally breaks from mine and he looks down at his camera. “Beautiful.”
“You’re taking pictures of me?” My teeth sink hard into my lower lip. “That means you owe me.”
“Oh really?” Asher glances up at me, his smile wide and easy. “How can I make it up to you?”
“How about you give me the camera and start taking your clothes off?”
Asher chuckles warmly, then his hand drops to his belt.
8
EMMA
Each article of clothing that Asher strips from his body is photographed. I sit, utterly enthralled by every sliver of golden skin revealed to me while Asher poses. His T-shirt lands behind him, joining his belt and his shoes. He thumbs at the button of his jeans, then slides his long fingers along the waistband and pushes the material an inch down his hips.
I’m speechless. The sight of his muscular body creates an ache between my legs. I want to touch him. I want to run my fingers through the curls of dark hair across his chest, teasing at the streaks of silver. I want to see if he tastes as good as he smells, feel those rough hands all over my body. Instead, I focus on the pictures as the ache between my legs gives rise to a sudden influx of nerves. Three pictures later, Asher’s hand lands on top of mine.
“Do you ever take pictures of yourself?” he asks in a low voice.
Slowly, I lift my gaze to meet his as he stands over me. Heat radiates from his body in waves and my breath catches in the dryness of my throat. Forcing a swallow, I shake my head.
“I like making people look beautiful, no matter how they feel or how they look. To do that, I’m usually behind the camera.”
His fingertips dance over my knuckles, then his palm sweeps around and he takes the camera from me.
“So, your beauty is never captured?”
“No,” I say, my voice just above a whisper.
Asher turns the camera around to face me, then he holds it aloft to his left. My heart begins to race and the fluttering nerves in my gut become a stampede. Just as I glance at the camera, curious what angle he’s going for, Asher swoops in and kisses me full on the lips.
It stuns me. His lips are soft and gentle, even as the kiss is firm. We lock together briefly and the rougher hairs of his beard scratch against my chin and cheek when Asher tilts his head. We break apart and I gasp, seeking a deep breath as the air between us grows hot and charged. With a smirk, Asher turns the camera around and displays the picture of our first kiss.
“Beautiful.”
I hadn’t even heard the picture being taken, but it falls to the side as my focus becomes Asher and nothing more. One taste, and I’m hooked. Lifting both hands, I cup the sides of his neck and draw him back in for another, deeper kiss. Asher grunts softly in surprise, then he melts into the kiss. His free arm slides around my waist, pulling me to the very edge of the table while he steps in between my spread legs.
It’s been too long since I was kissed. Too long since someone gave me the attention I so deeply craved, and Asher ticks all the boxes I love. His lips dance with mine, weaving back and forth as we switch direction and separate often for breathless gasps of air. Heat builds like a furnace beneath my skin and my heart races so frantically that my hands tremble faintly.
His citrus scent floods my lungs and dizziness washes over me—although that could be the lack of air from how hungrily we kiss one another. There’s barely time for a decent breath, neither of us willing to let the other go.
Suddenly, Asher abandons the camera. He scoops me right up from the table and my heart lurches, causing a squeak to escape my throat. As a bigger girl, I fantasize about being manhandled, but reality often tells me it will never happen.
Asher lifts me like I’m weightless. I cling to him, clutching at his shoulders and he chuckles softly when he lowers me down onto the bed of flower petals created from his earlier photo shoot.
“Are you alright?” Bracing on one arm, Asher hovers above me. I can’t stop touching him, so my fingers follow every curve and rise of his muscular pecs, all the way down to the softer skin that covers his abs.
“Yes,” I gasp. “That was unexpected.”
“My apologies,” Asher murmurs and his lips claim my own once again. He kisses me deeply, paying close attention to my lower lip. As he breaks away, his teeth snag the swell of my lip and he pulls back gently. “I wanted to taste you and sitting on the desk would have been too much hassle.”
“Taste me?” I ask as my mind struggles to catch up with coherent thought. “How?”
Asher vanishes from my field of view, then warm lips press against the inside of my knee. He’s down between my legs, sliding his hands up my thighs and encouraging my legs to part wide enough so he will fit. My body obeys with a mind of its own and my legs fall open.
