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I want everything.
And that is so wrong.
I can’t have everything. I learned that the hard way when I decided to eschew pack and become an artist.
I go limp as Asher eases out of me. He’s wrung so much pleasure out of me, I don’t know if I’d remember my ABC’s right now. He strokes his large palm down my spine, landing with a rough grip of my ass and then a gentle slap.
I’m in too much bliss to move. My asshole is sore, but my limbs are loose and heavy, and I feel like I’m floating on a cloud.
It’s crazy how much I trust my body to a guy who hates me.
But he doesn’t completely hate me, does he?
“Up, baby.” Asher scoops my limp body into a roll, so I’m face up in his arms. He settles me on one thigh, my legs draped across his lap, so I can lean back against the circle of his arm.
It’s heaven.
I love being cradled and protected by his strength. Love being skin-to-skin with him in a post-sex languor. I love having his scent coating my body, so I can’t tell where his ends and mine begins.
I tuck my face against his neck and sigh. His dick twitches against my ass, reminding me where he just was. How dirty and dominant this now-gentle giant can be.
He tugs a tote bag closer to us and pulls out a loaf ofwhat must be fresh-baked bread from Wolf Ridge Sweet Treats.
My stomach rumbles.
He hands it to me. “Here, open this and tear some off. There’s meat and cheese to go with it.” He pulls out an assortment of charcuterie items, including fresh organic raspberries, olives, artichokes and gourmet cheeses. Then he pours us each a glass of wine.
I don’t mean to–it must be the post-sex letdown, but I find tears starting in the corners of both eyes and a wobble in my chin.
Why would I cry?
I hide my face in Asher’s neck again, holding my breath to suppress the urge.
Asher strokes my hair, then cradles the back of my head. He must notice that I’m not breathing because he tugs my face away to look at me.
Before I can stop it, I lose a few tears down my cheeks.
“Oh, baby.” There’s tenderness in his voice. He nestles my head back onto his shoulder and massages the back of my neck.
I’m so grateful he doesn’t ask what’s wrong.
I’m too proud to tell him that it’s about him. That him showing me this level of kindness and attention brought me to tears.
He leans his head against mine. “Let’s start over,” he murmurs. “Can we do that? Just forget about everything that was our past?”
“Yes.” I sniff. “I’d like that.” I curl even more into him, craving the comfort he provides.
He responds by tightening his arm around me.
“Forget everything but this moment. Who we are here, together, in our meadow.”
I nod against his shoulder, then review his words. “Our meadow?”
“Yeah. This is it, right? From your painting?”
I lift my head, my tears drying with the distraction. “What?”
Asher sweeps an open palm in front of us, like he’s presenting the majestic landscape. “This valley?”
