Page 70 of Twisted Truth

“What’s the fun in life without a little risk?”

I’m in such a good mood that I let it go, not wanting to think too hard on it. “Fine. You dancedso sexilythat you earned your extra credit. To be cashed in at a future date, and I will comply.”

“Now I like this game even more.”

“I’m thirsty, and you must be also after that performance, can we pause for a drink break?”

He laughs and nods, and we make our way into the kitchen. He fills us both glasses of spring water from a small water tank in his pantry. Apparently, he’s very picky about the taste of his water, so at home, he only drinks some super special spring water he likes. Spoiled little billionaire.

“What’s next on the agenda?” I ask, taking a sip of my expensive, imported spring water.

He finishes his glass and sets it down on the counter. “As much as I’ve enjoyed our games, I think it’s time we moved on to the next part of the evening.”

“Which is?”

“Chemistry.”

20

ELLA

Asher walks toward me slowly, a predatory glint in his eyes. “As much as I hate to be Matthew’s little bitch boy, I can’t deny that I am. And he gave us very clear orders.”

I swallow hard. “What do you propose?”

He leans down, placing his hands on the counter on either side of me, trapping me between them. He’s so close that I can smell his cologne and the hints of whiskey still lingering on his breath. “I think it would be wise to keep a no-sex rule in place; removing it would blur the lines too much. But we should get comfortable with other things. Things people will expect to see in public, like holding hands, casual touches . . . kissing. We need to find a chemistry between us that is authentic enough to fool the world.”

“I’ll let you take the lead on this next phase of the agenda, then, Mr. Langford,” I say, my voice low and breathy without meaning to be. His ice-blue eyes burn as he takes me in. He lifts the glass of water out of my hand and sets it down on the counter then runs his hand up my bare arm. For the second time since our games started, I feel self-conscious. I’m tooaware that my pajamas look like a pile of garbage compared to the masterpiece of Asher’s gray sweatpants and how he’s wearing them like a god. But Asher doesn’t seem to notice.

He runs his other hand up my waist and around to my lower back, then he leans down toward me. I shiver. “Ah, ah, Ella. Remember what the photographer said?” he whispers, inches from my face. “You can’t twitch or flinch when I touch you.” He leans down closer, his lips next to my neck. “Or when I whisper in your ear.” Goosebumps break out across my arms and up the back of my neck, and I reach up and hold onto his broad shoulders to steady myself. And damn myself to hell, I shiver again.

“Naughty girl,” he purrs. “You must learn to hold still.”

He presses his lips to my throat, and I take in a surprised breath. His lips are soft but assertive as they trace their way up my neck. My hands fist the fabric of his t-shirt at his shoulders, and I tilt my head, exposing my neck to him. His tongue traces its way up my throat to my jawline, where he gives me a light nip. I flinch lightly again, in surprise.

“It looks like we’ll need more practice since you are so . . . responsive to everything.”

He kisses along my jaw and then pulls away. We’re both breathing harder than we were a moment ago as we look in each other’s eyes. “Tell me if you need to stop,” he says, quiet but serious. “Tell me if I cross a line. Don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, that you don’t want to do.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

He gives me one last look before his lips are on mine. Sparks fly through my veins, and again, I’m gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. Without meaning to do so, without even thinking about it, I open my mouth to him. Like it’s instinctual; like there is no other choice but to open myself to him.

His tongue dances against mine, and he groans into my mouth. His hands are on my lower back, pressing into my skin.The touch isn’t painful, but it is hard enough that it pulls me fully into him until I can feel every inch of where our bodies meet. The feel of his hard abs and chest against my stomach and breasts is intoxicating. But it’s nothing compared to the taste of him. It’s like the most delicious thing I never knew I was missing. The scent of his skin, the taste of his mouth, it’s a heady combination, and I’m soon free falling into him.

Asher’s hands slide down over my ass, gripping, caressing. I almost yelp in surprise as they wrap around my thighs, and he picks me up. He sets me down on the counter so that our faces are closer in height to one another. Then he pushes his way into me, spreading my legs apart to make room for him between them. Again, without thinking, without being able to stop myself, I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him in even closer.

His hands now roam up the back of my t-shirt and along the front of me, his thumbs brushing along the lower part of my ribcage. I arch my back into his touch as my hands snake their way up the back of his neck, and I thread my fingers through his dark, silky hair.

His thumbs brush again, now skimming the base of my bra, as if asking permission to move higher. The rational, self-preserving part of my mind tells me we should probably stop here. This is chemistry, but we’re still in a relatively safe place. This little exercise is moving quickly, so quickly that we could pass the threshold of boundaries almost without a thought. But that’s why my mind wars with me. I’m not questioning because I don’t want to move forward or pass that threshold. I’m questioning because I’m so swept up in him that this feels as natural as breathing, and I can’t remember why we have a threshold in the first place.

And for one moment, I want to be selfish. I want to give in to what feels right, even if it doesn’t make sense. Even if it isn’t the wisest of decisions. I want my mind to give in to what myheart and soul want. To what my body wants. And in this moment, it’s him. This connection between us can’t be denied, explained. Though we’ve tried our best to ignore it until now, the connection between us is roaring, begging to be heard.

“Touch me,” I whisper, giving in, feeling like I might lose my mind if his thumbs continue to only tease.

A low growl of relief rumbles in the back of his throat, and his lips leave mine, assaulting the other side of my neck as his hands finally slide up. I let out a breathy moan as he palms my breasts over my bra, squeezing them with the perfect amount of pressure. I arch my back even further, pressing myself into his hands. I can’t get enough.

I kiss along his jawline now and run my tongue lightly over his earlobe. He growls and yanks the cups of my bra down, springing my breasts free. Then his palms are on my bare breasts, and my breathing hitches. His hands tease and knead my breasts, and his skin against mine sends me into a frenzy. My hands fist in his hair, and I crash my lips back to his.