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“Let’s say I knew I was going to marry you and didn’t want anyone else’s cunt on my cock but yours.”

His crudeness should have pissed me off, but for some crazy reason, it made the need burning inside me intensify.

“Ash.”

“Ashu,” he countered, walking us toward our bedroom door.

“Why is it so important I call you that?”

“Because when you say it, I know what it really means.”

How could he know what it meant, when I had no clue?

I turned in his arms as we passed through the doorway.

Not caring to study the room, I focused on the sexy-as-sin man before me and the statement he’d made.

“What does it mean?”

“You’ll figure it out soon enough.” The lock clicked and a wicked glint entered his eyes.

“We don’t need to lock the door. The only people in this cabin are the two of us.”

“It’s to keep you from escaping.” He took a step forward, as I took one back.

“Why does it feel like I’m prey and you’re stalking me?”

He began to unbutton his shirt, and my throat dried up.

“Am I stalking you, Tara?” His shirt fell to the floor, revealing a soft cotton T-shirt.

I took another step in retreat as the need coursing down my pussy threatened to soak through my underwear.

The simple white shirt shouldn’t have looked so appealing but on him, it did, revealing chiseled arms and a chest that one would never expect on a politician, broad and defined, perfect to hold on to.

Before I could reach out to touch him, the backs of my knees hit the baseboard of the bed, stopping my backward trek.

Ashur took hold of my ribcage. “I want you on the bed, but not just yet.”

I swallowed at the intensity of his gaze.

His palms slowly slid upward until he reached my aching breasts. Then, instead of cupping them, he circled his thumbs along the tips, forcing my nipples into stiffer, harder peaks.

“That’s better.” He continued his lazy caress, and just when I was ready to ask for more, he pinched.

I cried out, letting the sting and the desire flow through every nerve in my body. I’d never thought I’d enjoy any pain with my pleasure, but with Ashur, it was a heady mix.

“Take off your clothes, Tara. I want to see you. I want to touch what is mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yes, mine.”

“What about you? Are you mine?”

Why had I asked him that?

“I’ve always been yours for over fifteen years. Time and distance never changed that.”