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“You turn me on.” I reach behind me, grabbing his wrists and pinning them above his head. He’s strong—stronger than me—but he doesn’t fight it. He lies there, watching me with hooded eyes, his chest rising and falling, like he’s halfway to losing his mind.
I dip down, kissing the tattoos across his chest, then capture one of his nipples in my mouth. I hear him groan, like he’s drowning in pleasure.
“It’s never felt like this before,” he whispers.
I pause, hovering above him.
“Not for me either,” I admit.
Our bodies are so close, but not quite touching.
“I need you,” he confesses.
“Beg,” I mutter. “Beg me.”
“Fuck,” he whispers, his voice wrecked. “I need to feel you around me, need to be inside you so bad that it fucking hurts. Please, let me stretch your cute little cunt wide so you can feel me tomorrow.” He lifts his brow, his tone changing. “Princess, your cunt is dripping wet for me. You’re basically quivering—you want me so damn bad. This is torture for you. Maybe you should be the one begging, babe.” He sits up on his elbows, pulling my bottom lip into his mouth, tugging hard and sucking. “I haven’t fucking come since the night I kissed you at Weston’s, and I’m going to fill you so fucking full that it leaks down your leg, you greedy fucking brat.”
I gasp by how turned on it makes me. My breasts rise and fall.
“Mmm. I felt that pussy wink.” He smirks. “You like being treated like my equal. Not a porcelain princess.”
I lean down and kiss him, losing myself as he teases my entrance.
“You’ve been saving yourself for me?” I ask.
“Yes,” he admits, casually putting his arm behind his head. Biceps flexing. He’s relaxed—we both are. “Now, let me fucking break you how you deserve.”
“Please do,” I mutter, the mood morphing into something else completely as I sink onto him inch by agonizing inch. I moan out, needing this.
He’s so large that he stretches me open in the best way possible. I take my time, savoring how he feels as he fills me, adjusting my hips as needed. When our ends meet, I lean forward, my hands on his chest for balance, and I feel like he might crack me in half.
“Are you okay?” he gently asks, his hands on my thighs.
I nod. “Yes. You just …” I take in ragged breaths. “It’s so much.”
“Take it as slow as you need,” he says. “Let me know when it’s in the back of your throat.”
I burst into laughter, and Asher grabs my thighs.
“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight.”
At first, I start with just a lazy roll of my hips, our gazes locked. I find myself getting used to him and move harder and faster until I’m slamming onto him with utter desperation. The sound of our moans echoes through the room, mingling with the crackling fire and the storm outside. His hands are on my hips again, guiding me, helping me take him deeper, harder, until we’re both gasping for air.
“You feel so fucking good. Like you were made for me,” he moans, his voice barely recognizable. “So tight, so wet.”
His fingers dig into my hips hard enough to leave bruises, and I love it—love the way he’s so desperate for me.
I lean forward again, my lips brushing his as I whisper, “Come for me, Asher. Come inside me.”
That’s all it takes.
With a guttural groan, he spills himself inside me, his cock pulsing as he finishes deep in my core. I can feel every fucking twitch of him as he comes undone beneath me, and it’s enough to push me over the edge too. My body clenches around him, waves ofpleasure crashing over me as I ride out my own orgasm, milking every last drop from him until we’re both trembling with satisfaction.
I collapse on top of him on the rug, our bodies intertwined, our breathing heavy. He’s still inside me, still connected to me in the most intimate way possible. The storm rages outside, but here, in this moment, there’s nothing but us—our bodies, our heat, our love.
I smile softly, running my fingers through his hair. “I want to do that again.”
“Fuck, you’re obsessed,” he says against my neck, his voice more tender now.