Page 52 of Darling

Christian pulls out of my mouth a moment later. “Asher, can I…?”

“Yes! On my face, I want it on my face,” I manage.

“Oh, baby…” he says, and his hand is in my hair, stroking and soothing my scalp as he jerks himself with the other. His climax feels like a whip on my face, coating my cheek, ear, lips, and tongue. “Asher…” I swipe my hand over my face to scoop up his cum, using it to stroke my dick in sloppy motions. He gets on his knees and begins to kiss me, moaning like the taste of himself on me is the most delicious thing he’s ever eaten. “Are you close, sweetheart?”

“Uh, yeah… I think so… fuck.”

He slips his hand between my legs and fondles my balls, squeezing them gently as his fingertip rims over my clenching hole. When he pushes it ever so slightly inside, I’m fucking done. I reach out and grab hold of him, bucking into my fist as I come hard over his softening dick. My head falls forward onto his chest as waves of pleasure move through me. Christian strokes the back of my head with one hand, my balls with the other, whispering soft, sweet words into my ear. After, he practically picks me up from the floor and carries me into the bathroom, where he tells me to undress while he turns on the shower. Thenwe both get inside and wash each other clean.

Seventeen

Christian

Icheck my emails as Asher sleeps soundly next to me. We’d taken a leisurely shower, kissing slowly and languorously as we’d washed off the drive and what we’d done the moment the hotel room door had closed behind us. He’d been a vision on his knees, mouth full and eyes glittering with tears as he’d taken me into his tight throat.

As he’d stepped out of the shower and wrapped himself in one of the hotel’s oversized towels, I’d been a little stupefied at the sight. His cheeks were pink from the hot steam, his hair inky black. Those piercing blue eyes like jewels against the raven feather of his lashes. He was gorgeous. Though I’d decided that word was too broad, too inadequate to describe him. There was a delicacy to Asher, a gentle fragility, superficially at least, which on a beat could transform into something sexy and seductive. A thing of such classical beauty that it was like he had stepped out of some other epoch. He would not look out of place in ancient Rome or Greece, where he’d be the much-coveted favourite of an emperor or king. An entrancing mix of preternatural beauty and startling wisdom. Helen’s face had launched a thousand ships, but I was sure, had he been born in another time, Asher’s could have brought entire empires to their knees.

He caught me staring and dropped the towel, making a show of drying his body as he turned it this way and that.

“See something you like?” he asked, with a tempting smile over his shoulder.

“I like everything about you,” I told him. “You’re mesmerizing.”

He looked more amused than flattered. “I’m gonna have such an ego by the time this is over.”

The word hit a discordant note inside my chest.Over.

I watch him sleeping now as the word echoes again. Over. I’ll have to give him up at some point, of course I know this. Just as I knew I’d have to give Felix up. I can’t make a life with these men. They deserve better than what I can offer them—liaisons in hotel rooms and fake names stored in my phone—and even if something does feel acutely different about Asher, it doesn’t mean anything can come of it. Seema was correct: this is no different than the illicit affairs of thousands of politicians who have come before me.Then why does it feel different?

Her lecture when I’d told her about this weekend had been brief: she could help me keep this as clandestine as possible, but there was one wild card she could not help me with, and that was Asher himself. She’d urged me to have him sign a non-disclosure, something that would protect everyone should this thing turn sour. I told her I’d consider it, though I hadn’t done any such thing. I refuse to examine why that is, and whether deep down I want to be caught, whether I want my secret life to be out in the open so I don’t have to hide it anymore.

I told Seema I didn’t think Asher was the type to sell stories to the press, and she’d given me a look, pity I’m sure, and told me that it was always better to be safe than sorry about things like this. She knew about the situation in London, and how I’d come to end up here, and so she’d added: It’s my job to protect you,sir. That’s all I’m trying to do. She hadn’t told me to end it, which had been refreshing, not even after the porn star revelation. She hadn’t given me a list of reasons why it was wrong or going to end terribly in a storm of humiliation. She’d been pragmatic and spoken directly and reasonably, and she’d put forward the idea of an NDA. Her pragmatism had been why I’d told her to draft the agreement and send it to me to review. Though I haven’t considered asking him to sign it, I know he would. Asher is as open and honest and upfront a person as I’ve ever met; there is nothing about him to suggest he’d have an issue with it. He is also a pragmatist, and he would understand my reasons for asking. But it’s for all of these reasons that I don’t feel the need to do it. I don’t want our relationship to be something I felt compelled to hide behind a contract and never speak of. It makes me feel odd in a way I can’t quite explain.

I glance over it for the third time. It’s fairly inoffensive, standard, and designed to prevent the sort of thing Felix’s so-called friend had attempted back in London. There’s also some protection in there for Asher that I would never deny him. I’d protect him with everything I had if it came down to it, and I wouldn’t need a piece of paper to do it.

I look down at him again. He fell asleep with his mobile on his chest and a sort of frown of concentration on his face. He’s wearing very short shorts, which have risen up to show the smooth curve of his behind, and his bare feet are pushed up against my thigh. He has one hand between his legs in a childlike pose. Closing the laptop, I set it down on the side table and move to settle his feet on my thighs. He stirs slightly as I smooth my hand over the tops of his feet, but it’s when I touch his toes that he bolts almost upright, eyes wide with shock. His hair is sitting up, rhombus-like, on one side of his head as he glares at me. He looks extremely cute.

I bite back my amused laughter. “Ticklish?”

A blush creeps across his cheeks. “Uh, yeah, very.”

“Sorry. Now I know.”

“What a way to wake up,” he grumbles adorably.

“You didn’t want to sleep too late anyway, you said.”

“Right. How long was I out?”

I glance at my watch. “About an hour, maybe a little longer.”

“Damn, I hate naps,” he says through a yawn. “Now I have a headache.” He bends to retrieve his phone, which had bounced off the sofa at his springboard action.

“I have something in my bag for it.” I move to stand.

“I’m good, I just need some fresh air. And I’m hungry, have you eaten?”

“No, I said I’d wait for you.”