Page 44 of Endless Anger (Monsters Within #1)

LUCY

Kissing Asher Anderson, unfortunately, feels like the first drink of water after a forty-day drought.

I hate how easy it is to sink into, how my body stretches to fit against his, each plane and ridge conforming so it’s like we’re becoming a single being.

Long ago, I believed our souls were connected. That he was my missing half, the other part of the equation that made me whole.

When our lips touch, even with all the distance and animosity still between us, the hole he left fills instantly. Like it was never empty in the first place.

His hands slide from my cheeks into my wet hair, threading through the strands as he opens my mouth with his tongue. I claw at his bare skin, avoiding the bandage, trying to bring him closer.

I’m pressed against the shelves with him covering the length of my body, and it still doesn’t feel like enough.

A couple of books fall with a loud thud to the floor, disturbed by our sudden frenzy.

My legs part when he shoves his thigh between them, nudging me up so I have to stand on my tiptoes to keep from losing my balance .

“Wait, wait, wait,” I rush out as I break away, attempting to control my breathing.

My clothes are still soaked through, sticking to me, and he’s half-naked. If someone walked in right now, we’d be in loads of trouble.

“Should we be doing this here?” I ask, because I don’t really know what else to say. I’m not convinced we should be doing anything at all, yet I can’t peel myself away from him.

“What exactly are we doing?” Asher replies, moving to ghost kisses along the side of my neck, then up the column of my throat.

“You’re kissing me.”

He pulls back with a big, goofy grin on his face. “Fuck yeah, I am.”

Catching my breath becomes impossible.

His lips stretch with my silence. “I’ve got no intention of stopping either, regardless of what nosy little shit makes their way up here.”

My eyes widen at the complete reckless abandon. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him giddy , yet his body seems to hum with excitement, bleeding over onto me.

Or maybe it’s me vibrating. Aligned like we are, it’s difficult to tell the difference.

When he brings his mouth back to mine, it feels like the air evaporates from my lungs. I move an arm, grabbing a shelf to steady myself as his tongue slashes between my lips, tasting and teasing.

The flickering sensation makes my toes curl.

A strangled noise comes from low in my throat as his hands slide out from my hair, then down my back. He lifts me, hooking his arms beneath my ass, and I wrap my legs around him to keep from falling.

This angle… I swallow over my nerves, my pulse intensifying. I can feel it everywhere , the same as I feel Asher’s touch as if he’s stroking more than just my physical form.

My soul is disturbed. Moved by his existence.

It’s always been that way. Pretending otherwise is futile.

I kiss him back harder .

He presses my spine firmly into the bookcase, and more heavy volumes tumble to the floor.

Nimble fingers begin working my skirt up my thighs, granting better access for his pelvis to thrust against my pussy. My vision blurs on the edges, my head lolling as he grinds against my clit.

If he really is a virgin, it’s a little cruel that he seems to know what he’s doing. Meanwhile, my hands shake because I’m not sure where to put them.

Before, he said I could touch him anywhere, but this feels different somehow, more intense, and all I can do is thread my fingers through his hair and hope I don’t do something wrong.

“Ash,” I mutter into his mouth, nerves crawling up my sides like little spiders.

When he pulls away, he’s panting, and it takes me a second to realize I am too. His damp hair is completely disheveled from my touch, and I resist the urge to fix it.

“What?” he whispers, skimming my thighs with his hands. One inches inward, and he shifts, giving himself space to slip between us. “Are you not enjoying this?”

A gasp puffs out of me when his thumb grazes my clit. I squirm as he rubs a gentle rhythm over me, the friction from my tights and panties causing my back to arch, pushing me tighter against him.

“I–I’m supposed to be angry with you,” I rasp as tiny wisps of pleasure erupt where he massages me. My hands fall to his biceps, squeezing hard.

“So be angry. I can handle it.”

His finger prods bluntly, and then I feel him twisting and tugging. Seconds later, a small ripping sound drags a squeal from me, and he maneuvers my underwear aside, stroking me with his skin on mine.

“But what I can’t do,” he says softly, testing and pinching, “is stop. Not now that I know how soft you are or how good it feels to have you in my arms.”

Digging my nails into his skin, I climb higher, resituating myself on his hips at the same time as I’m trying to escape his touch. Or maybe I’m aiming for more. It’s hard to tell.

I writhe in place, a craving opening somewhere deep inside me. An endless cavern of need.

There’s a brief pause where he removes himself to offer his index finger to me, touching my bottom lip in question.

Exhaling roughly, I open my mouth, taking it slowly.

He hisses through clenched teeth, watching as I wet his finger—I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but he seems to enjoy the way I flick my tongue around him nonetheless.

After a moment, he withdraws and lets that hand slide between us once more.

Meeting my gaze, he pauses at my entrance.

When I don’t give any signs of resistance, he pushes in.

My entire body seizes at the intrusion. The stretch is a little uncomfortable, but nothing particularly painful, which is good.

He gives me a moment to adjust before sliding out and then plunging back in. A muscle jumps in his jaw as he fixes his hold on me, moving so I’m mostly being held up by the bookcase before coasting his free hand along my side and finding my breast through my sweater.

Heat blooms a trail across my face as I realize just how thin my bra is; he cups the full swell, thrumming his thumb over the nipple until I feel it tighten, straining against the lacy fabric.

“I want to see you,” he says, gliding beneath the hem of my top and pushing it up, exposing me to the cool, haunted thirteenth-floor air. “Please. I need you.”

Desperation bleeds from his words, sending tendrils of arousal spinning through my abdomen. Following his lead, I grip the sweater and hold it in place, allowing him to drink me in. He plays with my breast, yanking on the flimsy material of my bra, and covers the whole thing with his warm palm.

“ Perfection ,” he says, his voice laced with something I’ve never heard from him before .

Awe.

“Do you hear that, pup?” he continues, kneading my chest at the same time as his finger drags in and out of me, pumping lazily, like he’s getting a feel for how I react to each stroke.

Squelching noises fill the library between huffed, stuttered breaths, and I might be embarrassed about how telling it is if I had any sort of foot in reality at the moment.

But I don’t. Long gone are thoughts of Celeste, Tag, and the fact that this is all happening in the Obeliskos—out in the open too, where anyone on campus could waltz in and get us in trouble for public indecency.

I don’t fucking care. Asher Anderson needs me, and I’m realizing years too late that it’s the only thing I’ve ever really wanted.

My thighs tense, quaking with the dueling sensations of being filled and toyed with. Pressure, white-hot and magnificent, invades my stomach, zipping along my spine and collecting between my legs.

Asher grunts when I shove a hand through his hair, getting better leverage as he works me over. “This little virgin hole is dripping wet, and I’m the first man to ever put anything inside it. What a fucking honor.”

“Jesus, Ash.” I whine, struggling to string together coherent thoughts. “Are you sure you’ve never?—”

I trail off, my mind suddenly assaulted with images of him doing this same thing to others. Foxe supposedly gets around on tour, so what would’ve stopped Asher from participating in similar activities?

He said I was the only one he ever wanted to touch, but how do I know if that was true?

My heart becomes an uncomfortable entity inside my chest, aching in a way I’ve never felt before. My limbs grow heavy, sadness starting to work its way into my bloodstream, even as he curls his finger, reaching a spot within me that makes my eyesight darken.

You’re a liar , he said in that sunflower field after I kissed him. After I threw myself at him, using what little liquid courage I had at the time to put my feelings into motion .

I’d spent months building up to it, convincing myself that his lack of reciprocation was only in my head, and he crushed me.

Then he ditched me and never apologized for it.

Reaching down, I grab his wrist, halting his movements.

His eyebrows arch. “You want me to stop?”

My mind screams Yes! Stop while I still have some dignity left!

But I shake my head, despite my conflicted thoughts. God, I’m a mess, but ending this in the middle of things feels more wrong than the entire situation.

Maybe it’s arousal motivating me, or maybe I’m afraid that if he stops now, he won’t want to start again.

Instead of making him let me go, I adjust my hips, pulling him in deeper. Where it feels best.

Dropping his chin, he watches me fuck myself for several beats; sweat drips between my breasts, and he swipes over it, spreading the moisture on my nipple.

I have no idea what I’m doing, just chasing whatever makes my heart vibrate, but he’s enraptured by the motions anyway. Like I’m some marvelous miracle he’s getting to witness up close.

Swallowing audibly, he adds a second finger. The fit is even tighter than before, and my entire body shudders with unabashed bliss.

He angles against my inner muscles, picking up the pace. My arms stretch behind me, my hands grasping at the shelves as my thighs quiver, liquid heat pulsing through my veins.

“Fucking Christ, pup. You like that, don’t you?”