He returned with one of his racing jackets, the leather still warm with him. I slid my arms into it and twirled; Asher chuckled under his breath. “Can I keep it?”
“I was hoping you would. It looks better on you.”
We walked along the beach, fingers laced. Every few steps he pressed a quick kiss to my lips or cheek; I soaked it in, forbidding myself to think about Willowbrook and the few hours before I had to return.
Good things never lasted—yet it felt worth every second.
“Hypothetically speaking,” Asher said, “if I picked you up at school in two weeks and took you away for a weekend, would they have an issue?”
A weekend together—sleeping in the same bed? Heat moved through me despite the breeze. “Not if you say you’re my brother.”
He groaned. “Of course. Still—anything to spend two days with you.”
“They’re so strict,” I said. “After what happened to Bree, I won’t be surprised if they tighten security.”
Concern clouded his face. “Will you get in trouble for sneaking out tonight?”
I shrugged. “If I do, it doesn’t matter. Spending time with you is worth the punishment.”
He sighed, stopped walking, and wrapped me in his arms. “I’m sorry, peque.”
“For what?”
“For making things harder for you.”
“Stop it.” I cupped his cold cheek. “Things wouldn’t be this hard if my father hadn’t sent me away. I hope the school is as good as Alba says. Otherwise it’ll all be for nothing.”
Asher kissed the tip of my nose. “I admire you, you know?”
I admired his drive and maturity. What could he possibly find admirable in me?
He curled his palm around my jaw. “No. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not lying. I admire you for not breaking. Your father took away everything you love, and it makes me so fucking mad.”
“Not everything. He didn’t take you.”
“Joder.” Asher crushed me to his chest. “How the fuck am I supposed to let you go in a few hours? You say things like that, and I want to keep you with me forever.”
I pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Let’s make the most of those hours, then.”
As he led me back to the car, the energy between us shifted—more deliberate, more urgent. Every step, every brush of his thumb along the back of my hand, every hungry look felt magnified.
We slid into the backseat and his hands were in my hair, his mouth on mine. I tugged his leather jacket off his shoulders, forcing him to break the kiss for a second; he helped me take it all the way off and tossed it onto the driver’s seat.
“Ven aquí,” he whispered, sitting straighter and pulling me into his lap. The rough denim of his jeans brushed my bare inner thighs. He eased my shirt up as if waiting for me to say stop. I didn’t. We’d been dancing around this—too many half-touches, too many stopped kisses.
My white shirt dropped to the floor. Asher’s palms skimmed over me as if memorizing every curve. He went hard beneath me; when I shifted, a pained hiss escaped him. “Wait, peque.”
“Why?” I asked, voice tight.
He kissed my neck slow and deliberate, tasting and nipping in a rhythm that made my skin sing. His hand cupped my breast; his thumb rolled over my nipple. “Because I asked.”
His mouth trailed down my throat. He seized the strap of my bra between his teeth and slid it off my shoulder, then reached behind me to free the clasp. “Preciosa,” he whispered, closing his lips around my nipple. Heat pooled between my legs and my panties dampened as he sucked, one hand keeping my other breast busy. I braced on his shoulders; his breaths came fast. “Hold on. I want to feel you.”
He ripped off his T-shirt and dropped it on mine. I traced the planes of his chest with my fingertips, down to the sculpted ridges of his stomach. A dark bruise marked his ribs on the right; worry cut through the heat. “Ash? What is that?”
“Nothing.” His hands skimmed my back. “I fell while training.”
I leaned down and pressed my lips to the bruise. His answering moan set me alight—if one kiss did that, the idea of exploring the rest of him made my pulse race.
