More clumsily than I’d hoped, I guided him inside. He watched my face as if searching for signs of pain. I felt him deeper this way; the sting lingered, but I wanted him too much to care.
Asher wrapped his arms around me, and I rocked my hips, hunting an angle that fit. His hands slid to my waist, then cupped my ass, pushing me down slowly, lifting me, repeating the motion. Heat pooled betweenmy legs, and my breaths came shallow. I sought his mouth; we kissed to be closer.
“Te quiero,” he whispered. I wanted to tell him I loved him too, but he shifted the angle and the world narrowed to the pressure building in my core and the slippery slap of our bodies chasing pleasure. Sweat slicked my skin as I moved faster.
“Touch yourself,” he said, voice rough. I ran my fingers over the slick, pulsing nub. He kept thrusting—slow, then faster—as if he could feel I was close.
“You take me so well,” he said against my neck, then sucked the tender skin. “I always knew you were made for me.” His words pulled a shudder through me. Pleasure crested and exploded; my muscles clenched as Asher set a fast, punishing rhythm chasing his own release.
His moan drowned in my kiss; a shudder rolled through his body as he pressed his forehead to mine. “I want to do this with you every day for the rest of my life,” he whispered. “Can we?”
I kissed the tip of his nose. “Please. There’s a lot we could try.”
He laughed and pulled me closer until my chest pressed his. “Probably not everything today. You’re going to be sore when I take you back. I hate the thought of you in pain.”
“It’s the good kind.” I yawned and buried my face in the crook of his neck.
Asher slipped out slowly, discarded the condom, and hugged me under the sheet—my back to his front, his arms keeping me warm and safe. “Sleep, mi amor.”
***
I fought not to cry as Asher parked the bike by the school gates. I needed more time with him. Instead I’d go to class; he’d ride back to Stetbourg to train for the next race. At least I had a phone now. I tried to focus on that instead of the fact that I wouldn’t see him for another two weeks.
He swung off the bike and wrapped his arms around me. I inhaled leather and cologne and let out a shaky breath into his neck.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“This weekend.” He skimmed the tip of his thumb over my cheek. “You being mine. Everything.”
He kissed my forehead, lips lingering, then planted another kiss on my cheek, the tip of my nose, my chin, my lips.
I smiled.
“Better.” He leaned his forehead to mine. “I already hate leaving you here. It’s worse if you’re sad.”
“I’m fine, Ash. Don’t ride too fast, okay?”
He kissed me—short, because someone could see—but the kiss said everything: he’d miss me, the weekend mattered to him as much as it did to me, he loved me.
“Te amo,” he whispered. “Now go, or I’ll kidnap you.”
“If only.” I sighed and adjusted my backpack straps. “I love you too.”
He stepped back, grabbed my hand, squeezed it once more. I walked through the gates and glanced back; he sat on the bike, smiling. I waved and started up the wide driveway just as his engine revved behind me. I inhaled, fixed my eyes on the gravel, and told myself I would not cry.
“Kaia.”
I stopped. Teagan stepped in front of me. She must’ve been in the yard the whole time and I hadn’t noticed. Her gaze flicked to the gates—and I knew she’d seen it all. Crap.
“Hi.” I forced my voice. “Were you waiting for me?”
“Yeah.” She looked at me—cold, disgusted—and I shivered. What was her problem?
“I need to leave my stuff inside,” I said, sidestepping her to keep from snapping. Asher and I had done nothing wrong; she could shove it.
In my room I tossed my backpack on the bed and sat. Teagan crossed her arms. “Your dad was here.”
