“Bad aim?” I teased.
That smirk—the one I’d spent two years trying to forget—tugged at his mouth. “You never complained, peque.”
Finally, the lock clicked. He motioned me in first, then followed.
The space smelled like him. He reached for the light switch, but I pressed my hand over his. “Don’t. Come here.”
Conflict flickered across his face, right and wrong pulling at him.
But I needed him. For once, I wanted to take what I needed—and give him what I knew he wanted too.
“Kaia,” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Maybe we should—”
I pressed my fingers to his lips. “No. Please, not now.”
He kissed each fingertip, then my palm, lingering over the ink on my wrist. I shrugged off my jacket; he let his fall too.
I reached for him, gripping his shoulders and kissing him like I was parched and he was water.
He lifted me, his hands firm on my thighs as I wrapped around his hips. His mouth stayed on mine—nipping, gliding, taking.
He walked us backward through a dark hallway, then reached behind him to open a door.
City lights spilled through a floor-to-ceiling window, casting a gold glow over the king-sized bed draped in white linen. I glanced at it, and that damn smirk returned, heat blazing in his eyes.
“I bought it thinking about everything I’d do to you in it.”
My core clenched.
Asher pressed his thumb to my lower lip, sliding it down my chin, my throat, to my chest. He found my nipple through the thin fabric and circled it, watching me like I was something rare. My grip on his shoulders tightened, my breath coming faster the longer he touched me.
Then he stopped.
He set me on the edge of the bed and sank to his knees. His thumb brushed the button of my jeans, then stilled.
“I haven’t been with anyone since our first time,” he said.
My breath quivered at his admission. He’d waited two years?
I swallowed the knot rising in my throat. “Ash, I—”
He shook his head, undoing the button. “Don’t say anything. If you’d moved on, that would’ve been on me for letting you go.”
He tugged my jeans down, his gaze smoldering, and I lifted off the bed. We could talk later. Right now, I just wanted his touch.
He slid the denim off inch by inch, kissing each strip of skin he uncovered. Heat pooled low in my belly when his mouth traced the inside of my thigh.
I hadn’t thought I’d ever feel his lips on me again. Now that I did, I savored every second, trembling with lust and impatience.
Asher gripped the hem of his black tee and yanked it up. Somehow, in the time we’d been apart, he’d grown even more chiseled. Harder. Rougher. He tossed the shirt aside, peeled off my socks, and added them to the pile of clothes. His thumb circled my ankle bone as he lifted my leg to his shoulder, then did the same with the other.
Desire throbbed through me. He curled his fingers into the band of my panties. If he touched them, he’d know how soaked I already was. It never took much with him. Maybe because I’d discovered what I liked in his hands, and he knew my body like it was his own.
He dragged the satin down my legs, eyes fixed on me. For a moment his gaze locked with mine—then he lifted my legs back to his shoulders and leaned in, his mouth level with my sex.
“I missed this,” he murmured, lips brushing me. The first lick made me collapse onto the bed.
“Ash.” His name tore from me with every slow stroke of his tongue. He spread me open with his thumbs, teasing my clit in steady flicks, back and forth, faster, until I quivered, gasping.
