“We look good, huh?” His words scorch the side of my neck. He's so close my muscles twitch, nerves firing, need ripping through me in uneven bursts. I need his mouth on me. There. Right where his voice just branded. I want him to taste his own hunger off my skin.
“Do you need me to worship you, Venom? Is that it?” He murmurs lazily.
My hand curls at my side, nails biting into my palm as I swallow. His lips graze mine—barely—and my lungs forget how to work, breath catching rough in my throat, body hanging in the air.
“This—” The tip of his nose traces my jaw, and something inside me fractures. A simple fucking movement that detonates beneath my ribs. “This face. The way you think it hides all of your dirty thoughts.” His words scrape against my pulse.
I turn my head, static flooding my ears. “And your mouth. Fuck, Ivy. Every time I fuck myself, it's these lips I see. Has been since the beginning.”
Jesus. He fights dirty.
Air punctures my lungs as I struggle to maintain any composure.
“Want me to talk about your eyes next? Because all you have to do is bat these sexy fuckers and everyone will drop to their knees.” His teeth catch my jaw. “And these.”
His palm crashes onto my thigh, heat searing through my jeans. The ink on his knuckles blurs as he eliminates the space between us, pressing his body against mine until I feel every hard plane of him.
“I need this under my hands. On my tongue. Every second. Every fucking day.”
“Jesus, Asher…” I gasp, turning to face him. I don't even know if the phone is gone now, and I don't care. “I'm not some horny, under fucked housewife that you can just snap your fingers and have.”
The dimple in his left cheek deepens. “Never said you were under fucked.” His focus shifts between my face and my mouth. I move in closer, the mist of his breathing falling on my chin. “Just that it wasn't me doing it.”
“I've never cheated.” I don't know why I choose right now to fucking say this.
“A shame. He sure deserves it.” He doesn't skip a damn beat.
His words gut me. I've underestimated him. Written him off as just another pretty face with fast hands and a dashing smile. But Parker doesn't keep dull company. Never has. I'vespent years watching their interactions, trying to map the connection between them. Stilted exchanges. Clipped sentences. Like they're reading from a script neither of them memorized. It's been that way since the first morning Asher walked into my life—into Parker's kitchen—and everything shifted sideways.
His fingers find my jaw, rough and demanding as he pulls in closer, tilting my face up to his. The grip sends heat straight through me, my pulse hammering against his thumb where it rests on my throat.
“Don't wanna talk about your husband anymore, Venom.”
Words hit my mouth just before his does. He doesn't ask—he takes, crushing his lips against mine with the kind of violence that makes my knees buckle. His teeth catch my bottom lip, biting down hard enough to draw blood, and I taste copper between us. My hands fist in his shirt, not to push him away but to drag him closer, needing more of this destruction he's offering.
He kisses me like he's trying to erase every other mouth that's touched mine, like he's branding me with soft, selective strokes. His tongue invades, possessive and punishing, and I meet him with equal fury, nails digging into his chest through the fabric.
This isn't a kiss. It's a declaration of war. One that doesn’t need weapons or violence. One that’ll kill you slowly, like a disease.
A moan tears from my throat as I fall deeper into his kiss.
My fingers dig through his hair as my back arches into his touch, a desperation of needing him closer.
He releases a small grunt without breaking the kiss, his hands landing on my ass as he guides me over his lap.
My knees hit both sides, the kiss slowing to the same rhythm of my heart. This is something else. More.
I need him. Now. Right fucking now.
My hips shift against the hard ridge of his jeans, and the rhythm shifts. His hand drags up my back, fingers spreadinguntil I'm locked in place, no escape, no breath. That ruthless certainty lives in every inch of his touch, and my thighs slam together as my clit throbs, hunger tearing through me in hot, desperate bursts.
This is fucked. I should shove him off. Instead I press closer, chasing more.
I want to be consumed. Want to offer myself up and watch him take every piece, watch him erase every line I thought I had.
“I'm gonna make you come, but I can't promise you I'm not gonna fuckin' lose it when I feel you around my finger.”
Each word brands itself between kisses, sharp and claiming, sinking past skin straight into bone. I nod—pathetic, shameless, starving. My body betrays every promise I made to myself about staying away from him.
