There’s no planning, no logic. Justwant.My hand finds the back of her neck, fingers threading into her soft hair as my mouth crashes into hers, tasting her gasp, her surprise, and then—her surrender.
Because she kisses me back.
Hungry. Desperate. Like this is what she’s been waiting for.
Her hands are on my chest, then my shoulders, sliding down my arms as she melts against me like she can’t help it.
“Damn, Ash,” she murmurs in between kisses, her eyes roaming over my body. “You’re all muscle and ink. It’s almost unfair.”
I just grunt, because she’s already tugging me toward the bed, her grip firm and purposeful. We tumble onto it in a tangle of limbs, her laughter mingling with mine as we roll across the sheets. I end up ontop of her, my weight pressing her into the mattress, and I can feel her heart racing beneath me.
She’s still wearing a loose tank top and pink bikini bottoms from the pool—bright, playful, and somehow the most seductive thing I’ve ever seen.
Finally, I’ve got her right where I want her.
Her hands slide down my back, nails grazing lightly over my skin, and she bucks her hips against mine—a silent, unmistakable demand for more.
I grin against her lips, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze.
“Impatient, aren’t we?” I murmur, my voice low and teasing.
She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks are flushed, her breath coming in short, quick gasps. “Just get on with it, Ash. You’re killing me here.”
I chuckle, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates against her skin. “Alright, alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
My hands slide down her body, tracing the curves of her hips, the swell of her breasts. Her skin is soft and warm, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, and I take my time, savoring every inch of her. Her shirt rides up as I move, exposing her flat stomach, the dip of her navel, and I can’t resist pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot just below her ribs. She shivers beneath me, her hands tightening on my shoulders.
“Ash,” she breathes, her voice a plea and a warning all at once.
I smile against her skin, my lips brushing lightly as I move lower. “What?”
“Stop teasing,” she demands, her voice trembling. “Just—just touch me, okay?”
I oblige, my fingers sliding underneath pink fabric and between her legs, seeking the heat and wetness that’s gathering there. She’s already slick, her body responding to my touch with an eagerness that sends a surge of pride and desire through me. I press a kiss to her inner thigh,my breath ghosting over her sensitive skin, and she squirms beneath me, her hips lifting in silent invitation.
“Like this?” I ask, my voice a whisper against her skin. My fingers glide over her, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves, and she gasps, her head falling back against the pillow.
“Yes,” she moans, her voice thick with need. “Right there. Don’t stop.”
I don’t. My fingers move slowly at first, a deliberate tease that has her arching against my touch, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. I watch her face, the way her lips part, her eyes fluttering closed as pleasure washes over her. Her skin flushes, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and I know I’ve got her right on the edge.
But I’m not ready to let her go just yet. I slow my touch, my fingers gliding over her with a gentle pressure that has her whimpering in frustration. “Ash,” she pleads, her voice a ragged whisper. “Please.”
I chuckle, a low, dark sound that vibrates against her skin. “Please what, Olive?”
“Make me come,” she demands, her voice fierce despite the desperation underlying it. “Don’t stop. Just—just fucking make me come.”
The raw need in her voice sends a jolt of desire through me, and I can’t hold back any longer. My fingers move firmer, faster, my touch relentless as I push her toward the edge. Her hips buck against my hand, her body tense and trembling, and I know she’s close.
“That’s it,” I murmur, my voice a rough whisper against her skin.
Her body arches, her back bowing off the bed as she cries out, her release washing over her in waves. Her muscles clench around my fingers, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps, and I hold her there, my touch steady as she rides out her orgasm. Her eyes are closed, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated pleasure, and I feel a surge of satisfaction at the sight.
When she finally collapses back onto the bed, her body limp and boneless, I lean over her, my lips brushing against her sweat-dampened forehead. “You okay?” I ask, my voice soft and teasing.
I expect a playful retort. Maybe a grin. More kisses. Maybe round two.
But instead, a flicker of emotion crosses her face. First contentment. Then confusion. Then frustration. Then—anger.
