As he kisses me the second time, my arms loop around his neck, his hands grasp my thighs, and my legs wrap around histoned torso. I feel more than fireworks from the first kiss. It feels like hot lava traveling to every nerve in my body. It rushes, overtakes, and consumes me.
A part of me is waking up; a part that has never been aroused.
I pull back from the kiss with a gasp, pressing my hands to his chest. The pool water is a pleasant lukewarm temperature, but the temperature between my legs is hot. It’s not just body heat. I’m wet, and it is hot.
“Are you okay?” Ash asks with concern in his hazel eyes that look more honey-colored right now.
“Yes,” I smile. “I just… I need a second.”
Asher sets me down, and I back up. Water drips down my body, running down my legs, and heat rises to my cheeks. Can he see it? Can he tell what is pool water and what is me?
“Where are you going?” he asks, and I realize I am still backing up. I’m smiling and giggling like an idiot because…wait, are my nipples hard? Can he see that too? Fuck.
Before I respond and before Ash has the chance to ask me any more questions, I make a run for it, galloping down the wooden stairs that lead to the beach.
“What are you doing?” he calls out, but I keep running.
Then, because I don’t want him to think anything is wrong, I call back. “The ocean! Catch me if you can!”
Seconds later I hear his footsteps on the stairs, much faster than mine. I glance behind me, and he is hot on my heels. There is a grin on his face, and the breeze blows his golden brown, silver flecked hair.
I shriek as he closes in on me. My feet hit the water and I keep going, turning around to splash him. It doesn’t stop him. He grabs me, spinning me around in his arms. I shriek as a wave hits us, but he doesn’t let go. So I don’t either.
As the waves crash around us, we pant from exertion, breathing in each other’s fruity, boozy exhales. We are less thanan inch apart, and our mouths are tempted to meet. This time, it’s mine that gives in.
I press my lips to his, wanting more. I want more than I’ve ever dared to think about taking. I’ve never felt anything like this before. Not the heat, not the hunger, not the fluttering in my chest or the tickling in my stomach. As his tongue dances with mine, I moan into his mouth. His jaw unhinges slightly, and the kiss goes even deeper. One of his hands presses against my back while the other travels up to my hair, tangling in it, tugging it, making me moan again.
The heat settles between my thighs, and this time I want to ignore it and just let it happen. Maybe it’s supposed to, and it’s okay. Then I feel it; it’s the same hardness I felt in bed before. Only this time, it’s pressed against my front, sending a delicious jolt of need through my body.
I suck in a deep breath and pull away from him. Asher searches my expression, and I can see it in his eyes. He knows I’m going to run. And I do. I take off towards the villa, my mind rushing in a thousand directions as I go. I know I am being flighty and sending mixed signals, but so is my body and my heart.
I don’t want to hear his footsteps this time. As soon as I rush into the villa, I go straight to the bathroom, closing the door behind me and turning on the shower. I need to cool down. Or warm up. I don’t know. Either way, I am shaking.
I stand under the rainfall shower head, and as the steam swirls around me, I try to make sense of it all.
I kissed Asher Levine.
I kissed my brother’s best friend.
And I wanted more.
So much more.
I press my hands to my face as the water beats down on me, and I realize in that moment that I am hot. So hot, but it’s notfrom the water. The burning in my lower stomach, in my thighs, in my breasts, it hasn’t faded. It’s the same heat I feel when I read about the characters in my books. Except this time, I’m not thinking about those characters. I am thinking about Ash.
With my eyes still closed and one hand pressed to the cold tile, I press my other hand to myself. My fingers run between the soft skin, rubbing, flicking, searching for that spot that will make me gasp.
“Fuck,” I let out as I find it, my knees trembling at the contact.
I think about the way his tongue felt in my mouth, the way it swirled around, dancing with my own, and I try to imagine that tongue flicking and swirling and teasing my clit.
“Yes,” I softly whisper. But as I stroke myself, thinking about that tongue, wishing that tongue was on me, his mouth covering my pussy the way his mouth covered my lips, I near the edge of the orgasm, but never quite reach it. No matter how I try, how hard or fast I work my fingers, it’s not enough. It’s not quite right.
It’s not him.
“Fuck,” I let out, my hand on the wall balling into a fist.
It’s not good enough.
