“Yes, baby girl, just like that,” I whisper gruffly as she pants. I can hear her writhing on the couch as the orgasm nears. Ican also feel my own, rushing through my thighs, burning and threatening with each stroke to break loose.
“Fuck,” she whimpers.
“Yes,” I say a little louder, almost hoping shecanhear me.
“Oh, fuck…”
“Come for me,” I say through my teeth.
She cries out. No hesitation, no control. I come hard and the orgasm rips through us. We both fall silent and just lie there, me on the bed and her on the couch. There is at least twenty feet of space between us, and yet, somehow, that was the most satisfying thing I’ve ever done.
Like the waves crashing outside crashed into us, leaving us both completely undone.
Chapter 12
Harper
“Looks like we’re still fucked,” Asher says. We are sitting at the breakfast table the next morning, with an array of fruits, tamales, and pastries in front of us.
But I’m too distracted to eat.
“Fucked?” I repeat the word, though it comes out in a squeak.
Ash looks up at me from his phone. “The road. It’s still blocked according to the traffic updates.”
“Oh. Dang,” I say without emotion.
I should be more upset or excited. But my mind is on last night and the orgasm I had on the couch while he was fast asleep in bed. I laid there forever, trying in vain to fall asleep, but thanks to his words, to his…advice…sleep never came.
It started out as curiosity. I was a bit annoyed that he could knowthatmuch about the female anatomy? But he did, and he knew a lot! Enough that he managed to get me off just through instruction. I did everything he said, everything he so eloquently explained, and it was spot on.
“I guess we are stuck here a little longer,” he says, taking a bite of a tamale with salsa.
“I guess so,” I answer, taking a sip of the mimosa I made when I woke up. I didn’t even have coffee. I went straight forchampagne and orange juice. That’s the kind of night it was. Not that I didn’t sleep. That orgasm was a back-arching, scream-muffling orgasm. I woke up disheveled, my mind a fuzzy haze trying to remember what happened last night.
I still don’t seem to have my bearings.
“Are you feeling alright?” Ash asks with concern in his whiskey-colored eyes. I thought they were hazel, but every time he looks at me, it’s like they deepen to a warm bourbon color that catches the light and sends heat through my veins, straight to my–
“No,” I blurt out the word I mean to say inwardly in an attempt to scold myself. I cannot get worked up at the breakfast table. “I mean, no, nothing is wrong. I’m fine. Great really. I feel good.”
Ash arches an eyebrow, and a smirk plays at the corners of his lips.
Jesus, Harper. Keep it cool. Keep it under control.
“You just seem…”
“What?” I ask, reaching for my champagne flute. I really should eat. Carbs would help. Right?
“Unhinged or something.”
“No. Not at all. I am perfectly hinged,” I smile.
“Right,” he nods, going back to his phone. My eyes trail from his furrowed brow to his sharp, bristled jawline, down his chiseled shoulders, over his biceps and down his forearms. I take in every inch of him that is above the table. As usual, he’s wearing nothing but shorts.
No shoes. No shirt.
And no service. You cannot have this man, Harper. And as long as it’s daylight, you can’t touch yourself while thinking about him either.
