I blush and tuck my head in against his shoulder as embarrassment hits me from the evidence of my arousal. Iknewthis was a bad idea for so many reasons, but I can’t live with humiliating myself in front of him like this after opening up to him so much, to get judged in an intimate moment like this…I couldn’t recover.
I begin to pull away from him, move to stand up and straighten my shorts, not sure how I can possibly walk away from him, but not wanting to embarrass myself with him, either. It’s becoming glaringly obvious that he is considerably more experienced than I am, and I can’t help but compare myself to those who came before me. Were their thighs as thick as mine? I bet they didn’t have this belly, or the cellulite that I do. The fears ambush me at once.
His hand slides down to my knee before I can get up, and he grips me there, forcing me to stay seated on his lap. His eyes bore into me, reading my fear, the reason for my hesitation, and giving me pause. There’s no laughter in his gaze, no mockery. No judgment, either. Nothing but want, maybe even need, from what he felt of me. The desire exuding from him is tangible, palpable in the air, and it makes me catch my breath.
“Not a fucking chance,” he growls into my ear. He pulls his head back so his eyes pierce into mine and beyond once more, making sure I feel every word he says intimately. “Don’t get scared on me now, Ellie. I’m right here with you. We’re in this together.”
I drop my weight fully back down onto his lap and nod at him, letting my trust in him overtake my insecurities, concerns, my fear of looking inexperienced, overeager, desperate for him.
He moves both of his hands to the button on my shorts and makes quick work of undoing them. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve dreamt about this moment? About you? I’m not letting you go anywhere until you’ve come at least twice. Just need to hear you say that’s what you want, too.”
The throaty noise that leaves my mouth may not be one I’ve ever heard before. “That’s—” I clear my throat and try again. “That’s what I want, too.”
Asher leans up, kissing me sweetly, before pulling back. “Good.” He gently braces my hips, gets me to stand up between his legs and then he slides the shorts down my body until they hit the floor, leaving me standing before him in nothing but my shirt and lacy black thong.
The way he looks me over at this moment? It makes my heart stop before beating in double time, tripping over itself to catch up the missed beats. When his eyes light up and his tongue finds his eyetooth in that thoughtful way that I always find so sexy, my knees buckle.
He steadies me by placing his hands on the backs of my thighs—always too thick for my liking, but he’s looking at them like they’re an altar he can’t wait to pray at—and he draws me closer to him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Ellie, you know that?”
If someone figured out how to bottle that sound, that raspy growl in his tone, convey the desire in it, they could make a killing. Can’t decide if it would be a drug to inject, like heroin, or an alternative to Viagra, but either way, I’d use it all damn day. And I wouldn’t be the only one. It could start a new epidemic.
He slides a finger under the band at the top of my panties and lightly traces the skin of my lower stomach beneath it. I’ve always been so self-conscious of the bit of pooch there, the one that I can never get to go away despite years of cutting carbs, my early morning workouts, counting calories, but Asher doesn’t seem to even notice it.
He pulls up the hem of my shirt to allow him to see the soft skin he was just touching and brings his face closer to place a gentle kiss to my stomach. When his tongue darts out, meets with my skin, another whimper leaves my mouth and I can’t remember ever being so short on words in my entire life.
“Asher—” I start. He looks up at me with such adoration in his eyes that I have to close my own briefly to recover from the wave of emotion that knocks into me unexpectedly.
I’ve never felt sowantedby anyone in my life, and the heady sensation from that realization threatens my stability, and possibly my sanity. In this instant, every doubt, every concern I had about ending things with David? I know it was worth it. There was never atenthof what I feel in this moment inanyof the moments we’d shared over our years together. When I open my eyes again, I find Asher’s gaze still intently on mine, searing me, like he wants to remember every second of this for the rest of his life.
He maintains that eye contact as he stands and tugs gently on the hem of my shirt, pulling it upwards, over my raised arms, and then he tosses it to the floor, next to my forgotten shorts.
He sits back down on the couch, leaning back and looking far too comfortable for all my nervousness—how experienced is he?—and he splays his hands around my hips, gently stroking my waistline with his fingers while taking me in with his eyes.
His gaze drags to my chest, a weighty, palpable thing that rakes over me, springing goosebumps across my flesh at the feel of it. My heavy breasts are cradled in a black lace bra that shows off and amplifies my curves, rather than hide them (you know, my usual aim when selecting clothes for the workplace), and he takes his time taking them in. A haze floods his eyes, and it’s his turn to close them for a moment and steady himself.
“You’re like a fucking dream,” he says, his voice a good octave deeper than his usual tone.
I shiver at the sincerity in his words and lean back down to kiss him, show him what hearing that does to me, but he beats me to it, meeting me halfway for a deep kiss before pulling back and bringing his gaze back down my body, settling at the cloth between my legs.
He brings his hands around to my ass, gripping the full cheeks and pulling me even closer to him, while bringing his face to the part of me only two others had touched before. He grazes me with his nose, taking in my scent and groaning in appreciation. I feel the pool of wetness between my legs grow even slicker and I tremble, worrying that I won’t be able to hold myself upright if he gets my any more turned on. Is it possible to pass out from sheer need and anticipation? If I do, please just let that be my time to go, not have me wake up with paramedics around, having to explain I just got overwhelmed by this man and what he does to me.
“Please,” I say tightly, one hand lightly gripping Asher’s hair, the other on his firm and unyielding shoulder, tense beneath my touch.
He brings a hand to cup me through my panties, cursing softly at what he feels there, before looking up at me with a devilish crooked smile. “Please what?”
I try not to react when he begins to stroke me through the lace, but it’s all I can do not to let out a moan while my eyes roll back in my head.
In the last five years with whatshisname, I’ve never once been this wet. I didn't even think it was possible to be this turned on, yet here we are, not ten minutes into our first time doinganythingand I’m just a shivering, stammering, slick mess. I can hardly imagine what I’ll be twenty minutes from now, let alone two hours. But, God, do I want to find out.
“Please don’t make me wait any longer, Asher.” It’s a plea at this point.
That mischievous smirk doesn’t bode well for me, but two can play this game.
I drop down out of his grip unexpectedly, startling him, and bring my hand down from his shoulder, dragging it over his chest and stomach, feeling him tense beneath my light touch.
He feels like solid muscle beneath me, and I can’t wait for another chance to see what lies underneath his shirt, to feel his skin against mine when there’s nothing between us, his firmness against the softness of my curves, that bit of extra padding I’ve always carried.
