Is he… saying no?
To me?
But then he lets out a ragged breath. “The… piercing.Fuuuuck.”
“Oh.” I close my eyes, deflating. “Oh.”
And now the questions I didn’t ask earlier are back. In fact, they slam into me like a freight train.
How bad is it? How long does that kind of piercing even take to heal? Days?Weeks?
I don’t want to stop. God help me, I really don’t want to stop.
“I want to,” he rasps, like he’s struggling to hold himself together. “God, Ashley…I want youso fucking bad.”
I feel it—coiled tight in the tension of his muscles, the way he’s braced above me like he’s this close to breaking.
But he won’t. He literally can’t.
And darn it, that makes me want him more.
His eyes rake over my face, and I see—frustration, hunger, regret.
“So bad,” he murmurs. His mouth finds my cheek, my jaw, then the hollow just beneath my ear—the one that lights me up like a match to fireworks.
And then, I feel his hand moving lower.
“I’ve got this,” he whispers, the promise ragged and low.
Then we’re kissing again, so deep. His body shifts beside me—half covering me.
“Sweet Jesus.”
His hand slips under my top, skimming up my ribcage, his palm warm and familiar against my bare skin. I arch, gasping as he finds my breast, and then teases it lazily with his thumb.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to tug the hem of my cotton shorts, and I lift my hips, letting him pull them down, letting go of everything except the feel of his hand along my inner thigh. He kisses the hollow of my throat, and then lower, and my body is already trembling when his hand finally finds me.
I part my knees.
“I want in you so damn bad,” he murmurs.
“Um hmmm.” I want to say more but I’ve seemingly lost the ability to talk.
He slides two fingers along my center, slow and deliberate, circling my clit but never quite giving me everything. My hips lift instinctively, chasing more, but he just chuckles—low, dark, wicked.
“Easy,” he murmurs, his voice a gravel-soft tease against my skin. “I want to take my time.”
His fingers move again, lower, daring, exploring, then back up to circle, to torment. I can’t stop the gasp that tears from my throat, or the way my legs open wider. My way of begging for…more.
“You’re so wet,” he says, kissing just below my ear. “Is this all for me?”
“Yes.” I’m barely breathing. “God, yes.”
“Damn straight it is.” He dips a finger inside, then another, the stretch achingly perfect. Curling. Pressing.
“You feel like heaven,” he whispers. “I could do this all night.”
