My hands rake through his hair and claw at his back as he grinds against me, his mouth never seeming to let go.
The room feels like a million degrees and my pussy flutters from his mouth on mine.
Holy hell, the man knows how to kiss.
Not that it’s new information, but I’ve never been so turned on from just his lips on mine. He sits me at the edge of my desk and backs away.
“Where the hell are you going?” I growl, eyes wide as I glare at him, prepared to leap off the desk and tackle his ass if necessary.
He doesn’t get to walk away from me.
“Closing the door.” He grins, kicking it shut. He’s back on me, his mouth covering mine as he leans forward, laying me on my desk, the books and papers falling to the floor in a heap.
I don’t fucking care.
“The door,” I rasp between kisses.
“I just shut it,” he reminds me like I didn’t just see him slam it with his foot.
His mouth is on my neck, my ear, he’s hitting every spot that sends my body shuddering. “It’s not locked,” I protest.
He laughs under his breath, clearly amused. “Trust me, no one is coming in right now.”
How can he be so certain? And so damn confident?
“How do you know that?” I reach for his jaw, wanting his mouth back on mine when he restrains my hands on the desk with his. He’s so much bigger than I am. His hands, his body, everything about him is huge.
“That little outburst earlier,” he pins me with his stare, “everyone is afraid of you, Nova. You’d make a good mafia leader, a capo—perhaps.”
Snarling, I lean up and tug his bottom lip between my teeth.
“Feisty,” Ashton mutters. He doesn’t seem to be complaining. I release his lip and he quirks a grin. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re angry.”
His lips dance a path along my neck, leaving a warm trail of kisses that burn my skin and make my skin tingle. His hands work the button of my jeans free, sliding them over my hips and down to the floor.
I don’t protest or stop him.
There is a fire raging inside of me. A dangerous storm building with intensity, it draws nearer. He yanks my shirt up and over my head, and it hits the ground with a thud.
“Get undressed,” I order, giving him a command like I’m the one in charge, when it’s really him.
He drops his pants in a matter of seconds. Ashton tosses his shirt across my room; it lands on the mattress.
The sizzle of heat and electricity is like a live current teasing through my veins as I watch him, waiting.
It’s not sweet and slow. He’s not whispering sweet nothings into my ear.
Each thrust is entirely primal.
Driven only by passion and emotions.
I reach for his shoulder, my fingernails digging into his flesh, marking him, leaving impressions behind on his skin as I glide my hand to his back.
I don’t have to tell him to fuck me harder.
Ashton is already there. Pounding into me. I can no longer tell where I end and he begins.
We’re one.
