Slowly, I lower the fruit to his mouth. His lips part, closing around it, teeth snapping the stem clean. He draws it in with deliberate slowness, eyes never leaving mine, like he’s daring me to look away. Then he bites down, chews once, and tips the pit into his palm.
“Suck it clean,” he says, voice low.
My breath stutters. I almost laugh it off—but he doesn’t smile. He just waits, hand extended, expectant.
Something in me caves.
I lean in, heat rushing to my face as I obey. When he presses the pit past my lips, two of his fingers follow. I suck on them instinctively,a shiver racing through me as his skin drags against my tongue. My stomach flutters, heat pooling low in my stomach when he pushes a little deeper, testing me.
What the hell is wrong with me?
My tongue circles the pit, the sharp tang of cherry juice lingering as his fingers brush my mouth. Troy’s stare is heavy, dark with desire. His lips part ever so slightly, a soft mixture of awe and surprise spread across his face.
He looksproudof me. It’s fucking weird.
When he removes his fingers from my mouth, a cough rattles up my throat. I spit the pit onto the dirt at our feet, the small, dark thing landing between us like evidence. I stare at it, chest rising and falling too fast, trying to steady my breathing.
Troy firmly grips my chin, his fingers slick with my own spit, and forces me to lift my head. I want to turn away and pretend this never happened, but he won’t let me. My throat works as I swallow, his eyes flicking between mine like he’s searching for an answer I don’t know how to give.
“Please…” I whisper.
I’m not even sure what I’m asking for—for him to let me go, or for him to pull me closer.
His thumb drags over my lower lip, tugging it down just slightly before his mouth captures mine. The kiss is dizzying—hungry, desperate, consuming. His lips are soft but unyielding, commanding mine into submission, and I give in without hesitation. Every coherent thought dissolves the second he kisses me.
I let him take control, and the surrender is impossibly freeing.
“Fuck,” he groans against my lips. “You’re even sweeter than I expected.”
He cups my face with his warm, inked hands, then nudges me backward until my spine hits the rough bark of the nearest cherry tree. The impact knocks a gasp from my chest—and he steals it, his tongue slipping into my mouth without hesitation. His beard scrapes against my skin with a delicious burn, his metal lip ring catching my lower lip just enough to make me shiver.
He tastes like cherry juice and cigarette smoke, a strange, addictive combination that leaves me hungry for more. His thigh presses between my legs, firm and deliberate, as his fingers grasp at my hair like he can’t get close enough. The delicious, sharp tug on my scalp makes my knees wobble, a soft whine escaping my throat.
When his leg brushes my crotch, reality slams back into me—like breaking the surface after drowning, oxygen rushing painfully into my lungs.
Christ. What the hell am I doing?
I turn my face to break the kiss, planting my palms against his chest and pushing just enough space between us to breathe. Troy’s gaze sears into my skull, but I can’t look at him—not when I’m rock-hard from kissing him like a sex-crazed teenager.
“Ash—”
I huff out a breath, shoving at his shoulder. “Stop.”
He stumbles back a step, hands lifting instinctively, concern flashing across his face. “Alright,” he says quietly.
My eyes squeeze shut as I pinch the bridge of my nose, pulling in a few slow, steadying breaths. I ground myself in the details around me—the birds chirping overhead, the hush of wind through the leaves, the soft crunch of twigs and fallen foliage beneath my boots.
“Ash,” Troy says again, his voice distant and warped through the fog in my head. “You okay?”
I swallow hard and open my eyes. His cheeks are flushed, his lips red and a little swollen—a physical reminder of what we just did.
“We shouldn’t have done that.” The words scrape up my throat, raw and painful.
For a split second, something vulnerable flickers across his face. Hurt. Surprise. Maybe even regret. It’s gone almost as quickly as it appears, smoothed over by that familiar, infuriating composure of his.
“Yeah,” he says lightly, forcing a crooked grin as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Sure. I mean—no big deal. Just… got carried away.”
I nod slowly, stepping out from the shade of the tree. “Right.”
