Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
My chest burns from his seductive words. “Why are they wrong?”
He dusts a thumb across my lower lip. “Because this pretty mouth? It belongs to me tonight.”
My breath hitches. “It does.”
“There’s one more thing I want you to remember about kissing,” he says, like a professor.
“What is it?”
“A good kiss starts with me getting you so wound up, you’re…” He stops, dips his face to my ear, then whispers, “wet before I even kiss you.”
The sound I make—it’s needy.
It’s feral.
It’s not at all friendly.
I swallow roughly, then say in a feathery voice, “I’m starting to remember.”
“Good. Let’s see if it all comes back to you.”
His fingers glide down my cheekbones to my chin, skimming the bare skin at the top of the vest. Then he stops, respecting my limits—which is so damn hot—even as I wonder how far I want to stretch them tonight.
He brackets my face with his hands, and I feel…controlled, but in a way I didn’t know I wanted. Until now. I feel almost blindfolded, with no idea what he has in store for me—where his hands, his mouth, his plans will take me as he shows me how to kiss again.
He sweeps my hair aside, then with a firm hand on my face, he tilts my head, exposing the side of my neck. He lays open-mouthed caresses along my throat, from shoulder to hairline, and I’m sighing, murmuring, gasping.
“You’re still not kissing me,” I pant out.
“Got a problem with that?” he taunts.
I smile as I lean my head back, inviting more of his prelude to a kiss. “I don’t know. Maybe you should keep not kissing me. I mean, that sounds like a good idea to me.”
He laughs softly, maybe remembering his toast about good ideas and bad ones once upon a time.
“Teasing is a good idea. And you like it. Seems you like the anticipation too,” he says as he presses a hot kiss to the hollow of my throat.
It’s not a question, so I don’t answer with words. I answer with touch, looping my arms around his neck.
For a second, he freezes, like my touch is too much. He squeezes his eyes closed. Shudders.
Wow.
Watching that tremble move through him like he has to fight it might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Come to think of it, Asher kissing me like he wants me to remember it for all time is the most electrifying thing I’ve ever felt.
But when he opens his eyes, both those things are wrong.
The look in his green irises right now—darkened, almost tormented, but determined—is the hottest thing ever.
“You were saying?” he asks, then he crushes his lips to mine.
Oh, god.
The sound that comes from my mouth is embarrassing—it’s a needy whimper.
I part my mouth, asking for more.
He slides his tongue between my lips, holding my face, exploring me. It’s a hard kiss. Different from the one at the chapel. That was a sultry kiss on a beach under the shimmering sun. It’s different, too, from the one on the street after the auction. That was a simple tease, a sip of whiskey, a little heat.
This is something else entirely.
This is devouring. His thumb presses under my jaw, tilting my head back so he can kiss me deeply.
His kisses are hungry. They’re greedy. They’re demanding. Asher doesn’t kiss me like we’re best friends. He kisses me like he met me tonight and wants to put me on my hands and knees and fuck me into next week.
That image lodges in my brain and won’t budge. With each sweep of his tongue, I picture him throwing me down. Every press of his lips makes me imagine him grabbing my wrists, binding them in his hands. As fingers sweep over my face, I feel myself surrendering to whatever he’d ask me to do.
I sink into his kiss on the couch, taking everything he gives, until I’m aching not merely between my thighs.
But I’m craving him in every damn cell in my body.
I break apart for a second, just to catch my breath, maybe to get my bearings, and he looks wild.
I feel wild. “I think I almost remember now,” I say.
“Better make sure,” he taunts.
“Yeah, I better.” I take his taunt and turn it up a notch. I climb onto his lap, bracketing his face with my hands, and kiss him—a deep, passionate kiss that makes me feel out of control. That makes me feel free.
Before I know it, I’m straddling him, my short skirt hiked up as I rock against the outline of his hard cock. And wow—what an outline it is. Thick and pulsing, and I should not know that about Asher. I really shouldn’t. This is a bad idea. Such a bad idea. We’re friends. We’re just playing around. This is just a practice kiss.
I have to say that. I have to make some boundaries clear. I wrench away. “This is just kissing. Nothing more.”