Blair stared at the ceiling, still panting.
“Wow,” she whispered.
She hadn’t felt wanted like that in ever. Not without having to earn it. Not without losing something in return.
“My imagination is incredible,” she added, breath still shaky. “I should weaponize this. Start writing erotica or something.”
Ashar turned his head lazily toward her.
“I’m not your imagination, Blair.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sure you’re not.”
“Want me to prove it again?”
She hesitated, then she smiled.
“…Maybe.”
4
I Came, I Floated, I Forgot My Own Name
She used to joke that she’d never had an orgasm that changed her life. That none of them had made her feel anything but spent and vaguely sad. But this, well, this wasn’t just sex. It was an unmaking.
Blair wasn’t sure if she passed out, or maybe died, or perhaps she just achieved the kind of orgasm that gave access to reality’s cheat codes.
Because what Ashar did next couldn’t be real.
One second, she was under him, breathless and wrecked, trembling and glazed over with sweat.
Next, she was weightless. Not just metaphorically, really. She was physically weightless.
Her brain tried to file it under dream logic, under too-many-TikToks-and-not-enough-sleep, but every nerve in her body screamed real. The air shimmered around her skin, cool and warm at once, like she was suspended in a heartbeat between dimensions.
Floating. Suspended in mid-air like she’d suddenly becomethe star of a demon-powered Cirque du So-Freaking-Hot.
“What the,” she gasped, jerking her head up. There was nothing but air beneath her. And he, still below her, hands on her hips, dark tattoos faintly glowing like molten gold under his skin.
His grip anchored her. His magic held her aloft. His mouth, fuck, his mouth,
Never stopped.
Ashar’s gaze never left hers as he leaned in again, tongue flicking and teasing, his lips slick and reverent, worshiping her like she was an altar and offering. And when he slipped lower, deeper, parting her with a hunger that bordered on devotion, she moaned loud enough to make the windows hum.
Every breath she took pulled his scent deeper into her lungs, smoke, heat, and something dangerously sweet. Her thighs trembled against his shoulders, not from fear, but from the pressure building inside her like a volcano being seduced into eruption.
Then it happened, he shifted only slightly, and her world tilted.
Because she felt it. Not just the heat and pressure, but something new, something forked teased her clit and entrance in two places at once, two points of pressure, moving in tandem but differently. Her eyes flew wide. “No way,” she gasped. “You have a split tongue?”
Ashar grinned against her, tongue lapping slowly and cruelly and divinely. “Now you believe me,” he purred, voice low and vibrating against her most sensitive skin.
And then he stopped talking.
Because his tongue started working like something designed in a lab for the sole purpose of fucking minds. One half curledaround her clit, sucking gently while the other slid lower, teasing her entrance, dipping in just enough to make her lose her language entirely.
Her back arched in mid-air, nipples pebbled, mouth stretched in a silent scream. Her hair floated around her head like a halo of lust and disbelief.
