This was different.
Asher wanted me, but only ever on my terms.
It made me want him all the more.
It made me want to offer him more.
When we reached the water’s edge, I stopped, breathless at the view stretching out before us.
“It’s so beautiful,” I whispered.
“Yes,” he said roughly, “you fucking are.”
Before I could roll my eyes, he swept me up into his arms. My legs wrapped around him like this was where I’d always belonged. I was meant to be held by him. Meant to be taken care of by him. He made me feel good in a way that felt like a gift I didn’t deserve—yet somehow, the only one I wanted as the end drew nearer.
The end was approaching. I couldn’t ask for a better gift than to face it with him.
His mouth claimed mine again, one hand cradling the back of my neck, pulling me closer as our kiss deepened—dancing together in a breathless rhythm.
“I need you, Lennon,” he murmured against my lips.
I nodded, panting. “I need you, Asher. Now. Until my last day.”
The finality of that statement seemed to land between us.
He pulled back just enough to show something more fragile beneath the surface, eyes hooded and heavy. He kissed me again—more carefully this time.
He carried me toward the shoreline, lowering us carefully until his feet slipped into the water. The cold crept upward as he sank, and when it reached my ass, I shrieked at the shock of it.
He laughed, the sound warm and playful, and rolled us gently so I lay half in the water and half on the sand. It was cold, the chill sharp against my skin.
He knew.
He knew I loved the contrast. The sting of it grounded me. Not too much. Never too much. It wasn’t who I was.
I needed the chill to make me feel safe.
As the waves shifted the water’s edge up onto the sand and drew back again, the rhythm threaded itself between us.
Asher lay over me, his weight warm against the chill of the lake. When our lips disconnected, he lingered above me, studying my face like he was committing it to memory. Like I was fleeting and could vanish at any given moment.
His fingers brushed a strand of hair from my cheek and tucked it gently behind my ear. His hand traced down the line of my neck, slow, reverent. There was something in his gaze—like he was lost in the beauty of the moment, lost in me.
I lifted my arms above my head, a quiet invitation to remove my top.
His answering smile was slow and dangerous. His movements stayed careful and attentive, as though I were both fragile and sacred all at once. He reached for the hem of my shirt and peeled it upward, taking care not to catch it against my face.
The cold air struck my bare breasts and hardened my nipples against the frigid waters. However, I didn’t feel exposed.
I felt sexy.
I felt liberated.
Desired.
His palm settled at my sternum and slid upward, lingering between my breasts until he fitted his palm gently around my neck.
He was careful to test the waters with his hand around my throat, not with pressure, but with a question in the touch.
