Peace.
Security.
Jesus. What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with both of us?
He doesn’t give me time to wonder as he gently but firmly fucks my ass. Between his dick and his fingers, I’m spiraling into new territory, and a sob rips free of my throat.
“Unh-hunh,” he grunts, never stopping his sensual assault on my body and senses. “I feel that little pussy fluttering, getting ready to nut for me.”
One moment, he’s shoving me toward that precipice, and then in the next, he slows. I claw at his shoulders.
“Asad,move,” I whine.
“I got you, baby girl. But you have to do something for me, first.”
“Anything.Just, please…” I try to fuck him back, but the position won’t allow it. He holds all the control, and I’m almost feral with lust and pleasure.
“Did you go to Deacon’s tonight?” Another sob rips free as he flexes his finger in my ass, sending a bolt of lightning through me. “Did you?”
“Yes, shit, yes, I did,” I confess. “Please, finish.”
“Not yet, ma.” He circles his hips, and his dick hits a spot that has me arching as high as his hold will allow. My whole body shudders as pleasure ripples through me, and more juice seeps out of me, wetting both of us up. “Why? Why did you go there?”
I didn’t intend on talking about this, on even confessing the truth. But with that orgasm right on the horizon, pride abandons me without even the dignity of a wave goodbye.
“Because he fucked with you. He hurt you. I made him pay for it.” I dig my fingernails in his wrists, scratching at them. “Now,fuck me.”
“Look at me, Ember.” I open eyes I hadn’t realized had closed and meet that bright gaze. “Thank you.”
Tomorrow, this moment will seem too vulnerable, too fraught with… something I’d rather not acknowledge. But right now, I don’t care. Not when I’m half out of my mind.
“Come get this nut, ma. Come for me.”
As if his permission was all I needed, I detonate. Explode. Hell, implode. My screams fill my head as I careen into oblivion. He pounds me into the flames, granting my body no mercy, no quarter. And as I tumble into the waiting darkness with arms wide open, I send up a silent prayer that he never does. That he will always want me with this abandon. This need. This hunger. Because I fear I will always need him.
CHAPTER TWELVEEmber
I open the bathroom door and steam billows out into the bedroom as if heralding my arrival. Tightening the belt of my black silk robe, I glance at the sleigh bed and the twisted sheets hanging halfway off the mattress like they’re white-girl wasted. The heavy musk of sex still lingers in the room—unlike the man who delivered teeth-jarring back shots to me a half hour earlier. Our fluids, a mixture of sweat and cum, form haphazard puddles on the light blue, five-hundred-count Egyptian cotton, marking the spots we fucked like X’s on a treasure map. I don’t know where he went after into the bathroom, but either he’s going to change the sheets in here or I’m getting appointed another room. But one thing’s for certain, two things for sure, I’m not sleeping in nobody’s wet spot. His or mine.
Trekking over to one of the suitcases I packed, I remove several smaller bags. One contains my hygiene products. Perching on the cream-colored chaise lounge, I take my time smoothing shea body butter over my skin. Am I using my normal moisturizing routine to stall facing Asad again after letting him lick and suck on every part of me between my forehead, ass, and toes? Yes. Is it foolish to want to avoid facing him after he’s seen, touched, and been inside just about every hole in my body? Definitely. But embarrassment and forced proximity isn’t a good enough reason for neglected, dry-ass skin.
Twenty minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom once more, skin hydrated, hair tucked into a messy bun, teeth brushed. Asweep of the area reveals he still hasn’t returned from wherever he disappeared to when I escaped to the bathroom for a shower. And I do mean escape. I swear to God, that man tried to assassinate me with the dick. No lie, I damn near had to crawl out of that bed, and if Asad had reached for me again, I would’ve killed him in self-defense. It would’ve held up in any court, too. Even now my muscles gripe at being bent and contorted into positions that my nut-dizzy pussy might’ve consented to, but not me.
Sighing, I pick up the second bag I removed from my suitcase and head for the balcony. I push open the French doors, allowing the night air, stamped with the salty, fresh scent of the ocean, inside the room. Inhaling deeply, I head for the small love seat and glass coffee table, the stone cool underneath my bare feet.
“Took you long enough. I was beginning to think I’d have to come in there and get you.”
“Shit.”I jerk around, heart slap-boxing my ribs. Splaying my fingers over my chest, I glare at Asad—or rather his shadowed, long, big body reclining on the oversized club chair sitting in a dark corner of the balcony. “Goddamn. Was that necessary?” I snap, breath still breaking in short bursts over my parted lips.
“Your head should always be on the swivel, ma.”
A second later, soft, golden light floods the contained area, beaming from the small, elegant sconce above his head. I notice a wall switch just above his head and shake mine. He couldn’t have done that when he first came out here? I suck my teeth. Dramatic ass.
He shifts in the chair, and like the tide responds to the lure of the moon, my gaze follows the motion, taking in his wide, bare chest, brutally sculpted abs, the black-and-gray basketball shorts hanging indecently low and exposing the tops of carved hips and long, powerful legs. Shit, even his feet are big, masculine, and pretty. I return my scrutiny to his face and find his low-lidded eyes on me, his face relaxed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him… relaxed. It’s a good, delicious look on him, though it doesn’t dampen the danger that sits on him like the lotion I justrubbed on my body. God. The man is perfect in every way, and like the dickmatized bitch that I am, I fell for that perfection. Fell for that beauty and damned myself.
Eve would be proud as fuck.
Turning away from him, I continue to the love seat and sink down to the cushions. Ignoring Asad, I pull out the contents of my bag and set them on the table—my rolling tray, grinder, flavored rolling papers, lighter, a jar of my favorite hybrid blend of weed. The routine of preparing my blunt lends a calm that seeps into me, and for a moment, I’m able to tune out Asad’s magnetic presence.
