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Maybe he wasn’t sleeping after all, and I just failed this test, or maybe he was sleeping, and my blatant perusal woke him. All of a sudden, his eyes slowly flicker open. I need to jerk back, but I’m frozen in place, leaning over him like a boogey man from the worst nightmare, my finger still on his bottom lip.
Asher doesn’t smile, and he doesn’t shrug. Instead, what he does do is part his lips, lean forward, and suckle my finger into his mouth.
And holy papayas, I finally think I know what it would mean to die a happy woman.
CHAPTER 12
Asher
“You could have done anything to me,” I murmur against Emily’s lips. It’s a funny thing to say when you’re kissing a person.
“What?” she pulls back and sets her hand on her tingling lips.
“Whipped cream and a feather, shaved off an eyebrow, scanned my fingerprint to whatever ends you choose…”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You could have felt me up. I could have been violated in sleep.”
Emily’s eyes shut, and the red starts creeping up from her collarbones. “Oh my god,” she breathes. “I didn’t. Really.”
“I know.”
I grip her around the waist and gently pull her into my lap. I don’t know if it’s because I still have the element of surprise, but she doesn’t fight me. I tip her mouth up and lean down, lingering on her lips. They meet, but barely, and electric sparks shoot up as if I’ve just been abducted like that poor cow or goat you always see in an alien ship beam.
Her lips are blazing hot—soft, pliable, and willing. With a moan, she turns into me, pressing the soft pillow of her breasts against my chest, wrapping an arm around my neck, and tangling my hair with her fingers. Her other hand grips my arm, and she squeezes hard like she wants to feel my skin through the fabric of my shirt.
Her lips part as she exhales, and when I taste her bottom lip with my tongue in a perusal that seems to happen in slow motion—and believe me, I have never been more excited for slo-mo in my life—she doesn’t clamp up or bite down on my tongue. I’ve never had my tongue bitten by someone else, and it’s an experience I’d rather not find out about.
Just like the two times I’ve kissed her before, it seems like some floodgates of something I’ve never experienced open up, and the sensations that flood me are completely brand new. It’s like Emily is the first person I’ve ever kissed.
My entire body reacts. My chest tightens, my heart slams, my balls clench up, and I have no doubts that Emily can feel my pokey stick poking her.
Her mouth parts on a whimper, and I taste her fully, thrusting my tongue inside her mouth. Her tongue is waiting, stroking mine eagerly. She makes another sound in her throat, something that sounds like, ermfh, then glarmph, then more distinctly, fuck it.
Emily swivels around, straddling me. She then knocks me back on the couch, cups my face, and attacks my mouth, and I give in because who the heck wouldn’t give in. I want this. I want her. I want to taste her, and I want to undress her and linger on every bit of her creamy, delicate skin.
She shifts her hips, and a blaze of white-hot heat writhes through me with the movement. She’s wearing the dress from earlier this evening, and I can feel the hot heat of her center pressed up against the bulge in my pants. When she grinds against me, pressing down hard and moaning, I nearly burst right out of my pants. Or quite possibly burst in them. I feel terribly out of control, but instead of being humiliated by the strength of my desire, I’m even more excited.
Emily sinks her teeth into my lip and gently bites down on it. I nearly leap off the couch at the sensation. She presses me down, though, with all her tiny weight, which is half of my own or less, but right now, my body feels like it weighs a thousand pounds—in a good way. My head feels light, though—dizzy, strange, and absolutely wonderful.
I battle with Emily’s mouth and her tongue in a kiss that makes everything around us hazy. It’s just us, and I don’t want to stop. God, I want her. It’s not just about wanting her body, either. I want her. The real her. I want to see that too.
Alarms sound in what’s left of the bits of my brain that can actually focus. Emily is different. Even that first kiss with her was different, though I don’t know what it is. I don’t know why the prospect of fake dating her was far more exciting than any real dating I’ve ever done, and I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s probably the only woman I know who can casually talk about bad gas, but that’s not what makes her unique. I can’t figure it out, but I know that whatever it is about her is driving something in me that I’ve never let loose or given any consideration to before. Maybe not driving, but matching it, drawing it out. And it’s utterly terrifying because it’s hard for me to admit there are bits of myself that I know nothing about.
