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Hard nipples gouged into my chest and compelled me to investigate them. I tore my mouth from hers so I could shimmy down and lap up the beaded tip of one breast with my tongue. Crying out, she grasped the sheets under her, and I drew more of her into my mouth, sucking. All the while, my fingers sought her curves, learning every dip and swell.
When I moved to the second breast, she began to pet my hair and down my back, mapping out just as much of me as I was of her.
“Te amo,” she whispered, strumming her fingers down my ribcage.
Remembering how Remy had told me that meant good job, I lifted my face and grinned. “Thank you. But you haven’t seen anything yet.”
She blinked as if confused. But I was quick to show her what else I had in store for her perfect body. I kissed my way down, over her navel and to the apex of her thighs. Catching her breath, she clutched my hair, preparing for me to start.
I grinned up at her. Her chest heaved as she breathed hard and her dewy brown eyes looked glossy and unfocused. She was so turned on I knew I had this.
“That’s it, baby,” I encouraged, patting her grip in my hair. “Hold on tight, because this is going to be one intense ride.”
I lit up the second his tongue touched me. Flicking it in a quick, gentle tease, he stirred me up in less time than it took me to cry out some dazed Spanish phrases. I belatedly blurted them out anyway, probably ripping some of his gorgeous dark hair out by the roots as overwhelming wet heat consumed me. He finally stopped playing and stroked boldly between my pussy lips to find my quivering clit.
“Hijo de puta,” I gasped. “¡Chinga! ¡Mierda! ¡Oh, Dios mío!”
He slid two fingers into me, and I cried out his name as my womb contracted almost painfully. The spasms were so severe they took my breath. I could only arch under him, shocked, electrocuted, dazed as wave after wave flooded me, sizzling every nerve ending in my body until I collapsed onto the mattress, panting and drained.
I suddenly knew why the French called this the little death, because I’d certainly just passed through a whole other realm of existence.
Seriously. Best orgasm ever.
I stared up at the tiled ceiling of Asher’s basement apartment, not sure how I was supposed to go on from here. Life as I knew it had just altered completely.
“Damn, you look so good right now,” he murmured in one of those smugly satisfied male voices when he sat up.
I slid my gaze to him, not sure how he could call me beautiful when I was still half deceased, not yet fully resurrected from my little death. But his grin only grew as our gazes met. Oh, yeah, he knew exactly what he’d just done to me. Then he went and cockily wiped the back of his hand over his red, swollen lips. Beautiful, magical lips that housed the most perfect tongue ever.
I whimpered and my sex quivered wanting him back on me.
But Dios mío. Who knew Asher Hart would turn out to be a freaking sex god?
Still riding my high, I grinned as he stooped over me, licking my erect nipples playfully as he leaned past me to reach for his nightstand and pull open the top drawer. My body lit up, realizing he was searching for a condom. Oh, goody. I glowed in eagerness. More sex.
Then he sat up, a familiar box in hand with my own handwriting on the outside, the words Use Me Please written out with a smiley face beside them. I glowed, happy to see he hadn’t used any yet and was struggling to tear open the box.
It took him a second to see my message, and when he did, he stilled, his determined smile falling.
“Shit,” he whispered to himself as this crestfallen depression blanketed his expression.
Realizing he was remembering his promise to me—boy-me—I gulped, suddenly not so glowy. I was making him feel guilty.
The last thing I wanted to do was cause him any distress. This was all on me. The guilt should be mine, mine alone. Not his. He’d done nothing wrong.
Damn it, what had I done to my beautiful, sweet Asher?
Reaching up, I cupped his face, trying to convey that he was innocent, guilt-free, and fine. His tormented gaze moved to me.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I promised a very good friend I wouldn’t do this.”
Tears rushed to my eyes, not only because I hated doing this to him but because he’d called boy-me a very good friend. I sat upright and rested my cheek against his, trying to let him know it was okay, I understood. Even though the girl parts of me were throbbing and ready to keep going, I didn’t want to torture him with any undue guilt.
His Asher-smell filled my nostrils and I breathed him in, realizing this was probably the last time I’d ever get to be this close to him. I smoothed my cheek along his, relishing the soft rasp of beard burn I gave myself. I touched my
lips to his temple, and he let out a tortured sound as he squeezed his eyes closed.
I pressed my forehead to his and he pressed back, clasping a hand around the back of my neck to keep me from leaving.
