The Best Men (The Best Men 1)

“Got it, Banks.” Asher smiles at me. “I didn’t think it was anything more. And that’s fine by me.”

Of course it is. Asher screams the good times guy. Has he ever even had a relationship? I don’t know, and also, I can’t care about that. We are in agreement on all the points. This is a win-win.

“That’s what I figured. But it’s good to be on the same page. But there’s one more rule.”

“Hit me up.”

“We keep this quiet. Between us.”

He snorts. “I was going to post it on my Insta, but now that you’ve laid down that law, I’ll just write it in my diary instead.”

“I mean, no Flip. No Hannah.” I don’t want my sister thinking she can’t trust me with the most important moment in her life because I’m distracted by dick.

Asher’s eyes go introspective, like he's weighing something for a few seconds. “My stupid lips will be sealed,” he says, a little coolly.

I’m tempted to ask if there’s a problem, but maybe I imagined the tone, since it’s gone seconds later when Asher swirls his finger at the screen, points to 11B and 11C, then gives me bedroom eyes.

My dick jumps.

Why didn’t I put bedroom eyes on my list? But hey, I've always liked bonuses, so I’ll take that as an extra.

“Banks, we’ve got an hour till we meet the caterer. We have just enough time for a shower.”

I’m already up and stripping off my clothes.

Sometimes when I watch porn, Logical Mark argues with Dirty-Minded Mark. Would that position truly work in the real world? Does water make matters harder or easier?

I have nothing to argue about right now as the rainfall shower beats down my body, and Asher St. James crowds me against the tiled wall, wrapping a hand around my hard shaft.

When he grips me, I shudder. When he slides his hand up and down, I moan. And when his other hand cups my balls, I grab onto his shoulder.

“FuckFuckFuck,” I mutter.

With a sexy laugh, he drops his mouth to my shoulder, and nips. “I lied when I said I didn’t bite.”

His teeth on my skin feel crazy good too. Go figure.

As he strokes me, all I can figure is I am officially a sex fanatic. I fucking love everything. I want everything.

Water sluices over my skin, and I peer down at his hand stroking my shaft. Talk about dirty dreams coming true.

The temperature in me shoots higher than the water. I burn everywhere under my skin and this feels so good. But it would be better like this . . .

“11B,” I murmur.

“You dirty man,” he whispers with an approving rumble. My cock jerks in his hand as he pushes his body against mine, grips our dicks at the same time.

Words can’t find the path from my brain to my mouth.

I can’t even utter nothing has felt this good.

Grunts are all I can manage.

Ungh.

And ohhhh.

As he jerks us together, he watches my face, my mouth, my throat. I don’t think anyone has ever stared at me during sex before, like my every reaction thrills him.

Asher stretches an arm to the soap dish, grabs a lube pack. I didn’t even notice him bring it in here, but then, I did set a land-speed record to get in the shower.

He rips it open and I have no idea if he’s going to explore my ass or . . .

“Finish us off,” he growls, then he grabs my palm, drizzles some lube in it, and guides my hand to our dicks.

I won’t last more than thirty seconds.

But I don’t think he cares. The second I wrap a hand around our cocks, pleasure twists in me.

And I learn something brand new?two dicks are better than one when jerking it.

As my body overheats, I take over the double hand job, my fist flying up and down our lengths, fast, determined.

And fueled by him.

His mouth hangs open, and he braces his hands on the wall behind me. “Fuck yes. So good. Want to come on you.”

Done.

Consider it done.

My orgasm steals all my brain cells. I come so goddamn hard in my hand, shooting on his abs.

“Yes . . .” He grunts and he’s right there, seconds later, painting me.

11D. That's where my fantasy has always ended. On finishing. That’s all.

But my reality gets better.

Letting go of us, I step closer and cup his face under the water, then capture his lips with mine. I try to tell him with my kiss that I can definitely stand him now.

After I get dressed, I meet Asher at the door of the guest house. He doesn't even bother to bust my chops about my shorts. They’re navy.

“Question for you, Banks,” he says, focused. “About your single-malt-scotch-fueled text fest. Remember that one?”

I groan. Here we go again. “I thought we’d already clarified all the points in the text.”