Shattered (Extreme Risk 2)

The thought upsets me more than I want it to, yanks me out of the sensual haze Ash has had me in since he first touched me. I shudder, my whole body responding to the dark memories of chemo, of being so sick I couldn’t eat, of the endless pain that burned me alive.

Ash whispers to me as I shiver, soft, soothing words that slide through the nightmare of my past and yank me right back to the present. He moves closer, presses his wide shoulders against me as if to shield me from the cold. Somehow it works, his presence—his warmth—shielding me from all the memories I wish I could forget.

I reach for him then, stroking my fingers down his face, reveling in the sharp, sexy feel of the stubble on his jaw. I play with it for a second, rubbing my fingers back and forth against it, and he groans. Turns his face into my hand and presses hot, open-mouthed kisses against my palm.

At the same time, one of his arms wraps around my waist, his hand so big that when he presses it against me, it covers my lower back and half my ass. He kneads me gently, his fingers rubbing teasingly against the edge of my crack.

It feels good, shocking and strange and totally outrageous, but good all the same. So good that I can’t stop myself from pressing back against the wall, against his hand, and Ash groans again. This time his mouth is poised just above my sex when he makes the sound and his warm expulsion of breath—complete with vibrations from the groan—hits my clit at just the right angle.

The last, lingering thoughts of the hospital, of cancer, of anything and everything, flee. Suddenly, I’m a bundle of sensation, my every nerve ending inflamed, my every cell arching toward him, begging for more

. Pleading for as much of this insane, all-encompassing pleasure as he is willing to give me.

It turns out he’s willing to give me a lot. Willing to give me everything. His arm tightens around my hip even as his other hand spreads my legs as far as they can go with the restrictive leggings around my knees. I have a moment, just a moment, to register the rush of cold air against me and then his mouth is there. On me.

And nothing I’ve read, nothing I’ve seen, nothing I’ve ever even imagined could have prepared me for what it feels like to have Ash go down on me.

He starts out gentle, his tongue licking along the outside of my folds, tiny little licks, each one overlapping a bit with the one that came before it. Over and over again, he covers every inch of me, pausing to play with my clit a couple times—his tongue turning around it in slow circles that make my breath stutter and my eyes cross—before he licks back down in the same soft, gentle, maddening pattern.

“Ash.” His name escapes without my permission. Not that it surprises me. At this exact moment, it feels like there’s no part of my body that actually belongs to me. Instead, it’s all Ash’s. Ash’s to touch, Ash’s to pleasure, Ash’s to do with whatever he pleases. Why should my vocal cords be any different?

The thought should terrify me, and maybe it will later, when this is over. But right now, it barely registers. How can it when pleasure is streaking through me, intense, powerful, mind-numbing pleasure.

He kisses me then, hot, open-mouthed kisses against my sex, my mons, my clit. My knees tremble and my hands shake as my whole body slams into overload. I clutch at him, pulling his hair, arching against him, begging him for more. For everything.

Ash curses, soft and low, and his breath is hot against me. It ratchets up the tension inside me, the ache that’s building a little more with each second that passes.

I can’t think, can’t see, can’t breathe. All I can do is feel.

Feel Ash in front of me, touching and kissing and licking me.

Feel the heat slamming through me like a comet.

“I need … I need … I need …” It’s all I can think, all I can say, those two words the mantra of everything going on inside of me.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

And then he gives me what I didn’t even know I needed, long, hot licks against my sex that make me cry out. Make me clutch at him. Make me clench around the emptiness inside of me as his tongue explores every part of me.

He lingers at my clit for long minutes, his tongue spinning slow, lingering circles around and around it. He pauses every once in a while to flick across the top—once, twice, a third time—before going back to the circles that are driving me out of my freaking mind.

I’ve never felt anything like this before, never imagined that it was possible to feel anything like this. I mean, sure, I’ve experimented a few times in the shower, or in bed late at night, just to see what other girls were so crazy about. But nothing I did to myself ever came close to feeling like this.

Being touched by Ash is like being touched by the sun. I’m basking in his warmth even as he burns me alive. And I can’t even complain. For all the agony, all the desire, all the aching need clawing its way through me, I wouldn’t change a thing. It just feels so good.

And then he does it, something I never expected, something I never even thought people did. He slides his tongue deep inside me, twirls it lazily against the walls of my pussy as his thumb comes up to rub at my clit.

“Ash!”

His hands pet at me soothingly, even as his tongue continues to slide in and out of me in a rhythm that has me gasping and shaking and clutching at him. I hold his shoulders tight, press myself against him, because in this moment—with the wall of the resort rough against my back and the dark, star-dotted sky spread infinitely out in front of me—it feels like Ash is the only thing keeping me grounded. The only thing keeping me from flying into a million pieces.

And I’ve spent so long fighting it, so long trying to keep myself together through cancer and chemo, through certain death and now unexpected life, that the idea of losing it, of shattering, terrifies me more than I know how to explain, even to myself.

Except Ash is there, and he’s touching me, holding me, bringing me closer to an edge I barely understand and am not sure I want to fling myself off of. But I don’t know that I have a choice either, because his mouth feels so good, he feels so good.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers, the words hot against my sex. “I’ve got you, Tansy. I’ve got you, baby.”

His hands tighten on my ass, grounding me even as his tongue spears deep inside me again. It’s what I need, the reassurance along with the pleasure, the concern along with the sex. Even if it doesn’t mean anything, even if it’s only for this moment, it doesn’t matter. It’s enough.