“It’s not. It makes me sick,” he starts, his warm hands smoothing up my back. “It’s not right.”
I push his shoulders, causing him to fall backward, and boldly, I lean down and press my lips to his. At first, he doesn’t react. He simply lies back, allowing me to explore, to kiss and nibble and suck with his hands clenched at his sides. But when he feels my tongue against his lips, seeking entrance, his hands fly to my waist, and he kisses me back. This time it isn’t timid or polite. This kiss feels like war. A battle
between right and wrong. Moral and corrupt. Honorable and deplorable.
Asher slides his right hand into my hair and positions us so that we’re both lying on our sides as he continues his assault on my mouth, on my soul. He shifts his body until his leg is wedged between mine, and I can’t help but chase that glorious friction once again. A moan slips free, and I feel him stiffen like he’s about to deny me again. I bring my hands to his cheeks to keep his lips on mine and rock into his thigh.
“Please, Ash. Touch me,” I beg.
“No.”
“Then let me touch you.” I reach for the bulge in his jeans, and he smacks my hand away.
“Fuck no. It can’t go any further than this.”
I could cry tears of disappointment right now.
“Look at me,” he orders, hooking a finger under my chin. “Keep your hands to yourself. If you go for my cock again, I’m gone. Understand?”
I nod eagerly in agreement.
“Goddammit, give me words, Briar.”
“I promise. Just make me feel…that.” I feel my face burn with embarrassment, and the corner of his mouth twitches, like maybe he’d be amused if he weren’t on the verge of jumping over a line that should never be crossed.
Asher plants each of my hands on his shoulders and gives me a searing gaze, silently ordering me to keep them there. I swallow and give a sharp nod, and he places his own hands flat on the mattress by his head, purposely not touching. I press my lips to his, and he reluctantly kisses me back. I start rocking into his leg, powerless to this feeling. Once I find my rhythm, he clasps his hands behind his neck, watching my body move. Seeing him lying back like a king while I grind into his thigh is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Oh my God.” My voice is just above a whisper.
I press myself into him even harder. The new angle has my eyes snapping shut and my head flying back. My movements are becoming sloppy and jerky, and I know I’m close to something epic. Life-changing even. I hear Asher shifting again, but I don’t dare open my eyes. I can feel my wetness leak through my shorts, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if that’s normal. But Asher doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t mind.
I’m climbing higher, higher, higher, when I feel something hot and slightly damp wrap around my nipple. My eyes shoot open to see Asher drawing the tiny bud into his mouth through my tank top. And just like that, I come apart. He holds me in place through my orgasm as he continues to suck until I’m shuddering and shaking in his arms.
I’m practically panting as he uses his palm to brush the sweaty hair off my face and leans in to kiss the damp skin of my neck.
“Thank you,” I say dumbly. Because what else can I say after that?
“I’m going to hell.”
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” I say honestly, laying my head on his shoulder, feeling so content that I could fall asleep and stay here forever.
“You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. I did. You don’t understand it now. But you will look back at this some day and see it for what it is.”
“And what is that, exactly?” I ask, feeling my temper rising.
“A man who just took advantage of a fucking child,” he spits, looking up at the vaulted ceiling.
“That’s bullshit. Don’t do that.”
“Do what, Bry? It’s the truth.”
“Don’t act as if I didn’t practically throw myself at you. That I’m too young to make my own decisions. You didn’t take advantage of me. You didn’t take anything. You gave.”
“The only thing I gave you is false hope. You know this can’t ever leave this room. If Dash knew…”
“Why would I tell my brother about hooking up with anyone? I know this doesn’t make you my boyfriend. I’m not that naïve. But maybe when I’m eighteen…”
“This shouldn’t have happened,” Asher says, grabbing me by my hips and lifting me off him. He stands and reaches for one of Dash’s T-shirts lying on top of his dresser. “It’s wrong,” he says once again.