Every. Fucking. Where.
It’s like my world has turned inside out as I kiss Asher St. James on a hot, sweaty dance floor in South Beach, music thrumming though my bones, pleasure humming in my cells.
And the best part of all this is that I know he wants this too. That I’m not fucking up too badly. The way his hands roam up my arms, strong and confident, says he wants what I have to give. The way he kisses me back, fevered and hungry, drives me on.
So do his hands that travel to my ass, curling over my cheeks as he jerks me against him. All my nerve endings fire at once in a loud snap-snap, pop-pop in my head. There is just too much happening in my body at once. It’s a complete overload of the senses as we kiss harder, more desperately, our cocks pressing against each other.
I can’t get enough of his mouth. His body. And I need so much more. The kiss grows more urgent, hotter, hungrier as our tongues skate together.
Nothing about the way he kisses me says there is a single thing wrong with my lack of experience.
Everything about his touch says he wants to experience more of me.
As he deepens the kiss, my hands rope through his shampoo model hair that I want to tug and yank, then let go of while I travel down his body.
And just like that, I’m ready.
I wrench apart, panting, horny, and dead set on the next thing on my list.
2A.
“Let’s get out of here.”
We leave in seconds flat.
16
ARE MY LIPS STILL STUPID?
ASHER
You know that saying: It’s always the quiet ones? Yeah, that. To my utter delight, Mister Spreadsheets is the best kind of sex fiend.
The eager kind. All that heat in the club, the way we rushed through the door, how we stumbled into my bedroom, kicked off our shoes, we are both raring to go.
At the edge of the bed, I jerk him against me, intent on dropping my mouth to his in a slow, languid kiss since I plan to show him just how fantastic my teasing can truly be.
From kissing to everything else.
But I stop, because I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. I reach for his glasses, gently remove them, set them on the nightstand.
Wow.
Mark without glasses is sexy in a whole new way. Those eyes shimmer with lust, and a touch of vulnerability.
Wait. No. Nerves.
But I know how to ease those, so I grab at the collar of his awful polo. “Of all the colors in the world, you chose gray? I hate this shirt,” I say, with a grin, returning to our favorite way to communicate.
“Those are pretty intense feelings for a shirt, St. James,” he fires back at me.
I have a lot of intense feelings right now. Most of them involve getting him naked. “But I bet I don't hate the way you look out of it. I liked what I saw tonight.”
“At the club or at the pool?”
“Both, Banks. Both.”
His grin is stupidly adorable. “Just take it off.”
Tugging at the waistband, my fingers travel under the fabric.
Mark shivers.
I roam my hands along the grooves of his abs, savoring his reaction, his shudders.
I jerk it off him, up and over, and yes.
My breath comes fast as I stare at him again, admiring the smooth skin, the cut of his lean muscles. Sliding my hands along the expanse of his pecs, my skin heats.
“So much better,” I mutter.
He lets out a low groan and then just trembles all over from my hands on his chest. It’s heady, this power, knowing I can arouse him in every way I want.
I travel back down his body. When I reach that happy trail that makes me very happy indeed, I slide my thumb along the dark hair. His hands shoot out and curl around my hips as he mutters, “Fuuuck.”
As he grips me tighter, I dip my face to his neck, licking a line along a pulsing vein. His chest rises and falls as another harsh breath falls from his lips.
I’m going to make him lose his mind, and he wants this delicious torture. I drag his earlobe between my lips, sucking on it, then nipping him.
“Ohhhh,” he mutters, like nothing has ever felt better.
Mark Banks is a ticking bomb about to explode. I let go to see what’s in his eyes. To read him.
But Mark is rocket fast as he grabs my face, hauls me closer, and kisses me deeply.
His moan is dark and dirty, like he’s going to die of desire. That noise makes my dick even harder. But it also raises an important question.
One I simply have to ask.
I break the kiss.
“Are my lips still stupid?” I ask.
“Shut up.” He goes to kiss me again, but I weave out of the way.