Page 62 of Asher

With a sigh, she rolled onto her back. Determined to let the past finally rest, to let go and move on, he ducked under the blanket and sucked the tip of her breast into his mouth. Marlowe was his new life. He needed this.

She stirred. He suckled harder, drawing the now rigid nub deeper into his mouth. Breathing in the vanilla cookie scent on her skin. Inhaling every intoxicating pheromone. Everything Marlowe. Wanting to eat her up and swallow her whole. Two working hands were all he needed. Two hands to better love this woman. One for each breast. Was that asking too much?

Awake now, her fingers slid into his hair and over his scalp. A full-body shiver whispered through him. Goosebumps prickled his skin. The race to get her out of her clothes was on. And him without ten fingers. Damn, he was fumbling this first. Their first. There’d never be another and he was all thumbs.

Until Marlowe, his fierce but willing partner, pushed her weight carefully against him, and left him no option but to ease flat to his back and protect his injured shoulder. She didn’t stop there. Straddling him like a horse, Marlowe pulled her gown up and over her head.

Sweet Jesus. Asher stopped breathing. He needed to see. To touch. Clothed, she was gorgeous. But naked? There was enough ambient light to see she was dazzling. Trim. Fit. Muscled. Yet feminine. Small-breasted, yes. But a mouthful and a handful, what man needed more?

He reached for her, but she reached first. Down between their bodies. Damn, she was quick and her fingers were strong. Asher closed his eyes and let the drumbeat roll.

Marlowe didn’t quite know what to do with him, now that she had him. But getting a man’s attention wasn’t rocket science. If she kept working him—and she was a fast learner—that stiff, smug thing in her grip would go off like a rocket. It was primed. Ready to blow. Asher was wondering how the hell he’d explain the mess when—

She slipped him into her tender folds, and he gasped at the warm tightness of her sheath. If she didn’t back off and slow down, it would be over before she knew it. Not good.

“Marlowe. H-Honey. I…” That was as far as he got.

She loved like she lived. Headstrong and charging. Always charging.

Asher had no choice but to take firm hold, albeit one-handed hold of her hip, and work with her. She was breathing hard. Her palms were now planted on his pecs. Her nails were dug in. When she slammed down, grinding against him, he thrust up, filling her to the hilt. Seemed like he only thrust a couple times when…

God, yes. Her body squeezed around him. All of him. Her thighs, her core, her legs. Her nails bit deep. He thrust harder and—

Marlowe threw her head back and exploded in what he hoped was her first orgasm. Sure felt like it was his. Exquisite release poured out of him as quivering micro-orgasms danced out of her dripping core. He held on with one hand to that sweaty hip. Not ready to let her go. Not yet. It’d been a long time since he’d come that strong. Holy shit. He’d never orgasmed so hard before. Talk about a wet dream come true.

Blowing out a full breath, she face-planted against his chest. They were both sweating and sticky. Both panting and still very much connected. In his living room. Without protection, damn it. But what a ride.

Her heart was racing. Like his. He smiled, wondering what signals the monitor she’d stuck to his chest was sending back to TEAM HQ.

Smoothing his hand over Marlowe’s bare ass, like some stone-age Neanderthal, tapping his fingers to a drumbeat he’d never heard or felt before, Asher told her, “This is mine.”

Hmmm. Maybe he was part caveman. As long as Marlowe was Wilma to his Fred Flintstone, he could live with that.

It was time to face the music. “My fault. I didn’t use protection. I should have.”

“I have an implant. It’s good for years.”

“When did you get it?”

She fluttered her lashes at him. “Before I went overseas.”

“And that would be…?”

Her lips pinched and her eyes widened. “Three years ago. Shit. I might not be protected any more. What will I do?”

Taking hold of her shoulders, Asher said, “First of all, there is no‘I might not be protected.’Only‘we might be pregnant.’Understand what I’m saying?”

She shook her head and romance was over.

“Honey, what I’m trying to tell you is that I’m in this with you.”

“But babies are inconvenient and noisy and messy. Men don’t like that stuff.”

“All men are not like your father, honey. Would Harley leave Judy and his boys? Would Alex leave Kelsey, Lexie, and Bradley?”

“No, but…” Marlowe’s gaze focused on something behind him.

“Honey, most men are hardworking, regular guys. They love their kids, and they adore their wives.”

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