Page 105 of Endless Anger
My eyes widen at the complete reckless abandon. I don’t think I’ve ever seen himgiddy, yet his body seems to hum with excitement, bleeding over onto me.
Or maybe it’s me vibrating. Aligned like we are, it’s difficult to tell the difference.
When he brings his mouth back to mine, it feels like the air evaporates from my lungs. I move an arm, grabbing a shelf to steady myself as his tongue slashes between my lips, tasting and teasing.
The flickering sensation makes my toes curl.
A strangled noise comes from low in my throat as his hands slide out from my hair, then down my back. He lifts me, hooking his arms beneath my ass, and I wrap my legs around him to keep from falling.
This angle… I swallow over my nerves, my pulse intensifying. I can feel iteverywhere, the same as I feel Asher’s touch as if he’s stroking more than just my physical form.
My soul is disturbed. Moved by his existence.
It’s always been that way. Pretending otherwise is futile.
I kiss him back harder.
He presses my spine firmly into the bookcase, and more heavy volumes tumble to the floor.
Nimble fingers begin working my skirt up my thighs, granting better access for his pelvis to thrust against my pussy. My vision blurs on the edges, my head lolling as he grinds against my clit.
If he really is a virgin, it’s a little cruel that he seems to know what he’s doing. Meanwhile, my hands shake because I’m not sure where to put them.
Before, he said I could touch him anywhere, but this feels different somehow, more intense, and all I can do is thread my fingers through his hair and hope I don’t do something wrong.
“Ash,” I mutter into his mouth, nerves crawling up my sides like little spiders.
When he pulls away, he’s panting, and it takes me a second to realize I am too. His damp hair is completely disheveled from my touch, and I resist the urge to fix it.
“What?” he whispers, skimming my thighs with his hands. One inches inward, and he shifts, giving himself space to slip between us. “Are you not enjoying this?”
A gasp puffs out of me when his thumb grazes my clit. I squirm as he rubs a gentle rhythm over me, the friction from my tights and panties causing my back to arch, pushing me tighter against him.
“I–I’m supposed to be angry with you,” I rasp as tiny wisps of pleasure erupt where he massages me. My hands fall to his biceps, squeezing hard.
“So be angry. I can handle it.”
His finger prods bluntly, and then I feel him twisting and tugging. Seconds later, a small ripping sound drags a squeal from me, and he maneuvers my underwear aside, stroking me with his skin on mine.
“But what I can’t do,” he says softly, testing and pinching, “is stop. Not now that I know how soft you are or how good it feels to have you in my arms.”
Digging my nails into his skin, I climb higher, resituating myself onhis hips at the same time as I’m trying to escape his touch. Or maybe I’m aiming for more. It’s hard to tell.
I writhe in place, a craving opening somewhere deep inside me. An endless cavern of need.
There’s a brief pause where he removes himself to offer his index finger to me, touching my bottom lip in question.
Exhaling roughly, I open my mouth, taking it slowly.
He hisses through clenched teeth, watching as I wet his finger—I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but he seems to enjoy the way I flick my tongue around him nonetheless.
After a moment, he withdraws and lets that hand slide between us once more.
Meeting my gaze, he pauses at my entrance.
When I don’t give any signs of resistance, he pushes in.
My entire body seizes at the intrusion. The stretch is a little uncomfortable, but nothing particularly painful, which is good.
