Page 106 of Endless Anger
He gives me a moment to adjust before sliding out and then plunging back in. A muscle jumps in his jaw as he fixes his hold on me, moving so I’m mostly being held up by the bookcase before coasting his free hand along my side and finding my breast through my sweater.
Heat blooms a trail across my face as I realize just how thin my bra is; he cups the full swell, thrumming his thumb over the nipple until I feel it tighten, straining against the lacy fabric.
“I want to see you,” he says, gliding beneath the hem of my top and pushing it up, exposing me to the cool, haunted thirteenth-floor air. “Please. I need you.”
Desperation bleeds from his words, sending tendrils of arousal spinning through my abdomen. Following his lead, I grip the sweater and hold it in place, allowing him to drink me in. He plays with my breast, yanking on the flimsy material of my bra, and covers the whole thing with his warm palm.
“Perfection,” he says, his voice laced with something I’ve never heard from him before.
Awe.
“Do you hear that, pup?” he continues, kneading my chest at the same time as his finger drags in and out of me, pumping lazily, like he’s getting a feel for how I react to each stroke. Squelching noises fill the library between huffed, stuttered breaths, and I might be embarrassed about how telling it is if I had any sort of foot in reality at the moment.
But I don’t. Long gone are thoughts of Celeste, Tag, and the fact that this is all happening in the Obeliskos—out in the open too, where anyone on campus could waltz in and get us in trouble for public indecency.
I don’t fucking care. Asher Andersonneedsme, and I’m realizing years too late that it’s the only thing I’ve ever really wanted.
My thighs tense, quaking with the dueling sensations of being filled and toyed with. Pressure, white-hot and magnificent, invades my stomach, zipping along my spine and collecting between my legs.
Asher grunts when I shove a hand through his hair, getting better leverage as he works me over. “This little virgin hole is dripping wet, and I’m the first man to ever put anything inside it. What a fucking honor.”
“Jesus, Ash.” I whine, struggling to string together coherent thoughts. “Are you sureyou’venever?—”
I trail off, my mind suddenly assaulted with images of him doing this same thing to others. Foxe supposedly gets around on tour, so what would’ve stopped Asher from participating in similar activities?
He said I was the only one he ever wanted to touch, but how do I know if that was true?
My heart becomes an uncomfortable entity inside my chest, aching in a way I’ve never felt before. My limbs grow heavy, sadness starting to work its way into my bloodstream, even as he curls his finger, reaching a spot within me that makes my eyesight darken.
You’re a liar, he said in that sunflower field after I kissed him. After I threw myself at him, using what little liquid courage I had at the time to put my feelings into motion.
I’d spent months building up to it, convincing myself that his lack of reciprocation was only in my head, and he crushed me.
Then he ditched me and never apologized for it.
Reaching down, I grab his wrist, halting his movements.
His eyebrows arch. “You want me to stop?”
My mind screamsYes! Stop while I still have some dignity left!
But I shake my head, despite my conflicted thoughts. God, I’m a mess, but ending this in the middle of things feels more wrong than the entire situation.
Maybe it’s arousal motivating me, or maybe I’m afraid that if he stops now, he won’t want to start again.
Instead of making him let me go, I adjust my hips, pulling him in deeper. Where it feels best.
Dropping his chin, he watches me fuck myself for several beats; sweat drips between my breasts, and he swipes over it, spreading the moisture on my nipple.
I have no idea what I’m doing, just chasing whatever makes my heart vibrate, but he’s enraptured by the motions anyway. Like I’m some marvelous miracle he’s getting to witness up close.
Swallowing audibly, he adds a second finger. The fit is even tighter than before, and my entire body shudders with unabashed bliss.
He angles against my inner muscles, picking up the pace. My arms stretch behind me, my hands grasping at the shelves as my thighs quiver, liquid heat pulsing through my veins.
“Fucking Christ, pup. You like that, don’t you?”
My nod is curt, and he pinches my nipple before bringing his hand to the back of my neck as if to keep me steady.
