Page 26 of Endless Anger
Euphoria pulses in my chest, like a sky full of fireworks or supernovas.
Seconds later, I’m back in the clearing, my fingernails digging into the soft earth to keep from tangling in her raven-colored hair or grabbing her hips and pulling her on top of me.
Fuck.My cock stiffens just at the thought, and I shift, attempting to shield the evidence of what she does to me. Not that she’s paying any attention; her eyes are still closed, and her breaths come in short, shallow waves as she parts her lips the tiniest bit.
She tastes like cherry lip balm and booze. I hope I remember the flavor combination for the rest of my life.
Suddenly, I’m curious to know what the rest of her tastes like. If she’d be sweet or tangy—if she’d want me to find out.
My fingers ache to reach for her. To draw her into my arms and release every ounce of tension I’ve been holding onto since realizing that Ilikedher.
Only her.
These aren’t feelings I’ve harbored for anyone else, and I used to think it was because there was something else going on, like maybe I only liked men or wasn’t interested in sex at all.
Turns out I’m interested, but only where Lucy Aberdeen Wolfe is concerned.
I only wantanythingwith her.
Which is why I know I should stop this kiss and put an end to things before they get any worse.
I don’t.
Stop, that is.
Fuck me, I don’t.
Instead, my hand comes off the ground, slides along her jaw, and dives into her silky hair. I use her roots to angle her head, letting my tongue sweep past her lips to deepen the kiss.
It’s the opposite of stopping.
And when she exhales into me, her palm flattening against my chest, I realize it’s the brightest green light. An invitation if ever there was one.
Her tongue tentatively touches mine, a silent plea. My knuckles feel like they might break from the restraint I’m exercising, resisting the urge to haul her into my arms and never let her leave.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.This is bad.
“Asher,” she breathes, pulling back for a second before diving in again, redoubling her efforts.
I shiver when her hand falls to my lap, her fingers softly pressing down on the zipper of my jeans.
A small gasp escapes as our mouths switch positions, but I can’t tell if it comes from me or her.
I think I’m in love with you.
My brain screams those seven words, desperate to push them from my lips and into hers.
“What?” she says against me, her teeth bumping mine.
When she squeezes my dick, sending a rush of blood south, panic settles into my bone marrow.
I think I’m in love with you, my brain repeats.
My mouth moves with each syllable, and it takes several seconds for me to realize the words have been spoken out loud.
Heat sears my face, rising to my ears. I withdraw abruptly, keeping my fingers tangled in her hair.
Her eyes shine as she blinks at me, a question flickering in the oceanic depths. “What did you say?” she asks quietly.
