Page 27 of Dormeo
“It’s better than some lord who sits at home and counts his pennies.”
As Ash considers my words, he reaches over the side table and pours a second glass of amber liquid.
“So, this future husband of yours, that you expect so little of. What will he have to do to earn your affection?”
Earn it? If he has enough money, my father will deem him suitable to join our family, no matter how odious his personality is.
“If he was kind to my family and was a good father to our children, that would please me.”
Ash rests a hand on my knee to keep his balance as he waits for the rest. The heat from his fingers spreads across my skin, and I squirm, my lust steadily rising again. When I don’t add any more to the list of requirements, he tilts his head, confused.
“Neither of those are for you. What about gifts? Pampering. Clothing. Jewellery. Loyalty to your mating.”
Blinking, I stare back at Ash. “Do men do such things?”
He frowns, picking up another cracker and moving it toward me.
“Do I seem any less masculine to you because I’m choosing to meet this need of yours?”
Again, I watch his expression closely, unsure if he’s hinting at the other needs of mine that he’s been satisfying. More than satisfying.
“Definitely not,” I whisper, struggling to speak as I relive the way his tongue thrust inside me, and his fingers stroked my clit.
My body craves more. I want more, before I have to go back to the monotony of my life.
“Do you want me to stop, or would you like another taste?” Ash waits, his hand suspended in the air, just inches from my mouth.
Lips already parted, I meet his heated gaze. We’re definitely not talking about food anymore.
His eyes blaze as I lean forward and steal the food from his fingers, letting my tongue touch his dark skin, all the while, holding eye contact.
When I lick my lips and hum, his eyes blaze, two fiery flames glowing in the gloom.
“Yes, please.”
13
ASH
“Your wish is my command.”
I watch, fascinated, as the same lips she willingly wrapped around my cock in her dreams, work as she eats.
Her cheeks turn pink, and she sits back, preparing herself to say something, to ask me if I really visited her in her sleep.
I wait with bated breath, because if she thinks that was me, my mouth on her, and still wants me to do it again, that makes this all a little more serious, a little more real.
Before she can answer, there’s a loud rap on the door.
I ignore it the first time, hoping that Rose will blurt out the question that’s on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn’t. Instead, she twists in her seat, once more clutching her dressing gown to her chest, and stares wide-eyed at the door.
“Ash. I can hear you breathing from here. Just open the damn door,” my sister boldly demands. Hanging my head for a moment, I steel myself for what will undoubtedly be an unpleasant experience.
“Shit,” I mutter, and Rose twists back around to face me, her pulse quickening with nerves. Gently, I give her knee areassuring pat and stand, squeezing the bridge of my nose. “My sister. I apologise in advance.”
Crossing to the door, I pull it open, barely getting it halfway open when she barges inside, breezing past in an elaborate outfit, expensively dressed in red silk skirts and a black lace corset that must be cutting off her circulation.
“Ash… you’ve been hiding from me,” she chastises, waltzing into my living room and coming to a dead stop in front of the fire, immediately locking eyes with poor Rose, who looks like she wants to crawl under the sofa and hide.
