Page 76 of In Case You Didn't Know
I don’t speak. I don’t dare. I want to play this game forever.
“Come here,” he says, his gaze sliding down my body like he’s already planning his next sin.
I blink at him. Confused for a second. But then I do as he tells me, scrambling to my knees and crawling across the bed to him. It doesn’t feel demeaning, though. The way he stares at me makes me feel on top of the world.
He curls his fingers around my hair, fisting it, then pulls back until my face is tilted, looking at his.
And then he kisses me.
His kiss isn’t dirty or demanding. It’s reverent, like he’s worshipping me with his mouth. His lips press against mine, slowly at first, as though he’s trying to prolong the first touch, to memorize every curve, every sigh, every shiver that trembles from my body.
My hair is still in his hand, but he’s not pulling anymore. He’s holding. Steadying. Like I’m something precious he’s afraid he might drop and break.
It makes my heart stutter.
My fingers curl around his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin. He’s damp with sweat. Still tense. I feel the rise and fall of his breath as he tries to catch it.
Pulling back, he rests his brow against mine, our breaths mixing.
“You undo me,” he whispers. And those three words hit harder than anything else. I stare up at him, feeling an ache in my chest that matches the one between my thighs.
Then, before I can even breathe in, it’s like a switch has flipped. His grip tightens, his eyes darken. Bad Asher is back.
“Now,” he rasps, voice raw as he climbs into bed next to me. “I want you on my face.”
My breath catches. “What?” I whisper.
“You heard me. Ride me, Francie. I want to taste you again. Until you fall apart.”
I hesitate for a beat. Not because I don’t want it. I think I might cry if I don’t come soon. But because nobody has ever asked for me like this. Like I’m the treat. Like I’m the one who deserves to be worshiped.
Asher sees the flicker of uncertainty in my eyes. And he shuts it down with one look.
“I’m the one in control,” he murmurs, leaning back against the pillows and dragging me with him. “So don’t you dare deny me this.”
I climb over him slowly, planting one knee on either side of his head. My heart is beating like a war drum. Bracing my hands on the headboard, I try not to shake.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs. “Now put your cunt on my face.”
It should sound awful. So dirty. But somehow he makes it pretty. Like he’s asking politely.
So I do it.
And he groans so deep it rumbles far into my bones.
His mouth finds me instantly. He’s hungry, possessive, a man starved. There’s no niceties, no soft beginnings. Just his lips and tongue taking me apart piece by piece. He groans like I’m his favorite flavor, his hands gripping my thighs, keeping me over his mouth since I can’t help but rock against him.
I lose the rhythm quickly. My body’s trembling, my arms shaking as I clutch the headboard like it’s a life raft. He devours me like I’m his last meal. Like I was made just for him.
Maybe I was.
My thighs clench. My breath shatters. My vision blurs.
And when my orgasm hits, it’s physical and emotional and shatters something deep inside of me. A sob catches in my throat as he holds me close, letting me ride the wave he’s created.
And then I collapse. A warm, boneless heap on his perfect body.
He catches me easily, wrapping me in his strong arms, pulling me down beside him. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, pleasure still wracking my body.
