Page 66 of The Best Men
Pretty sure, too, I might pounce on him in seconds flat.
He cuts the engine, and I follow him inside, driven solely by my desire to get his clothes off, stat.
When we reach the pool, I clear my throat, take a stab at translating that line of French he spoke to me back in the store, the one after theI want youbit. “Then, pin me down and have your way with me . . .”
Asher turns around, a throaty rumble escaping his mouth, approval in his eyes. “Well done, Banks,” he says, and I stalk over to him, peel off his shirt, toss it on the concrete, then run my hands along his smooth, sun-kissed skin.
This is where my hands belong.
I grab his face, bring my mouth inches from those lips I want to devour, and solve the rest of the French puzzle. “I already told you, Banks. You can do anything you want to me.”
He smiles, slow and pleased. “Have me, Banks,” he whispers.
In a flurry, I push him down on a lounge chair, rip off my glasses and shirt, and slam my body to his.
I’m not thinking about spreadsheets or lists or items.
I’m not thinking at all.
I’m doing.
Him.
I kiss him ravenously, grinding my crotch against his, our hard-ons thumping together through our shorts. His hands grab my ass, and he jerks me closer to him. I need to get this lust out of my system so we can slow down and spend all night naked.
I break the kiss, panting. His eyes are fevered, his hands gripping me tight. He’s as wound up as I am. I try to catch my breath, and as I do, words just spill out. “You’re so fucking sexy, Asher St. James. It’s insane how much I want you.”
His hand slides up my back. “Same here, so just fucking get naked and rub your dick against mine.”
I dive back in for one more hot, filthy kiss that knocks all my senses out of whack. I can’t wait to strip off the rest of our clothes.
I rise up to my knees, unzip my shorts, when the sound of the door opening hits my ears.
“Mark? Are you here somewhere?”
My sister’s voice has the same effect on me as the time someone from work convinced me to do the ice bucket challenge. Instant deep freeze. In five seconds, I’ve got my shorts zipped again, shirt on, and I’ve sprung into a standing position. And I set another land-speed record today?this one for time to deflate. Less than thirty seconds.
“Oh, hell,” Asher mutters. “This can’t be happening. Flannah is a day early.”
Flannah?
I don’t even have time to react to that ridiculous nickname as my sister steps outside, her smile as wide as the bay. “My God, this place is amazing! Everything is so great!”
“Yup, terrific,” Asher agrees, and you’d have to have had your tongue in his mouth a moment ago to hear the irony in his voice.
Hannah flings herself at me, and I hug her as a reflex.
But what if she’d shown up about five minutes later? Or even three?Christ, that was close. “H-hey Banana,” I stammer. “You’re, uh, about fifteen hours early.”
“Isn’t it amazing? My dress was ready right after we spoke! So Flip called the charter company and asked them if the jet could be ready by four-thirty. And here we are! I texted you before we went wheels up.”
Must have been one of the many texts I ignored when I was playing crack the code on Asher’s dirty French talk. “Here you are,” I repeat, patting her back. “It’s great to see you.”
The sound Asher makes might or might not be a snicker. I can’t even look at him right now. If I did, my embarrassment would etch itself across my face.
God, if we’d been alone a few minutes longer, we’d have been buck naked on that chair, rubbing off and trying to fuse our tongues together.
We would haveneverlived it down.
