Page 96 of The Best Men
That dangerous organ wants to slam into Asher. But really, he’s making it clear what I do for him?I entertain him in bed.
That works for mefor now.
I mean . . . it works plain and simple. There’s only a now with us. Nothing more, no matter how intensely he looks at me.
“But . . .” Asher drags out the word. “That’s not what I want to do right now.”
Whatever he wants to do, I want it. “Do it. Whatever it is.”
A crooked grin curves his lips. “That’s what I mean.” His breath comes in a quick huff, like he can’t get enough oxygen either.
Then, he threads his fingers through my hair, and my muscles quiver with anticipation.
He draws his hands toward my face again, then gently slides off my shades. He folds them, tucks them into his pocket, and lets out a low, swoony hum of desire.
He curls his hands over my shoulders, and in some kind of voodoo slow-motion move, he dips his face to mine, then brushes his soft lips against my right eyelid.
My insides jump.
Asher murmurs, like he’s drifting off to another land as he gives the same treatment to my left eye. A gentle caress of his lips, and like that, my body doubles down on bliss.
But on something else too.
Some strange new sensation that makes my heart thunder.
Then, thump around in my chest when Asher stops just to catch his breath. He presses his forehead to mine. “Wanted to do that for so long,” he admits.
I’m so glad he staged a beach escape. I never knew what I was missing.This feelingin my body. Like I’ve escaped from my head, and it’s fantastic.
I’m not even sure what to say in response to his confession.
Thank youfeels weird, but it’s on the tip of my tongue. Except, with the way he touches me, his hands sliding down my arms, the gratitude feels pretty damn mutual.
Maybe that’s what he’s getting out of this thing with me.
The same thing I get with him.
Want.
A bottomless kind of want that I feel everywhere.
Trouble is, there’s a flagpole in my shorts.
So I pull an Asher St. James.
Grabbing my shades from his pocket, I carefully set them down on my flip-flops, then I jerk off my T-shirt, yank off his, and I haul him all the way into the water and fall backwards into the ocean. With a loud, satisfying and salty splash.
“See? I knew you’d like the beach,” he says as he sinks into the water too.
A wave rolls over us, and we bob for a few seconds.
“I do, which is why we needed an erection intervention,” I tell him. “Or I was at a serious risk of showing the good people of Miami the biggest boner of all time.”
He cracks up, dragging both hands through his messy, wet hair. “Thank you for your service.”
I tap my temple. “I’m always thinking.”
His gaze goes warm and lazy. “Not always. When we’re fucking, you stop thinking. And you like it.”
