Page 28 of Savage in the Streets
“What happened there?”
“He was casual. I’m not.”
His brow furrows. “Define casual.”
“I’m a little more old fashioned than you think I am. Boys that want to hook up and move on aren’t worth my time.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re surprised? Did you think that because I wear black leather, and have tattoos that I’m just some whore.”
“No—nothing like that. It’s just…not what I expected. It’s not you. It’s your generation.”
“Yeah. Everyone is so scared of missing out on life that they don’t see the value of experiencing it with someone.”
Ashton smiles warmly with no hint of arrogance.
I could handle him being hot, but if he starts being nice, I might damn near melt.
And the way he’s fixated on me. Fuck—like he’s seeing into my soul, invading parts of me I hide from from the world. From myself.
And then…our lips meet.
Oh, God—I think I’m going to faint.
I’m vaguely aware of his hand cupping my neck, holding me in place as his lips caress mine, stealing elicit moans from my throat.
He’s greedy. Demanding. Unapologetically needy.
Fuck, I want him.
His tongue is a light flutter against my own, saying, “Hi, nice to meet you.” I’m more bold, twisting mine around his and introducing urgency to the situation.
Letting him know that I’m absolutely okay with what’s happening.
He jerks his head back, uttering,“Holy fuck.”
My heart pounds in my chest, coursing blood through my veins and making me come alive in ways that assure me he’d get a great Yelp review.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out.
I say nothing because I’m not sorry, and I don’t accept his apology.
Kissing Ashton was a dream and something I’ve wanted to do for far too long. What girl wouldn’t? He’s hot, well-built, intelligent, and loaded with cash. I typically don’t like men with money on account of their arrogance, which Ashton has in spades, but sometimes I get a glimpse of the man beneath the finely polished exterior he presents, and I want to see more.
The look on his face makes my heart sink. This is a mistake to him. He doesn’t want his.
The lines are now blurred between us, and admittedly, this was wrong and could very well lead to disaster.
But sometimes, the heart and head don’t align.
“I think I’d better return to my room,” he says carefully.
“I should too.”
He gets up from his seat and places a hand on my shoulder. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
Does that include a good dicking? Because I’m pretty sure my collection of toys aren’t going to do this man justice.
