Page 180 of Law Maker
I hooked a leg around him, rocking with him, while his mouth found my neck, then my ear.
“I missed you. So fucking much.”
My eyes burned. I couldn’t cry now. I missed him too, but what if we couldn’t go back to what we’d been?
I shoved the thought away, clinging to the rhythm of him sliding in and out, building exactly how I needed.
He bent to close his mouth around my breast. The wet heat of it paired with his thrusts wound the pressure tight inside me. My fingers dug into the hard muscle of his ass as I surrendered to the sensation of him everywhere.
He hit the spot that made sparks explode inside me. Again. And again. My breaths came shallow, my body clenching around him.
“Like this?” He licked my nipple.
All I could manage was a broken whimper.
He hummed approval and drove into me with deliberate strokes until I begged for more.
Then he slammed harder, faster, his body straining under my hands, his tongue lavishing my breasts. My cry echoed in the dark room, met by his groan.
I shattered seconds before he did, clutching his hot, sweaty body like I couldn’t survive without it.
Asher wrapped me close, his chest heaving against my ear, breath ragged.
When he slipped out, I felt hollow, but he kissed my forehead, pulled a duvet over us, and folded me into his arms.
I shut my eyes, pretending the last two years hadn’t existed.
***
I woke to soft morning light spilling across the room. Beyond the window stretched the marina—yachts rocking in the mist.
But the view in bed was better. Asher lay on his stomach, facing me. His lips parted slightly, dark lashes shadowing his cheekbones. He’d always been handsome, but age had sharpened his features, made him breathtaking.
Possessiveness twisted in my gut. No one else had seen him like this—sex-tousled hair, flushed skin—in the two years we’d been apart. Hard to believe an athlete who looked like Asher would stay celibate. But he had. For me. For us.
Still, I reached for my clothes on the floor. I should regret last night, but I didn’t. I’d wanted him. Not because of the way his shirt clung to his muscles at the club, or how every woman’s eyes followed him, but because of that song. Because of the history between us—enough to fill volumes.
He used to be my person. One night had been enough to remind me he still was.
I searched the pile of clothes for my panties, gave up, and dressed without them. Quietly, I crossed to the nightstand for my phone. The drawer wasn’t closed all the way, and something peeked from inside.
My breath caught. Scissors, tape, and sheets of the pink wrapping paper I’d seen every month for the last two years. Coincidence? Alba loved pink more than Asher. But why would he keep it here?
“Don’t.”
My heart jolted. Asher sat up, blinking like he hadn’t left dreamland. Light from the window fell over the scar on his shoulder, a flash of how close I’d come to losing him. How helpless I’d felt when I thought his career might be gone.
“Good morning,” I whispered.
He sighed. “Hola, peque. Why are you dressed?”
Because what felt incredible last night made me vulnerable in the daylight. I wouldn’t leave without goodbye, but I wasn’t ready to stay either.
His phone buzzed. With a groan, he pressed it to his ear, eyes fixed on me as if I might vanish if he looked away. “Ale.” Another groan. “Mierda. Tell them something came up. Reschedule, okay? I’ve got to do something important.”
“Ash,” I said, but he kept listening. “Ash.” I pressed, firmer. “Please don’t reschedule.”
I couldn’t bear him canceling his life when I wasn’t ready to talk.
