Page 85 of Law Maker
He slid the zipper to my waist, eased my arms free, then caught my lips again, as if even seconds apart were unbearable.
His hands slipped beneath my shirt, palms gliding up my back. When his fingers brushed under my bra, I arched against him. He broke the kiss only long enough to plant another on my chin, then the hollow of my throat. A nervous shiver rippled through me as his mouth drifted lower.
He gripped the hem of my shirt and lifted it, uncovering my chest. I’d expected self-consciousness the first time a guy saw me like this, but all I felt was the heat of his touch and the ache coiling low in my stomach. I’d dreamed of him for so long—I wanted to bottle every second of tonight and keep it forever.
Asher’s mouth found me through the lace. I bit down on my bottom lip, hard enough to sting. God, it felt incredible. He drew my nipple between his lips, and the pressure intensified, pooling hot between my thighs.
He looked up at me, gaze tender and hesitant, as though unsure if I wanted him to keep going. I gave a soft tug on his dark hair—my answer. I wanted everything, or as close as we could get. Words failed me.
He slid one arm around my waist, steadying me, while his teeth tugged the lace aside. The wet heat of his mouth closed over me, and a helpless whimper slipped out.
He sucked gently, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud before moving to the other. My legs tensed on either side of him. I pressed forward until my hips brushed his, desperate for relief.
His hand dropped to my hip, squeezing in warning. “Mi niña,” he breathed against my skin, his warm breath teasing the nipple he’d just abandoned.
I shifted closer. Almost there. One inch more and my body would press fully to his.
“Joder,” he cursed under his breath. He must’ve realized what I was trying to do, because his hand slid down, lowering the zipper further.His fingers skimmed the waistband of my underwear, slipping beneath the fabric—so close I gasped.
He returned to my breasts, kissing and biting softly, his mouth coaxing peaks of aching sensitivity.
I fisted a hand in his hair. “Ash. Please.”
I wanted more. I wanted him. Fantasies weren’t enough—I craved the real thing.
He lifted his head, heat blazing in his irises, a knowing smile curving his lips. Then his mouth crashed back onto mine. As our tongues tangled, his finger slid lower, stroking my sex. He moved easily over my flesh, slick and smooth, and I opened my legs wider, offering him more.
“Me estás matando,” Asher whispered, kissing the corner of my mouth. “You’re killing me, because you don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of this. Even when—” he caught my earlobe between his teeth, teased it with his tongue, then let go, fingers moving faster “—I thought I’d never have you.”
“You…” I forced the word out as his thumb circled, pulling me to the edge, “have me now, Ash. All of me.”
“Good.” His lips found mine again. “Because you’ve had me all along.”
We kissed—shameless, greedy—like we never could before. Ash kept touching me, slow, then faster, until I was so wound up the faintest brush would’ve unraveled me.
The muscles inside me clenched, and with another stroke of his thumb, pleasure tore through me, shaking every part of me.
When the tremors eased, he drew his hand away and wrapped me in his warm, steady hold.
I buried my face in his neck, overwhelmed—by the rush, the happiness, the way he made me feel like nothing else mattered. Everything could fall apart, but with him, it would never be unbearable.
Asher threaded his fingers through my hair while I melted against him. Darkness settled around us, making it all feel sharper, more forbidden. Another memory just for us. I wished we had the whole night, not only a handful of hours.
“I’d like to do something to you too,” I whispered, nuzzling the strong line of his throat.
His sigh rumbled under my lips as I kissed his neck. “And I’d love to touch you again, mi niña. But it’s almost ten.”
My heart dropped. Why did time disappear with him?
“I’ll find a way to take you out soon,” Asher murmured. “Promise. Let’s get you dressed before we run out of time.”
Swallowing a groan, I reached for my shirt. I couldn’t risk being grounded, but I’d have traded anything for one more hour in his arms.
APRIL 3RD
I’ve never lied as much as I have this past month. I faked being sick, pretended I was drowning in PSAT prep—anything to skip therapy. Worth it. Out of the last five sessions, I only sat through one.
The test is in two weeks, but today’s challenge feels just as daunting: convincing Sharon to take me to Emerport to watch Asher race.
