Page 95 of Dirty Deadly & Mine
There’s something about the way Asher kisses that has me melting, and utterly addicted. I’ve been trying to figure out what it is that’s different from his kiss, to all the others I’ve ever had, and I’m still coming up empty as to what exactly it is.
It’s claiming, yet gentle. All-consuming, yet it feels like it sets me free. His lips nibble at mine like I’m a dessert he never wants to stop tasting, and the brush of his tongue is like a magical wand that instantly ignites heat between my thighs.
No one has ever kissed me the way Asher Scott does.
When we pull apart, it’s only because we can hear the twins’ heavy feet pounding the stairs, and I know they are going to find Asher missing.
“I’ll say you must have stepped out or something.”
His smirk is sinister, but he nods before nipping at my lips one last time, and when I turn to step back out through the bathroom door, he gives my arse a good, hard slap.
I bite back my squeal, not wanting the twins to hear, but I’m pretty sure Asher just branded his handprint onto my butt.
Fucker.
A quick glance in the mirror next to my wardrobe shows I’m now dressed properly. I have no makeup on, but that’s nothing new to the twins. Especially on weekends at home.
My hair, though, is a wavy mess. Not completely unruly, but I certainly don’t look as put together as I normally do. I typically wear my hair straight and smooth, and occasionally up. I rarely let my natural waves have freedom, but today it will have to do.
Slipping from my room, I find the twins in the living area, quietly arguing over something.
“Hi boys.” I smile when their gazes dart up from whatever it is on their phones that caught their attention.
“Hey, Mum.” Jude smiles, leaving his brother’s side to close the distance, throwing his arms wide for a hug.
I step into it and inhale his scent, freezing at the thought that perhaps I smell like Asher. I forgot to spritz myself with perfume.
“Have you grown taller?” I ask, pulling back to look up at my son, and he shoots me a wink.
“Maybe.”
“Have you got a hug for your mum, too?” I turn to face Ronan, who cringes.
“Muuum. Jude is the hugger. Just give him another one and pretend it’s me.”
I shake my head. “Nope. Get your arse over here.”
His shoulders drop like I just asked him to clean his room, and he drags his feet across the floor as he slowly approaches me. I giggle at his antics, and a glance at Jude shows me he’s rolling his eyes at his brother.
Aside from some personality traits that individualise them, it can be really hard to tell which one is Jude and which one is Ronan. They are identical, but often wear their hair a little differently, and have different tastes in clothing brands. That’s all well and good, but if you don’t know that about them, you’d still have a hard time determining which one is which.
Then there are the times the little shits decide to swap identities. If it weren’t for the small chickenpox scar just under Jude’s left ear near his jaw, then I’d have to hope they aren’t playing pranks on me, based on their looks.
Jude has always been a bit of a mumma’s boy. He loves cuddles, and even after all these years, he's never been embarrassed to show me affection in public and in front of his school friends.
Ronan is another story.
With great reluctance, Ronan reaches out to give me an awkward hug-slash pat on the back before wrenching himself away.
I can’t help it. I laugh, shaking my head as I go to the kitchen for coffee.
“Where’s Asher?” Jude asks, and I slowly turn from the coffeemaker to see him leaning against the stone bench, his hands resting on the surface about the same place as my bare arse was the other night when Asher and I fucked before Barrett caught us.
My cheeks flush with heat.
“Oh, uh… maybe he went for a run. He does that a bit.”
“You okay, Mum?” Ronan asks, sliding a barstool out from the counter to take a seat. Then Jude does the same, finally moving away from where his best mate fucked me.
