Page 71 of Dirty Deadly & Mine
“Yes.” I nod. “I want to see the depraved things you do to me while I’m unconscious.”
Again, he grins. “Deal.”
“So, what did you do?” I relax my shoulders as this conversation takes precedent over the envelope.
I’m failing at keeping hidden the version of me I turn into when I step into the role of the Crimson Angel. I find myself wondering if he’d like to meet her. If he’d like her depravity. Her viciousness.
But who am I kidding? How can he, or anyone else for that matter?
The savage things I do so easily are sure to make even the strongest person cringe.
Would Asher see me as vile? Too sick to love?
It’s Asher’s swagger that pulls me out of my pity party and practically makes me froth at the mouth as he stalks around the bench and invades my space.
“First, I sketched you.” He cups my nape, angling my head up. “Then I fucked my hand and came on your sheets. A little got on your hip, too.” His fingers move from my hair to graze along my jaw as his eyes drop to my lips. “Then I painted these perfect lips with my cum.” He glides his thumb over my lower lip before leaning in to press his to mine.
Instantly, I’m lost. Asher Scott is like a drug to me. Hard to say no to and leaves me gagging for more.
He kisses and nibbles at my lips tenderly, before slowly easing back to speak again, leaving me a little breathless.
“Then, I took more of my cum and painted your nipples with it until they pebbled so hard that you moaned.”
Christ. His voice. The husky rasp and low tone of his British accent is intoxicating, causing heat to pool between my legs, getting slicker when he leans back to pinch one of my nipples.
“Asher.” I breathe as I arch into him.
“Then,” he whispers, “I painted your pussy with the rest of my spunk.” His fingers glide down my front to cup my aching sex. “You were so wet, Lil. Your body wanted me even in sleep. I could’ve slid my cock inside you so easily, but I didn’t.”
“Why?” I breathe, pressing my mound into his touch.
“I figured you’d still be sore. So I focused on this.” He presses his fingers to my fabric covered clit. “And I made you come.”
“Fuck,” I whisper a moment before claiming his lips.
My leg hitches around his waist and he grips my thigh, pressing the straining outline of his hard length against my core, and we swallow each other’s moans.
The blaring shrill of my phone shatters the bubble of pleasure we are in, and I groan, slowly pushing Asher back and shooting him an apologetic look before he reluctantly drops my leg and I slip free to get my phone.
That call is the beginning of a shit show of a day, with one apprentice calling in sick, leaving just me and the other apprentice, Joel, to carry the workload.
As much as I don’t want to, I leave Asher, rushing to the salon, not getting a chance to look at the contents of the envelope as I tackle today’s clients. It’s long and exhausting, and only gets worse when I take a quick toilet break to find a message from Alexander’s wife, Tamara, on my phone.
BITCHFACE HOMEWRECKER: Have you told the twins yet?
What the hell! Has she forgotten our last conversation?
LILY: No, Tamara, I haven’t. I said I will tell them over Easter.
BITCHFACE HOMEWRECKER: Why are you being so difficult? Just tell them.
This bitch. Who the hell does she think she is? And why does she seem more anxious for the twins to know than Alex? She said Melanie was sick, but surely Alex would’ve told me that. Something isn’t sitting right about all of this.
LILY: What’s wrong with Melanie?
BITCHFACE HOMEWRECKER: How dare you ask me that! Isn’t it enough that she’s dying?
LILY: I’m not trying to be a bitch, Tamara. It will just help me to explain the situation to the boys.
