But he issues a warning. “Wait . . .”
I go still as he mutters how he wants me next.
Drunk with lust, I pull out as he shifts us around. Somehow?and this may be a new law of physics I just discovered?it’s even better lying behind him, my chest against his back. Especially when I return to where I want to be. Inside my man.
“That’s it,” Asher murmurs. “Wanna feel you close to me.”
Those last three words send me spiraling in all directions.
This is just sex, that is all, but it’s also so much more.
It’s a brand-new kind of intimacy that’s frying all my neurons.
As I wrap an arm around his chest, hauling him close, my other arm slides down and I grip his dick. There are no more words as we fuck, sweat slick between our bodies, breath coming fast.
We race to the finish line, and when we’re close, he turns his face to me, curls a big hand around my head, and fuses his lips to mine.
We kiss like bandits getting away with the greatest theft of all time, stealing these midnight hours to come together.
And when we do, it’s nothing like my fantasies.
It’s so much better than everything I imagined. That both thrills me and scares me.
Since I know I will miss these good times.
So much that I’m starting to imagine all the things that I can’t have.
35
THE SEX FAIRY
ASHER
Five minutes later, I’m still trying to catch my breath. And I’m not sure exertion is to blame. Mark remains pancaked against my back, his palm in the center of my chest, over my thumping heart.
It’s a blessing he can’t see my face, because I need a minute to myself.
I’ve had good sex before. Many times. But startling things keep happening in this bed.
Mark’s fearlessness is a huge turn-on. There’s nothing sexier than a man who knows what he wants and then takes it. Our chemistry is white-hot.
But I like the guy. I know I’m not supposed to. He told me he’s not looking for a relationship. He told me he can’t have one.
And God knows I’m trash at them.
Maybe that’s why I can’t shake this wistful feeling?like we’re supposed to see where this goes. Perhaps we’re all programmed to crave the things we can’t have.
Behind me, Mark lets out a satisfied groan. And I realize I’ve gone silent on him. So I try to shake off my deep thoughts with a bit of my typical snark. “Well, Banks, I’m giving you an A plus.”
“But . . .?” he asks. “I hear a but.”
I roll toward him and prop my head in my hand. “But . . .” I run a finger along his hip. “What did you think, Mark?”
He grabs my hand and links his fingers through mine. “I can’t think at all,” he whispers. “I’ve never had as much fun in bed as I’ve had with you.”
“Yeah?” My smile is dangerously large?dangerous because I’m not quite ready to let him know how much I’ll miss this when it’s gone.
“Hell yeah.” He leans in and kisses my neck. “There’s only one thing this weekend is missing.”
“Mmm?” I’m distracted by the brush of his lips on my neck. As far as I’m concerned, not a thing is missing.
“Lord Ollie and Sir Trevor. I think we should watch it together. One of these days, Hannah is going to remember to ask me what I thought of the first episode. And I won’t be able to keep a straight face.”
“Hell yes.” I love this idea. “But if there are any hot sex scenes, I might have to pause the show and get you off again.”
“I might need that anyway,” he says with a devilish smile. “Now let’s get comfortable and do this right.”
Fast forward a half hour, and we’re freshly showered and reclining in Mark’s bed while the sheets from my bed spin around in the washer.
We’re snuggled close together so we can both see his laptop screen. And we’re drinking seltzer water and picking at a bunch of grapes while we watch two Hollywood actors in period costume give each other smoldering looks.
It’s so . . . nice. And healthy. Usually I come to Miami for the nightlife. But there’s no place else I’d rather be right now. I haven’t had a TV buddy in a long time.
“She’s going to trick Lord Oliver into signing the marriage banns,” Mark says, his wrist grazing my abs as he reaches for a grape. “I called it.”
“No way,” I say, taking the other side as a reflex. “He’s too smart for that.”
It may not actually be true. But Lord Oliver is a blond guy with floofy hair. I have to stand up for my people.
Sure enough, the duchess slips a marriage contract into the stack of papers Lord Oliver’s secretary placed onto his desk for his signature. “Nooooo,” I bellow. “This is a disaster. I want a refund.”