Chapter 87
1728words
I hope none of the webcams on the array of computers are recording.
If they are, they're getting quite the show.
The chair rolls over the floor, creating a pendulum that Asher uses to fuck me mercilessly. My throat is raw from constant shouting. I'm not saying anything of substance, my mind devoted to focusing on the intense twinges of pleasure his cock delivers. His hips crank backward then forward, each thrust making my pussy tingle. The way he's moving forces my clit to grind on his skin.
I look up at the lavish sight above me. Asher is perfection made human.
Like a perpetual motion machine, he fucks me in the chair.
'Oh God," I breathe, my toes cramping. 'I'm close. Fuck, I'm going to come!"
'Then come." He shows his teeth as he grimaces, focusing through his own passion. His eyes are wicked embers burning into my soul, seeing how I'm about to climax on his cock. He knows me. He knows all of me. There's no hiding from this man. 'Come for me, Camila. Hold nothing back! It's only the second one."
His smugness tips me over the edge. Shrieking, I arch into the chair, pressing my ass upward to get all of him inside of me as I come. Against all odds, he pounds into me harder. The friction is mind-shattering; new pressure, so immense I think it will make me black out, speeds me toward another orgasm. Asher abruptly retreats, pulling out of me before I reach the edge. I cry out from feeling so painfully empty.
'Easy," he chuckles, out of breath. 'I said the second was fine. The third you don't get as freely, greedy girl."
Asher bends over me, lifts his shirt, and tosses it aside. His tattoos seem to glow green in the lighting cast by the screens around us. I've seen them so many times, but they still fascinate me. The stars and the church and the spider. I'm inspired, wondering if someday I might get some body art of my own.
And if I do, it would be by choice. Nothing forced.
Surprising him with it would be thrilling. Does Asher like tattoos on women? I bet if it was me, he'd love it.
My attention jumps lower to the stitches on his left thigh. The place the bullet pierced him.
Knowing he was in danger horrified me. But here, with the heady scent of sex swirling around us, the wound sparks something different. He's powerful ... strong ... An army of cops couldn't take him down. This man is like nothing I've ever known. And his desire for me—heart, body, and soul—makes me come apart at the seams. I don't want to be a damsel, but if I must be, having a hero like him at my beck and call has its benefits.
Propping one foot on the arm of the chair, he fists his cock inches from my face. His quad muscles are rows of delicious cords. The head of his dick is swollen and angry red. It wants to be buried inside my pussy. I want that too. I want it so damn bad.
But his serious stare says he expects something from me first.
Circling my fingers around the girth of his cock, I rub the slippery tip over my lips. He groans deliciously, my clit twitching. Shifting helplessly on the wet chair, I draw him past my lips and over my tongue, squeezing the base of his cock gently.
He moans my name on repeat. It's a beautiful song with a single lyric that I'll never get sick of. Using my hair for leverage, he encourages me to suck him down my throat. I go as far as I can before gagging. He pushes insistently, getting further the next time. My eyes burn with tears, but I'm anything but sad. My pussy is soaked, and the ache for release leaves me trembling. He denied my orgasm, and now my thighs are cramping as I grind the chair helplessly.
I reach up and cup his balls, feeling them flex under my fingers as I explore them. I run my nails over his calf muscles, over the steely bands of his hamstrings, amazed at the power coursing under his skin. My tongue traces the veins on his shaft, and I feel his balls swell and ripple in my hands. My other hand strangles his shaft, pumping without mercy as his musk overwhelms my nose. The salty taste of his precum fills my mouth, and I swallow him without second thought.
'Enough," he growls, yanking his cock from my lips. A string of saliva connects us. I suck in ragged breaths of air. Hoisting my knees up to my shoulders, he presses me into the chair. It starts to roll away from the impact—he puts his foot behind the wheels to stop the motion. Folding me in two, he rubs his cock over my pussy a few times, teasing my sensitive clit before sinking in until his balls slap against my ass.
The suddenness of being filled by his girth pushes me over the edge as if lightning has struck me through the wetness between my legs. My jaw pops open. There's no sound at first, and then the scream that leaves me is broken and ragged. Waves of pleasure course through my core until my heart thunders at my throat. My pussy milks his stiff cock, hugging him, begging for more.
He rips me off the chair, holding me by my hips, thrusting into me in the air. He holds me aloft while he pounds into me with sweat glistening on his chest.
'Kiss me," I pant.
Asher does so dutifully.
The kiss deepens with increasing pressure, refusing to let up. He rocks to one side, losing his balance—something hits the floor; he's knocked an item off the desk. Inside me, his cock swells. He starts to break our kiss, but I grip his hair, letting him know he's not allowed. That this is for me.
That he is for me.
My tongue goes numb when he groans down my throat. Every tiny taste bud is awakened. Asher tastes like almonds and vodka and sex and dreams. He nips my bottom lip, then my chin, creating enough suction just above my breasts to leave a mark—a reminder that I am his. The purple will match the bruises his palms are making on my ass. Maybe I'm becoming perverse, but the thought of his marks on me … signaling I belong to him … drives my heat higher.
'Your pussy just got tighter," he pants. 'Why? Tell me."
'Your hands on my ass," I moan. 'I like … I like the way you grab me."
'And this?" His fingers shift until he traces one over my asshole. I tense, whimpering, my insides all tingling hot. 'Oh, ptichka, you love that too, don't you? Fuck me back. I'm so close." He thrusts more impatiently, his cock straining.
I do as my husband commands, gyrating my hips wildly just as his finger penetrates my ass. The sensation of being stuffed in both holes sends me soaring again. It's insanity. Pure, fucking insanity. No one should be capable of this.
With a husky groan, he pushes me against a wall, using it to brace himself. His hips pump faster, slamming, as he chases his orgasm while mine still trembles in lingering, tiny bursts. His shaft thickens, heating up and twitching. He kisses me right as the first thick, ropy burst of semen fills me up.
He comes hard, yet his knees don't buckle. He holds me steady as he finishes, guiding us both to the floor only when his cock stops pulsing. It takes some time. Or maybe it's me that's trembling, my inner walls trying to encourage him to wake up and go again.
I've become fucking insatiable around him. Has the pregnancy made me want him even more somehow? Is that even possible?
Or is this always what he's been capable of doing to me?
Rolling to one side, I wince—something hard is under my arm. Digging around, I hold up the wireless mouse. 'Oh, this is what we knocked off the desk."
'Casualties happen," he laughs softly.
Grinning, I lob it lightly away from me. Asher winds his arm around my middle, tugging me to his body. We're completely nude, grinding together, but the heat never fades between us. In fact, it starts growing again. If either of us pushes, we'll start all over. His cock is already hardening. It's good to know I'm not alone in being insatiable.
There is desire here … There is lust and longing.
But there is also peace.
I sense it from how he breathes … the pace of our hearts, the sparkles in our eyes.
When did this happen?
When did I fall back in love with this man?
The tinge of satisfaction from what we've done is leaving me slowly. I'm becoming aware of how hard the ground is under my hips. The heat of the computers thrumming around us is no longer steamy, but suffocating. In spite of reality returning to take hold, my heart remains in the clutch of love.
In his clutches.
Asher smiles at me, his large arms folded behind his head like a pillow. He opens his mouth to say something. Laying my fingers over his lips, as if I'm pressing a stamp to an envelope, I keep him from speaking.
It's my turn.
'Don't talk. Not unless it's to answer this." He waits patiently, his eyes twin beacons that shine with curiosity. 'Come back to me, Asher."
I wait.
It's half a second, but it's enough to make my heart constrict.
Please promise, please promise, please.
If you can't do this much, then ...
'I will." Asher holds my hand, keeping it against his mouth. He kisses my fingers twice. 'I promise."
I want it to make me feel better. I hoped it would.
Asher has promised me many things in our time together. He's kept his word more than enough to prove he's a man who takes what he says seriously.
But it doesn't matter. Not this time. Asher is many things, but he isn't a god.
He doesn't have the power to control if he lives or dies.
