Page 95 of Scandal
We say our goodbyes just as Asher steps into the main cabin, his towel loosely wrapped around his waist. Water droplets fall from his hair down his chest, over the family crest on his skin.
He’s written dozens of songs over the years, but someone should write one about him…because he is breathtaking.
“You can’t keep looking at me like that,” he says, breaking the silence in the room. His voice is gritty as I look up to meet his tortured gaze.
“Why?”
He steps forward, then hesitates and stops. “Because it makes me want things I don’t think you’re ready for.”
Now it’s me who takes a step closer. It seems to make his breath catch in his throat. “Like what?” I ask.
His throat bobs as his gaze slowly sweeps over every inch of me. It feels possessive. Heated. “Like letting go of this towel and watching you drop to your knees before me.”
The idea both excites and terrifies me. I wonder how many other women have pleasured him this way. It’s not out of jealousy that drives my thoughts, but a sense of inadequacy.
When he’s in charge and touching me, it’s easier to let go and focus on the way he makes me feel rather than on my lack of experience. But if I’m the one in control, will it be glaringly obvious that I have no idea what I’m doing? What if he hates it?
What if he loves it?
I fight a flutter of nerves and lift my chin. “Teach me?”
“Christ, love,” he breathes out, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
I take a tentative step forward. “Is that a yes?”
His lips quirk. “Are you going to be good and listen?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
He motions with a flick of his chin. “Lose the shirt.”
A thrill runs through me as heat pulses through my veins. I love this side of him, the slightly bossy, domineering side I’ve only just met since we decided to get physical.
Doing as I’m told, I grab the hem of my T-shirt and slowly pull it up over my head. I hear his sharp inhale before the shirt even hits the floor.
Oh, did I forget to mention I’m not wearing a bra?
“Jesus, you’re fucking perfect, aren’t you?” he rasps, taking a purposeful step forward and closing the gap that separates us.
My heart races in my chest, but it’s fear that makes my pulse quicken. It’s that familiar feeling I’ve had almost every day since he pulled up next to me all those weeks ago.
Excitement mixed with…anticipation.
I reach out, placing my palm on his hard chest, right over that family crest I’ve been aching to touch.
His heart is racing too.
“That day at the loch,” he says, glancing down at my splayed fingertips with an intense gaze. “You showed me your family tattoo. Do you remember?”
I nod. I was so nervous and scared, but also exhilarated to do something bold and spontaneous. That’s why he took me to the lake that day, after all.
But he didn’t notice how my hands trembled as I took off my sweater and pulled my dress over my head. Or the way my pulse doubled when he looked up at me, standing there in my bra and underwear, wondering if I’d made some horrible mistake.
But then he stood up, met my gaze, and I saw the heat in his eyes.
Just as I do now.
“I got a little distracted that day.” He smirks, biting his bottom lip as his gaze drifts down to my bare breasts, the nipples pebbled and tight, before returning, “But before I threw us into the loch, I was going to share a secret with you.”
