Page 111 of Scandal
A thrill of excitement shoots up my spine at the thought of doing it here out in the open, and maybe just a little bit at the thought of getting caught.
I do as he asks and tug at my skirt until it’s no longer tucked under me. Then I slide my hand underneath and push the thin scrap of fabric between my legs aside.
His grin turns downright sinister. “That’s a good girl. Now unbutton my pants.”
Neither of us has changed since this morning, so we’re still dressed down in travel clothes. I’m in a comfortable maxi dress, and he’s in dark denim and a sweater.
It’s really unfair that this man can look good in practically anything, from leather pants to a preppy sweater to even a top hat and tails. But I’ve come to the conclusion that Asher Knight’s best look is when he’s in nothing at all.
Unfortunately, that will have to wait until later. Right now, all I have time for is a quick unzip of his jeans. Growing impatient, he takes over, tugs his boxer briefs down just enough to free himself, then lifts me up just enough to?—
“Shit!” I cry out as he practically impales me with his dick.
His hand clamps over my mouth, a cocky grin tugging at his lips. “You’re going to get us caught.”
“Isn’t that half the fun?”
“Knowing we could be seen and actually having one of the staff members see us fucking are two wildly different things,” he says with a smirk. “I don’t want anyone to see you like this but me.”
I smile. “That’s awfully possessive of you.”
“Get used to it.”
Then he kisses me, and we make love in the garden, surrounded by flowers and sunshine. It’s soft and slow, like we have all the time in the world.
Because now, finally…we do.
ASHER
You know those people who never run on treadmills because they swear it will never replace the kind of workout you get from the great outdoors.
It turns out they might be right.
That, or I’m just fucking out of shape.
My life in LA wasn’t exactly suited for a lot of outdoor running. I know a lot of celebrities make it work, but I just couldn’t fathom putting my bodyguards and security team through something like that just to get a bit of fresh air.
So when I needed to work out, I used my home gym.
Here in Scotland, I made do with the treadmill my mum reluctantly added to one of the spare bedrooms after her physician recommended some light walking to help with her high blood pressure.
But today, I choose to switch it up and go for a run outdoors, and Christ, am I regretting that decision. By the time I make it to the cottage, my lungs and calves are burning.
I push the creaky door open and enter the dreary space, needing a bit of rest and perhaps a glass of water before I can head back. I do not want to have to call Mac to ask for a ride.
That would be embarrassing.
I walk over to the small sink by the table and reach into the cabinet above it. There are a few glasses and mugs for tea. I fill one with water that is thankfully clean and cold. I chug down a couple of glasses, then clean the glass and put it back where I found it.
Then something catches my eye, and I turn to see my guitar case resting against the hearth of the fireplace. My fingers flex, longing to touch it. It’s been weeks since I held it, yet barely a day has passed that I haven’t longed to.
Singing is what I’m known for, but the guitar will always be my first love. Just seeing it takes me back to those early days when it was just the four of us in boarding school, thinking we were gods, but we sounded like shit.
It took years before people regarded us as gods. And then it all fell apart.
Before I can take a step toward it, my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. Wanting to ignore it, but knowing I can’t, I pull it out of my joggers and sigh.
I should have known this was coming…
