Page 4 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
He pinches a nipple with one hand, while his mouth sucks roughly on the other pebbled bud through the thin fabric of my dress. My hands tangle themselves into his hair, pushing him lower, wanting him there. He lets me, chuckling at my lack of patience, while purposely trailing his fingers slowly along the length of my inner thighs in a teasing touch.
I groan, taking the leg that was wrapped around his waist and hooking it over his shoulder. The movement lifts the skirt of my dress higher, exposing more of my skin to the crisp fall air. He leans forward and digs his nose into my sensitive flesh, dipping it into my slit through the cotton fabric of my underwear.
Hooking my fingers into the elastic band of my panties, I shove them downward, too eager for the skin to skin contact to wait. The vibrations of his responding growl send my hips thrusting forward, forcing our lips to clash.
I cry out at the feel of his tongue, tracing the length of my mound. He takes one of my lips fully into his mouth, sucking softly, before releasing it. The pad of his thumb brushes against my clit, spreading the wetness from my opening onto it and rubbing in slow circles.
When his lips take over his thumb’s position on my clit, I nearly lose myself. He swirls his tongue around it, teasing me with the slow pace. I’m panting by the time one of his fingers enters me, pumping into my body with ease. A second finger joins the first one, and I ride them both, savoring the feel of his warm mouth on my clit and his long fingers in my body. With each thrust of his tongue, I can feel myself reaching the edge, coming closer and closer to the release I desperately need.
This is it. This is the moment I’ve waited for for years. The end of my dry spell. The beginning of ecstasy. I’m so close to coming. I can feel it in the quickening of my heartbeat; the phantom taste of his tongue in my mouth, his lips against mine; and the scrape of my nails against the nape of his neck.
I moan loudly, my voice thick from pleasure. “I’m close. I’m close. I’m so close,” I say, gasping between each breath.
He pulls back suddenly, and the loss of his warmth is replaced by the still coolness of the air. “Can it wait?” he asks, his tone sharp and demanding.
“W-what?” I ask, struggling to settle myself through the dense haze of lust.
It’s unnavigable.
Is he…?
I look down at him, following his line of sight. He’s still staring at my exposed flesh down there.
My jaw drops.
Did he just ask my vagina if it can wait? To come?
Because the answer is a resounding no. It’s waited, like, two years to come on someone’s hand that’s not my own.
I reach down and tug my underwear up from its position on my knees. When it’s properly protecting me, I quickly cover it with my dress, realizing belatedly how ugly nude, cotton underwear is. I might as well be wearing granny panties.
There’s a resounding silence as I wait for him to stop staring at my now covered crotch. When I chance a glance down at his handsome face, I discover that he’s not staring at me. He’s staring into space—in the direction my ugly ass panties once were. I side step discretely, putting as much distance between us as possible.
He may be the hottest man I’ve ever seen, but I don’t hook up with Crazy. Even if he comes with a mouth capable of inconceivable pleasures. My eyes dart to the door, wondering if I can make a quick escape without him realizing I’m leaving.
“Fine,” he says, and I gather that he isn’t talking to my girly bits.
He’s talking into an earpiece. It’s smaller than the coiled ones the guards are wearing. Whereas theirs are larger and wired, his is wireless and tiny, fitting entirely into his ear and camouflaged by its flesh-like color.
He stands up, straightens his suit, and barks, “I’ll be there in a minute.”
With that, he raps on the door three times and enters the club as soon as it opens, leaving me to gawk by myself, my dry spell still intact.
No apologies.
No goodbyes.
The douchebag doesn’t even give me the courtesy of looking at me.
Chapter Three
Courage is grace
under pressure.
Ernest Hemingway
It takes me a few debilitating moments to settle my rage.
