Asher wasn’t gentle.
He wasn’t soft or slow, wasn’t the kind of man who worshiped with whispered promises. No, he devoured. He took. And I let him, because I was just as desperate—just as consumed by the wildfire raging between us.
My sheets twisted beneath us as we moved, tangled limbs and gasping breaths, every touch igniting something raw and uncontrollable.
“Asher—”
He swallowed my moan with a kiss, deep and claiming, like he was proving a point. Like he knew that no matter how much I wanted to fight it, I was his in this moment.
And maybe I was.
His hands burned a path down my body, fingers pressing, exploring, owning, and I arched into him, helpless against the way he unraveled me.
“You’re a liar.” He murmured, lips dragging down my throat.
I barely had the sense to respond.
