The moment his lips met mine, it was like striking a match in a room filled with gasoline.
There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—just heat, all-consuming and reckless, burning away the last remnants of reason.
Asher’s hands were everywhere, sliding up my arms, gripping my waist, pressing me back until the wall was cold against my spine. His body caged me in, but I didn’t feel trapped. No, I felt something far more dangerous.
I felt wanted.
Needed.
Claimed.
And I hated it as much as I craved it.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he murmured against my lips, his breath warm, teasing. “Tell me to stop, Ava.”
I could barely think, let alone form words. My fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer when I should have been pushing him away.
“You’re an asshole,” I breathed.
