The Dare Collection: June 2018. Lauren Hawkeye
their kiss for the split second it took to dispense with the garment and slide his stare over her magnificent nakedness. He scooped his arms around her waist, hoisting her from her feet and stumbling backwards towards the bed so she sprawled over him, covering him from chest to thigh in a tumble of naked limbs and a cloud of Essie-scented hair.
Ash filled his lungs and his hands with her, memorising every nuance of this unique woman. With every passing beat, her kisses grew more desperate, the breathy moans in her throat more frantic and her fingers more insistent. And her ardour matched his.
Ash rolled them so she lay under him, her writhing body urging him on. She tugged at his shirt and he helped her, yanking it up from behind his head and tossing it aside.
Skin to warm skin.
Ash gripped one of her thighs, pushing her open to slot his hips in between. He captured one pink-tipped nipple, laving and lapping until she bucked in his arms and tugged at his hair, the wild, demanding side of her never far from the surface. His kisses followed the bumps of her ribs, the dip of her navel and the hollows beneath her hip bones.
He slid to the floor, tugging her ass to the edge of the bed until he was satisfied with her position. He spread her open, his gaze devouring every perfect pink inch of her.
Just one more taste.
He pressed a kiss to each thigh and then he leaned in to touch the tip of his tongue to her clit.
She sucked in a gasp, her hands fisting the bedspread. ‘Ash...’
He pulled back, a rock the size of the Isle of Wight lodged in his chest. ‘Say it again. Say my name.’ Some base part of him needed to hear her call out for him, to know that he wasn’t alone with his unrest. To know that she saw him and only him.
She nodded and he dived once more for the slick haven between her thighs. ‘Ash...’ She resumed her chant, his name over and over again, while he licked and flicked and suckled.
Every time she spoke his name, his fingers clung to her thighs with a fraction more force, as if he wanted to stamp his presence all over her from head to toe, leaving no doubt. He pushed the crazy idea aside, focussing on the catches in her throat as he forced her higher and higher.
She wasn’t his.
‘Yes...Ash...I’m close.’ Her thighs juddered against his face and he ceased his efforts. He wanted to be inside her when she came, her muscles gripping him like a fist as she wailed his name for the last time.
She cried out, but when he tore into his fly, shoving his pants down with impatient jerks and pulling a condom from the pocket, she helped him, pushing at the denim and sliding her hands up and down the backs of his thighs.
Ash gripped the foil between his teeth and then covered himself. He shucked the jeans with a kick. Gripping her hips, he tilted her ass from the bed and plunged inside her with one thrust. Her body welcomed him, warm and tight and as close to perfect as he’d ever experienced.
He held himself still, allowing her to grow accustomed to him inside her and allowing him time to breathe around the block of concrete where his lungs should be. Ash held her stare while their chests heaved in unison, the patter of her heartbeat strong and rapid against his chest.
‘Ash...’ She sighed, her fingers dancing over his back, his shoulders and across his chest. He gipped one wandering hand, his fingers interlocking with hers while he pressed it to the mattress, and then followed suit with the other hand.
Her touching him with tender fingertips, while looking at him the way she was...it was too much. Too close to something he’d forsaken for good. Too raw a reminder that, one day, some other lucky bastard would be gifted this woman’s love.
He rocked into her, his thrusts growing in speed and power as if he was chasing down his demons. Every time he slammed home a tiny gasp left her throat. It was a sound he’d remember his whole life. Her wide eyes clung to him as if begging. Only, he was the one who should be on his knees. Worshipping.
Her breasts jiggled, desperate for his tongue, but he’d reached the point of no return, reached his limit. He released one of her hands to scoop her thigh higher until it curved over his hip. Holding it there, he sank lower, the last inch into her tight heat.
‘Yes...Ash...that’s—’ She never finished the sentence. Her orgasm struck, her head stretched back as she gasped a prolonged wail and clamped down on him so hard, he almost closed his eyes in ecstasy. But then he’d have missed her riding out her climax with her beautiful stare on him, her swollen mouth slack as her moans petered into pants.
His head swam as oxygen deprivation sucked him under.
‘Ash.’ She cupped his face, pressing her mouth to his.
He collapsed forward as fire raced along his spine and down the length of his cock. He buried his face in her neck as he ground his hips through the last of the spasms. He wasn’t gentle. His facial hair would mark her, but he needed a minute to flounder in private from the purging flood of emotions he daredn’t name. A minute to swallow the incredible high she’d often told him existed. He crushed her beneath him while he reeled, spent, panting and completely mind-fucked.
Essie ran her fingers through his hair, her soft lips pressing kisses to his temples, his ear, the side of his neck. The see-sawing of his chest dwindled away until he struggled to suck even one molecule of air past his tight throat. His scalp prickled and the sheen of sweat on his skin turned icy cold.
He shifted, gently withdrew from her languid embrace and shuffled to the en-suite to dispose of the condom. He couldn’t bring himself to look in the mirror while he washed his hands. He knew what he’d see. A stupid fuck who’d broken his number one rule in life and was now paying the ultimate price. The only thing he’d had to avoid and he’d gone and done it anyway.
His best friend’s sister. A wonderful woman he couldn’t have and didn’t deserve. A woman professionally obsessed with relationships and romantic love—two things he sucked at and had spent years forsaking. A woman who deserved a man to love her one hundred and ten per cent. To be all in. To worship her and leave her in no doubt that she was his number one priority.
No way could fucked-up Ash be that man.
Keeping his gaze averted, he returned to the bedroom to find Essie wrapped in a white sheet, her face peaceful in sleep.
Indulging in one last, ill-advised move, he slipped into the bed beside her and fell asleep with her perfectly slotted into his arms.
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