Ash Rising (DEAd Series) (25 page)

He arched a brow and
stood suddenly, uncoiling his long, lean body. She wavered but held her ground, straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. His steps were deliberate and unhurried as he prowled across the room, and she fought to keep her eyes steady on his as he approached. Stopping only a few inches away, so close she could smell the crisp fragrance of his laundry detergent, the warm heat of his skin, the subtle scent of his desire, he extended his arm.

She lost the battle
and stared at his proffered hand before placing her fingers in his palm. He inhaled sharply and lowered thick lashes when, startled at the sound, she snapped her gaze to his. Soft lips brushed across the back of her hand and skimmed her knuckles in a warm, feathery caress.

She trembled.

His mouth trailed over the sensitive skin of her arm, tongue glided along the crease of her elbow, and her skin prickled. Deliberate, firm kisses covered the inside of her biceps before he moved in for the kill, placing his mouth on the side of her neck where the swell of muscle met the thin, vulnerable skin of her throat. Holding his lips there for a long, drawn-out second, he carefully, deliberately, set his teeth into her flesh, flicked his tongue out to taste, sucked ever so slightly, so gently. She gasped and shuddered, and her fingers sank into his shoulders when she lost strength in her knees.

“Come with me.
” His breath tickled the curve of her ear. “Come with me, Emmaline.”

Warm h
ands ran down her sides to curl over her hips and pulled her into his obvious erection, the firmness divine against the soft give of her belly. She somehow met his gaze, but that didn’t help the bewilderment his touch ignited. His clear blue eyes went slumberous with desire—desire for her—and no way could she refuse him. No way she wanted to refuse him. She managed to nod, and a slow smile curved his full mouth. Taking her hand, he walked backward, never faltering or hesitating as he led her down the dark length of the hall to his bedroom. He paused in the doorway and gave her one last chance to decide what she wanted.

N
o question. She wanted him.

Emma
leaned up for a kiss, craving that full, expressive mouth on hers. She’d explode if she didn’t have his taste, if she didn’t experience the toe-curling sensation of his tongue slicking across hers and soon. She’d thought about kissing him for weeks…oh, hell, she’d thought about kissing him ever since she first saw him in the clearing months ago, standing over the body of Rico Salvatore. The attraction and awareness been instant and completely inappropriate, but she couldn’t deny the fact he’d intrigued her from that first moment.

He had a mouth made for kissing, for wet, wonderful things, and she wanted to experience
all he had to offer. She had him, finally, in the dark, wanting her and willing. She’d start with kissing and move on from there.

His
head ducked, and his lips swept under her ear. Not where she’d expected them, but the sharp, sweet sensation that flooded her when his mouth caressed her skin sent her intentions spinning out of her head. He moved to the bed, a large, dark expanse behind him in the shadowy room. Emma couldn’t make out any details, but he was the only thing she wanted to see anyway. He lowered himself to the edge of the mattress and cradled her on his lap. He was hard and ready underneath her thigh, and she gave an experimental wriggle, thrilled at the evidence he wanted her just as badly.

His
glorious face mere inches away reminded her how much she wanted to kiss him, so she slid her hands into his short, soft hair and tugged. Her breath hitched at the first exploring touch of his lips. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her jaw, and her throat before deftly unbuttoning her shirt—his shirt that she wore—with one hand. Strong fingers stroked as he exposed each inch, feathered over her stomach and between her breasts, slipped around her ribcage to ease the catch of her bra free. Both hands slid under the cups to the inner swells of her breasts, circled her aching nipples and caressed the heavy undersides, each touch winding her tighter and tighter until she thought she’d go mad.

The tie loosened on her cotton pants as he slowly drew the thin cord out and away from her body
. She let out a sob of relief as the heat of his hand opened over her belly, and he tugged at the sweats until they slid off her legs. She sat sideways on his lap, naked from the waist down, with only an open shirt and loosened bra to cover her. The rough rasp of his jeans under her bare bottom…
Oh.
Amazing and erotic. She squirmed, seeking more friction, and a low, quiet sound rumbled through his chest.

Settling her against his shoulder, he
exposed her, urged her legs apart so one fell over his knees. Her breaths came in quick, harsh pants as her body tensed, screaming for his touch and the pleasure he promised with every decadent stroke. Her loosened bra slid up at the urging of his fingers to reveal her breasts, and the tempo of his breathing increased as he stared for long seconds. Finally, he placed his hand on her skin and traced a path from her breasts to between her thighs. She held her breath, waiting, wanting, and the air whooshed from her lungs in a sharp, almost-gasp when his mouth covered her hardened nipple at the same time his finger stroked along intimate flesh. She did cry out when his teeth bit just as his finger penetrated, her back arching and then stilling abruptly so she didn’t dislodge his mouth and hand. He licked and stroked until she writhed in his lap, caution forgotten as she reached for the lure of satisfaction hovering closer and closer. His hands, his skill, his expertise and knowledge of her body were better—were more—than she ever imagined. Helpless as he gave her pleasure, tossed on waves of sensation, she’d thought herself well aware of the heights her body was capable of reaching. He showed her how little she actually knew—using only one hand and his mouth.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as she came a
part on his lap. “So beautiful.”

He held her securely until the
clenching of her body around his fingers slowed and eased. Only when she sighed, slow and deep, did he remove them, sliding fingertips over her stomach to her breasts to hold one and then the other to his mouth for a last long kiss to each. She shivered at the damp trail his hand left on her skin, and he leaned over to pull the comforter and sheets back.

Safe under the covers, s
he roused herself to watch him undress. No way she’d miss a second, not after fantasizing for so long. He grasped the bottom of his T-shirt and pulled the material over his head before tossing the shirt on the floor. Emma propped herself up on an elbow, her eyes greedily taking in his bare chest. She couldn’t see as much as she’d like in the dark, but she could discern firm, mouthwatering muscle. He paused so she could look, not quite long enough—would never be long enough—before his hands went to the buttons on his jeans, releasing the top one and pulling the rest free. Denim rasped down his legs, and he kicked the jeans off so he stood in only dark knit boxer briefs. Just when the frantic beat had settled after her shattering climax, her heart started pounding again at the sight of him so close and with so few clothes. She placed a hand on his hip when he started to push the briefs off, his skin surprisingly warm and silky under her fingertips.

“Let me.” She slid to one side,
making space for him in the bed.

He rummaged in the nightstand drawer before slipping in next to her, and
she shrugged out of her shirt and bra. Emma ran her hands over his shoulders and down his back. Finally,
finally
, his mostly naked body was hers to explore. Her fingers paused at the elastic waistband of his briefs, dipped underneath and tugged, then moved over the firm curve of his ass. Oh, wow. Oh, yes. She took a second to appreciate and linger before shoving the clinging cotton down his thighs. He bent and pulled them off before taking her into his arms again. His sigh echoed hers when bare skin rubbed from ankle to chest, and he rolled, head dipping to capture her breasts with teeth and tongue. Hands and mouth caressed, as did the entire length of his body, until he ran a hand between her thighs, spread them. Her body opened, seeking that first hard, penetrating thrust of entry. God, so good, better than good. Amazing…but somehow, she stopped him.

“No,” she managed
, pressing against his chest with what little strength she had left. “My turn. Me now.”

His head came up to scrutinize
her expression in the muted light. She pushed more insistently, and he rolled onto his back. Emma crawled over him, tossing the covers away to sit up on her knees and just look.

He was
magnificent, even in the dark. If he’d gotten inside her and she’d felt him, hot and hard and huge, she’d never have stopped the headlong rush into oblivion. The opportunity to explore that body, feel his skin, experience the reaction to her touch, would have been wasted. Her hands stroked through his thick hair, measured the strands, rubbed his scalp, and he let out a sound that could only be described as a purr. The rumble gave her a much-needed boost of confidence and reassurance. She had Asher Beaulieu exactly where she wanted him, and she wouldn’t spare one inch of his splendid body.

The simple sensation of her
fingers in his hair and against the curve of his skull felt marvelous. Even better when she traced each feature on his face, marking his neck, shoulders, and chest. Her hands swept down his belly, and he sucked in a breath, only to let the air out in a rush when she wrapped them—much too briefly—around his cock. Somewhat consoled when she shuddered at the feel of him, Ash almost howled, whimpered, begged when she rolled the condom down his shaft and then let go. His hips involuntarily lifted to follow her touch as her fingertips trailed down his thighs, over his knees, and slid around his calves to his feet.

Fighting to hold
still, he let her indulge—enjoyed her indulgence—and waited for the right moment to take back control. He arched under her hands, the sensation sublime, until her searching, admiring fingers encountered one of his many scars, the largest one running down his left thigh from hip to knee. She’d seen most of them, felt them, in the initial perusals of his body, but he expected she’d ignore them like most women he took to bed. Sometimes they showed frank curiosity, occasionally shock, even a little sympathy, but he’d always been able to distract attention away from the disfiguring marks. He prepared to do the same, but his body inexplicably calmed when he detected sadness but no pity, only simple acceptance of his wounds in her touch.

Her
lips brushed each one, tracing the thick, ugly lengths of the welts marring his body. Why her? Why did her particular touch affect him so strongly? She found each scar, accepted, recognized them for what they were—battle scars, the mark of a wounded warrior—and moved on to less blemished skin. Air heaved in and out of his lungs as each pass of her mouth marked him all over again, left him wrecked, staggered, and burning. Scorched his skin and nerve endings, engaged him, not allowing him to retreat behind the comfortable wall of detachment. Her care and comfort resurrected a part of him he’d thought long dead, something he hadn’t known since…Liz. Thoughts of any other woman went up in flames as her tongue seared not only over the ugly scars, but everywhere. Her touch burned him, like charred earth, destroyed what had existed before and left a blackened but fresh field for new growth to flourish. He struggled with the sensation, with the consequence of her, and then she kissed him.

He hadn’t see
n the move coming. Hadn’t sensed or prepared with his usual subtle and smooth redirection, too overwhelmed by the unexpected sensations she stirred in his mind and body. Teeth nipped his lower lip, and he gasped at the touch of a mouth on his for the first time since…before. She unknowingly took advantage of the momentary lapse and slipped effortlessly inside.

He surged up
, mouth still locked with hers, his iron control shattered, his vow to never again allow such intimacy so easily and innocently violated. He gripped her arms with the intention of dislodging her, to reject the breach of his last shield, his closely held privacy and pain, but she moved with him. Tilting her head, she took him deeper, her hands fisted hard and fast in his hair, her tongue wild against his. He
felt
again, more than he feared, stronger than he remembered. The sudden onslaught of emotion terrified and overwhelmed, so he retaliated by tightening his grip and twisting their bodies until she lay underneath him, legs spread in a comfortable, familiar position. He didn’t realize his error, the miscalculation in taking her while he was still raw and open, not until he was inside her and the awareness came too late. Her heat engulfed him, her body surrounded, clamped, held, and he couldn’t extricate himself. He made a half-hearted attempt, a last ditch effort with the instinct of a trapped animal, but she clung to his body and his blackened, wounded soul.

He sank. F
ell into her and kept falling, tumbling, disoriented and unthinking, only feeling, until she obliterated him in white-hot sensation.

For the longest time, he couldn’t do anything more than blink. Emma
lay unmoving underneath him, either not breathing or his dead weight had crushed the air out of her. Wrung out and completely limp, lingering pleasure saturated his every thought and entire body. She eventually stirred, and a thrill flared in his chest, shook his limbs, and proved he was still capable of sensation.

“Holy God in heaven,” she whispered.
He grunted in response, shook his head to clear his muzzy brain, and tried again.