Wild Hyacinthe (Crimson Romance) (13 page)

He closed his slack mouth and half-smiled. “Aria, do you suffer from obsessive-compulsive disorder?”

I knew he meant nothing except curiosity by it, but I was too frustrated by the memories—and my unfair dishonesty—to hold it in any longer. I let out a snarl and slammed my fists into the bag, the impact jarring my shoulder in a strangely relieving way, my elbows snapping back with each strike in a neat rhythm. I picked up pace, punching faster and harder, huffing like Asher did when he hit.

And after a while, I slowed, and I felt calmer. Better. Even my psychotic need to jump Asher whether he wanted me to or not cooled a bit. I stopped and dropped my arms to my sides.

He found my fingers. “You are so unbelievably unpredictable. You surprise me at every turn.”

“I’m sorry.” I couldn’t meet his gaze.

“No. Don’t ever be sorry. You make me feel alive, too.”

I glanced up at that, stunned, and found him smiling, his eyes swimming with sincerity as his thumb traced my knuckles, soothing the burn from beating the leather.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said.

• • •

The workout was divine. After the hour, I slipped upstairs to shower and start on dinner while Asher took time for a workout of his own. He said he liked to get in the zone and focus on nothing but the performance of his body, improving little things one at a time. His dedication was amazing, and I couldn’t help but feel inspired by his attention to his art. His body was his art, and what a masterpiece he made it.

I had nothing to offer the man who had everything. But I could show my appreciation for him. How better to do that than by feeding him well? I grinned with pride at my own cleverness as the steak popped and sizzled in the pan, filling his apartment with aromas of garlic, whipped potatoes, and peppered meat.

I cleaned up the counter and poured a tall rum and Coke for Asher, and then one for myself.
Liquid courage,
I thought as I took a sip. Of course, his flawless physique and the fire he ignited inside me gave me more boldness than I thought I’d ever have.

I wanted to break his resistance to my body, to show him how much I adored him, and get some of this need cooled down so I could concentrate on all the simpler, beautiful things about him. I needed to be able to focus, and my drive to get him inside me was so strong I couldn’t ignore it. Maybe if we got the deed done, I’d simmer down and have some room in my brain for normal conversation, without always turning it into something sexual.

I’m behaving like a teenaged boy.
I stabbed a steak with frustration and slid them both onto the waiting plates to rest while I garnished the potatoes with fresh, chopped chives.

The door clicked just as I was passing the plates across the breakfast bar. Asher slipped off his shoes, still wearing nothing but his boxing shorts. I was glad I wasn’t carrying the plates anymore – I would have dropped them at the sight of him like I dropped the coffee.

“Hey,” I said, sweeping into his arms and delighting in the aroma of his sweat. I kissed his chest and tasted the salt of hard work, and he wrapped me up in his arms.

“You’re not even out of breath,” I noticed.

“I do a long cool-down after my workout. Yoga.”

Damn, I wished I had stuck around to watch that.

He inhaled long and deep. “It smells amazing in here.” He slipped his hands beneath my shirt and held my bare back, a routine that sent little zings of excitement through my legs. I craned up to take a gentle kiss from his lips.

“I hope you don’t mind that I cooked.”

He pulled back and searched my eyes. His pupils seemed lighter, or smaller, and I studied the beautiful, striking starburst of black as a sly smile pulled his lips up. “What man in his right mind would have a problem with a beautiful woman cooking in his home?”

“I just mean you opened your home to me, and here I am touching all your shit without permission.”

“Did you wipe your ass with my pillow?”

I paled. Oh my God, I really said that to him. My voice barely squeaked out. “No, of course I didn’t.”

He laughed and stroked the skin of my sides with his thumbs, that desire curling through me like hot vines. “I said to make yourself at home. Would you cook at home?”

I cringed at the mention of home. “Yeah, I would.”

“Then please, by all means, continue to touch my shit.”

An opening. “All your shit?” I snaked my arm between our bodies and stroked my hand once along his groin, my heart kicking up with excitement as I felt him hard and ready for action.

His eyes tightened just a bit and he drew a deep breath, which he released with a low hum. I shifted closer and rubbed him again.

Asher cleared his throat and stepped back, rubbing his neck. “It smells amazing in here,” he repeated.

Rejection twisted in my chest, but I wasn’t about to back down. He was resisting me out of some ridiculous notion that I felt I owed it to him, and nothing could be further from the truth. I advanced on him, cornering him by the door, and as I pressed against him, he cupped me by the ass and kissed me with open, wanting lips.

His tongue swept into my mouth. I moaned at the taste as his hands tightened, squeezing me, tugging me closer. He nipped at my lower lip once, and I squeaked with pleasure, and then he soothed the bite with his tongue. I slid my hands up his chest and panted into his mouth as I forgot all about steak.

As suddenly as the kiss began, he broke it, moving his arm to my thighs and scooping me up into the air against his side.

“Hey!” I protested with a squeal. “Put me down.”

“Nope. You’re clearly not sound of mind right now, so I better get you fed before you do something stupid.”

I smacked him on the shoulders, loving the sting of skin-on-skin. “I’m not going to do anything stupid. How could sucking you off be stupid?”

His breath hitched at my words and he plopped me down onto a barstool. “Okay, I’ll rephrase. I need to eat before I do something stupid.”

“Like sinking it into me and breaking your savor-the-torture bullshit rule?” Whoa. I slapped my hand in my mind again, stunned that this need inside me was quickly spinning into anger.

He clenched his jaw, the playful mood in the air shifting to one of rejection. I sighed. “It’s just . . . you want me. I know you do. But sex with me is ‘something stupid?’” I flicked my fingers in air quotes to demonstrate my frustration. “What am I supposed to think, here? That you’ll regret me?”

Asher sat and lifted my sullen chin with his fingertip, and then smoothed my furrowed brow with his thumb. “You’re supposed to think I care about you, and don’t want to treat you like trash. I’ve thrown away every woman I’ve ever touched, and you’re too important to me to be one of them. I’d never forgive myself for throwing you away.”

“What do you mean, treating them like trash? You screw them and dump them? I know you won’t do that to me.”

He looked away. I couldn’t see his eyes, but something in his posture rang an alarm in my head. There was shame in his history, or remorse, or deeply hidden pain.

I slid his rum and Coke across the breakfast bar. “I’m sorry. Not my business, I know.”

He glanced at the glass, and then at me. His eyes showed a depth of pain I hated, and I wanted to climb into his lap and kiss away his remorse for whatever he’d done. But somehow, I knew if I did that, I’d make it worse.

“It’s more your business than you realize,” he said. “But I can’t keep talking about this in front of a beautifully prepared steak. I won’t be able to eat if we keep talking about this.”

I flinched. How could it be that bad? I pushed the glass an inch further. “Then let’s eat, and forget about your bullshit rule for a while.”

Asher’s hardened expression relaxed and he scooped up the glass, draining it halfway. He flashed me his brilliant smile as he picked up his fork and knife, the sadness of a moment ago almost hidden behind it.

Almost, but not quite.

“Thank you for the meal, Aria,” he said, cutting into the meat.

My earlier plan wavered as I considered the weight of his regret—for whatever reason—about the women he’d treated poorly in the past. But the best way to soothe pain was through pleasure, I figured. I wanted him to see me fearless of his past, though it worried me more than I’d told him. He didn’t need my judgment. So I slipped off the barstool and stripped down to my panties a step behind him. He dug into his food with such aggression I imagined he must have worked out hard. Wearing nothing but a bright, lacy pink thong, I scooted up onto the bar between our plates, crossing my ankles.

Asher froze mid-bite, a chunk of steak in his mouth, his gaze locked on my hips. I watched him, waited for him to move, but he just stared.

I reached to my other side and cut off a chunk of steak, popping it into my mouth.

Asher blinked a few times and sat back, chewing and drinking in the sight of my almost-nude form. He adjusted his shorts and swallowed, delight tugging on the corners of his eyes. I knew I was in good shape, but he was in flawless shape and I was helpless to my desire when he was shirtless. I wondered if my physique did the same things to him.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

I swallowed my food. “Sitting naked on your breakfast bar.”

“Why?”

“I thought that’s how you prefer to eat.”

“It is, very much, how I prefer to eat.”

I cut another bite and watched him stare at my mouth as I chewed. It was a little weird, but the desire in his eyes was clear. “Do I look good with meat in my mouth?”

That darkness was back in his glare, mixed with arousal. “Oh, yes. Particularly meat that belongs to me.”

I took a long pull of my drink and he did the same. “You should eat.”

“I’m thinking about it,” he said with a smirk.

“Actually eating your steak would be more productive than thinking about it.”

“I’m thinking about eating, but not my steak.”

“Oh?” Fire ignited between my legs and I squeezed my thighs together, squirming with wanting.

He noticed. His gaze dropped to my panties and lingered there for a long moment, and then he reached forward and slipped a finger beneath the strap on the side of my hip. He dragged his finger slowly over the crease of my thigh, tickling, and then slid it down to the center of the fabric.
Oh.
He touched me once, his smooth, strong finger stroking sensitive skin, and my breathing quickened.

Before I had a moment to say anything, he swept both plates and the cutlery onto the floor, shifted me on to my back on the breakfast bar and climbed between my legs. I shrieked with surprise as ceramic shattered and he grabbed my hips, tugged my heat against the erection bulging through his shorts, and buried his mouth in the crook of my neck, groaning.

His hands roamed everywhere, and I needed him so badly. I threw a leg around his back and reached down to shed my panties, but he stopped my wrist and pinned my hand above my head.

I giggled at the challenge and tried with the other hand, but he pinned it up as well. I searched his expression to try and figure out if he wanted this as much as he seemed to, but he smothered my wonder with a long, slow kiss that drove all questions to the back of my mind, his tongue tender in my mouth and his lips soft, all the frantic energy of a moment ago replaced by a delicious smolder deep in my core. His mouth was hypnotic and hot, and I lapped at him, hungry for more.

When I was relaxed and surrendered in his hold, he resumed his roaming hands and pulled his mouth away and left me reaching for more. He chuckled, the low rumble of his mirth vibrating through my flesh as he continued to press against me. I tried to reach down again and shed my panties, but he didn’t let me get my hands between us.

“Don’t push this boundary, Aria.”

I stretched up for his lips again before I spoke. “I want to. I want to show you how you make me feel. It’s not out of obligation, and I don’t give a shit about your money, I don’t want it . . . ”

He silenced me with another kiss. “I can’t. Not yet. I need time.”

I glared at him, and he ducked his head, kissing the hollow at the base of my throat and distracting me from my conviction with those smooth, hot lips of his. He trailed kisses along my breasts, each touch muting my will to argue with him.

“I want this, with you,” he whispered as he barely grazed my nipple with his lips. I moaned. “I want to touch and taste you, but please, don’t let us go further, yet.”

My voice was nowhere to be found beneath the torture of his pleasure, so I whispered. “I’m not the one showing any self-control, here.”

“I know. I’m not known for it, either. Please let us wait.”

“Is it such a crime that I want you inside me?” Great, now I was whining.

“No. But I want you longer than that.”

My eyes flew open. Longer? Like, relationship-longer? Or like fuck-my-own-sloppy-seconds longer? I scratched lightly along his shoulders as he tugged my nipple between his teeth. “So have me longer.”

Asher grimaced and pushed away from me, then, sitting up. “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” I demanded as my heart crashed painfully in my chest at the vacant chill on my skin. I pushed up onto my elbows, unable to keep the anger out of my glare or voice. “What the hell? You don’t have erectile dysfunction, and I’m not going to trap you into some financial scheme, so what the hell is the problem?”

He ground his teeth together, the flutter of his jaw in the corner of his cheek drawing my attention back to his mouth. I ignited inside once more and dove at him without thinking.

He kissed me once and then pushed me back by the shoulders. “No, no, Aria. Please. Don’t make me explain this. You want to push me away? This is the way to do it.”

I sucked in a gasp at the forcefulness of his words. What? No, I didn’t mean to take it so far! Damn my libido getting in the way of logic . . . it had only been a few days, and here I was demanding so much from him. What the hell was wrong with me? It was like my sexual appetite had a mind of its own, and I was so humiliated by my desperation I crossed my arm across my breasts and hid my face behind my other hand, tears springing to life behind my eyes.