I grab her by the hips and pull her flush against me, the heat of her already searing through the lace. My mouth finds the soft spot beneath her ear as I mutter, “I’m never letting you take this off.”
“Then you better be creative,” she whispers back, her breath hot against my jaw. Challenge accepted.
Ash’s hands grip my thighs, his fingers digging in just enough to make my breath hitch as he drags me even closer to the edge of the bed. His mouth is right there, hovering over the thin strip of lace that suddenly feels way to flimsy for the heat building between us.
“Ash,” I whisper, but it comes out as a shaky plea.
He doesn’t answer—just drags his mouth over the lace, slow and deliberate, the heat of his breath making my entire body tense. His tongue traces along the edge, barely touching me, and it is torture.
“God, you’re—” My head falls back against the bed, and my fingers clutch the sheets as he nips at the fabric, his teeth catching the lace before letting it snap back into place.
He chuckles low against me, and the sound vibrates straight through my core. “What was that? You good?”
Cocky bastard.
I lift my head just enough to glare down at him, but the second I see the way his dark eyes are locked on me—hungry, wild—I forget how to be mad.
His mouth moves again, and this time, his tongue presses right against the damp spot in the lace, making me cry out before I can stop it.
“Ash—” It is a warning and a plea all at once.
But he just keeps teasing and dragging it out, his hands holding me down when my hips buck up. His tongue slides, slow and agonizingly gentle, before he pulls back, his breath hot against me.
“You want something, Amelia?”
“Rip them off.” I gasp, my patience snapping clean in half. “I swear to god, Ash?—”
That wicked grin spreads across his face right before I hear the sharp snap of lace tearing, the sound somehow louder than my racing pulse.
“Gladly.”
And then his mouth is on me—nothing soft, nothing slow this time—just pure, raw need.
I shatter instantly.
Ash stands at the edge of the bed, his chest rising fast, eyes locked on me with that dark, hungry look that always makes my knees weak. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, he drags them down slowly, and my mouth instantly goes dry.
Holy. Hell.
I bite my lip, and heat rushes through me as my gaze travels over every hard line of him, my heart racing faster than it has all damn day.
“Amelia…” His voice is rough, a warning mixed with a plea.
But I don’t need it.
I push up onto my knees and skim my hands over his hips as I tilt my head and give him my sweetest, most innocent smile—knowing damn well it drives him crazy.
“Sit back,” I murmur, my fingers already nudging him toward the headboard.
His jaw clenches, but he obeys and climbs onto the bed, settling back against the headboard, legs spread wide, that cocky smirk still pulling at the corner of his mouth.
I crawl between his thighs, feeling the heavy tension as if someone sucked the air from the room. My hands slide up his thighs, slow, deliberate, and I watch his chest rise faster with every inch.
“Jesus, Amelia,” he groans out, his head falling back for a beat before snapping forward, needing to watch.
I smile and lean in, my breath ghosting over him as my fingers wrap around him—hard. God, the way he twitches in my hand has my whole body tightening in response.
“Tease me, and I’ll?—”
