Page 67 of Scars Run Deep

“What?” I asked, tensing.

“The thing is, while I’m glad you’re embracing this, that it’s given you back that spark you lost along the way, I also need you to be prepared. Because, brother, this is far from the end. We’ll need to step further into the—”

“I get it. Like I told you in the car on the way to the Strenwell house, I’m all in. I’m focused and I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to make this temporary taste of freedom permanent.”

He slid his fingers into my hair. “I believe you,” he said, stroking the strands softly.

He stepped closer and I tensed as I felt him right against me.

Usually when he brought out that sensuality of his and trapped me in that intense magnetism, its purpose was to lull me into a false sense of security before he struck and did something brutal to make a point, to reel me in, or to punish me.

But the look in his eyes was different this time. There was no nefarious intent that I was registering. There was no flash of fire, no malicious smirk.

He trailed his fingers from my hair, sweeping across my cheek, then brushing over my throat and lingering on the pulse point. It was a barely there, feather-light touch. But the deft movements, the sureness of even those light touches and the heated look in those silver pools… it all made it so damn erotic. It had a whisper of desire rolling through me.

Before I knew it, I was being drawn into his spell and I tilted my head back, offering him my throat.

A guttural groan came from him, and he rolled his hips, making me feel every rock hard inch of him against my own cock that was now semi-hard from his touches.

His hot breath fanned across the side of my face as he leaned in, “So civil tonight, sweetheart. Was it the ring? Or is it the upcoming dinner, you wanting to be on your best behavior, in your best mood, for her?”

I swallowed hard at the intensity coming off him that just seemed to be growing by the second. “It’s because you haven’t done anything to piss me off.”

“And if I had, what would you do?” he spoke, his voice a husky whisper, sending sparks of sensation over the skin of my throat. “Slam me into the wall again, fist your hand in my shirt? Get good and rough like last time?” His fingers tightened around my throat, his thumb teasing the pulse point. “You know what? I’d let you. Right now, I’d let you hurt me in any way you wanted.”

I started. He’d seemed calm and composed this entire time—until now.

Too calm, I realized now.

“Ash, what’s happened?” I asked, feeling my throat working against his thumb. Fuck, the sensation was spine-tingling.

He tightened his fingers in my hair and grunted.

In the next second, he pulled it away, and I saw it shaking.

Rage and upset blended together in a dangerous cocktail.

Especially for him.

And very unusually for him.

He clenched and unclenched his fist. “Nothing.” His features twisted. “Nothing yet.”

“This is about what’s coming then? With this war?”

He dropped his gaze and his hand followed… right to my leather pants. “I’m just a little tense. And, like you, I don’t want to ruin this dinner, this bonding time. We need to be united and the way I’m feeling, close to unleashing, it’s detrimental.” His fingers brushed over the front of my pants, making me jolt as the pads caressed my hardening dick.

Fuck him. Fuck him for being able to do this to me.

He was the only one who’d ever been able to… the only man.

Sure, Jonah joked about it, teased me, but that was the extent of it.

Asher, though, he’d made me hard for him, he’d made me want his touch, he’d fucking well made me come for him more than once before.

I didn’t know how, I didn’t understand it. It just was.

The desire was there.

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