Page 19 of Poison's Promise

“Polly,” he groans, his voice thick with need.

“Stop,” I whisper, breaking away from his lips and placing my hands on his chest.

The word is weak, almost a plea, but it’s enough to make him pause.

His hazelnut eyes lock onto mine, searching, questioning.

“Polly...” he starts, but I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of lust clouding my mind.

“Just... give me a second,” I mutter, though even as I say it, my fingers are curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer again.

Damn it, why does he have to feel so good?

“Don’t want to stop,” Asher growls, his voice low and rough, sending shivers down my spine.

He leans in, capturing my lips once more in a kiss that steals my breath.

It’s like he’s pouring years of pent-up desire into every touch, every caress.

“Me neither,” I admit, and that’s all it takes for us to lose all control.

We collide with an urgency that feels almost primal, mouths crashing together in a frenzy of heat and need.

His tongue slides against mine, and I moan into his mouth, clutching at him like he's the only thing keeping me grounded.

“Fuck, Polly,” he breathes out, his hands sliding down to grip my hips, pulling me flush against him.

I can feel how hard he is through his jeans, and it sends a jolt of arousal straight to my core.

There’s no room for hesitation now—we’re both lost in this whirlwind of desire.

Our kisses are frantic, almost desperate, tongues intertwining in a dance of raw need.

My hands roam over his body, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the heat of his skin beneath my fingertips.

It’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and I can’t get enough.

“Clothes. Off. Now,” he grunts, tugging at my shirt.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” I tease, but I’m already helping him yank it over my head.

“Goddamn right,” he growls, and then his hands are everywhere, exploring, claiming.

“Fuck,” I gasp as his mouth finds the sensitive spot on my neck, sucking and nibbling until I’m writhing against him.

My fingers fumble with the button of his jeans, desperate to get them off, to feel him inside me.

“Need you,” he whispers, and there's something raw and vulnerable in his voice that makes my heart clench.

“Then take me,” I challenge, my breath hitching as he pulls my bra down, exposing my breasts to his hungry gaze.

“Don't have to tell me twice,” he says, and then his hands are on me, rough and demanding, and I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel.

“Fuck, Asher,” I moan as his mouth closes over one nipple, sucking hard.

My hands are behind his neck, clutching, pulling, needing more.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin, and I can feel the smirk in his words.

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