Page 36 of Summer with a Player

"Elle," Asher whispers, green eyes darkening like the depths of the sea at midnight. Closing the space between us with a stride that speaks volumes, he is the embodiment of every fantasy I've dared to entertain on lonely nights.

His hands, strong and sure, find my waist, pulling me closer until I can feel the heat radiating from his body. There's no escaping now—not that I want to.

Our lips meet, and it's like igniting a fire with a single spark—sudden, fierce, consuming.

It's a kiss that speaks of love and hope. A mingling of tongues that dance together in perfect understanding. I lose myself in the all-consuming rhythm.

"I need you," he breathes out, breaking the kiss just enough to gaze into my eyes.

“Yes, please,” I beg.

The yacht rocks gently beneath us, a silent witness to the hunger that hums in the air between Asher and me. His fingers find the top button of my blouse.

One by one, the buttons give way, his fingertips grazing my skin with each one of his undoing. The fabric parts, and cool air kisses the exposed flesh, raising goosebumps along my arms and chest. But it's the warmth in Asher's green gaze that sends a wetness and ache down to my center.

"Your turn," I say, voice barely above a hum as I reach for him.

My hands are less practiced, more urgent as they fumble with the buttons on his shirt. I skim the hard planes of his chest, feelthe thrumming heartbeat beneath my palms. He's solid, real, and every inch of him speaks of strength and protection.

"Elle," he says as he helps guide my trembling fingers.

"Sorry, I..." The words trail off as I focus on the task.

"Don't be." His chuckle is low, rich with amusement. "I like watching you unravel me."

Finally, his shirt falls open. My breath catches as I trace the lines of his muscles, and they flex under my touch.

"Beautiful," I breathe out, and it's not just his body that I'm calling beautiful. It’s all of him, the trust, the collision of our mutual loneliness from when we were kids that somehow feels less sharp in this shared space.

"You are too, sweetheart," he counters, pulling me closer until there's no room left between us, but steps back with hunger in his eyes.

With a flick of my wrist, the last barrier of fabric slips from my body and joins Asher's on the carpeted floor. His gaze devours me whole. I feel adored and worshiped.

"Come here," he commands, voice barely above the whisper of the ocean outside the porthole.

He guides me toward the bed, the centerpiece of this master room. The sheets are cool against my heated skin, but it’s his presence that warms me. His eyes never leave mine.

His lips find just the right spot on my neck, and it's like he's charting a map of all the places I ache for him. I tilt my head back, granting him access to every hidden corner, every secret I’ve ever guarded. I reach for him, fingers tangling in his hair.

"You like that, gypsy girl?" he breathes out against my skin, his hands roaming with tenderness.

My breath hitches, a silent plea as Asher's lips drift lower, his warm breath teasing over my skin before he claims my breasts. His tongue skates across the surface, drawing patterns that send sparks throughout my body.

"Elle," he groans, voice vibrating as a plea of his own.

A soft moan escapes me as his mouth continues its tantalizing dance, marking me with a hunger that mirrors my own.

Asher's fingers roam, trailing fire along my abdomen, dipping lower, teasing at the edge of where I need him most. He hesitates, his eyes locking onto mine as two fingers slip into my channel.

His touch is gentle at first, coating his digits with my essence, but it grows bolder, more insistent. His fingers dance and delve, igniting a blaze that threatens to consume us. It’s as if he's reaching into the very depths of my soul.

"Please," I plead, the word a lifeline tossed into the whirlpool of sensation.

"Anything for you," he replies, his touch firm now.

The heat in Asher's gaze could melt the very steel of the yacht as his mouth meets mine once more. My back naturally arches. A moan slips through my parted lips as he brings me to climax from his fingers alone.

"Elle." My name from his lips is a plea of his own.

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