Page 66 of The Backup

“You know what you’re doing. Sloane you’re grabbing my cock…fuck. We shouldn’t do this.”

I grin. I’m starting to learn the little games he likes to play. “No?”

He reaches his big hand under my shorts.

“No. You might get wet. Really wet.”

“Too late for that.”

“Yeah. You’re fucking soaked.”

He presses two fingers onto my clit, playing with me, and with his other hand he pulls my shirt over my head.

“No bra tonight,” he comments.

“No bra.”

“You’re learning what I like.”

“I am,” I moan.

Pulling his hand off of me, I move to his couch, and look him in the eye. “Sit.” I pat the cushion.

“Oh, you’re telling me what to do now?” He bites his lower lip.

“I guess so,” I grin.

“I like it when you take charge,” he says.

My insides warm. I secretly file that quote away underthings Joe DeRollo would have never said to me because he had to control every single interaction we had.

“Yeah?” I ask, as Asher sits on the couch. “Why is that?”

I kneel between his legs, my tits out on display for him. He runs a hand through my hair.

“Because I trust you. And I like you. But mostly because I trust you. And I think if you have a fun idea, I want you to take charge.”

“So whatfun ideado you think I have right now?”

Asher sits back with his arms behind his head. “I have no idea. I’m along for the ride, like I said.”

My breath hitches as I glance up at him, my knees pressing into the soft mattress as I sit back between his legs. The room is dim, the only light coming from the desk lamp in the corner,casting shadows across the hard planes of his stomach and chest.

God, he’s ridiculous.

My eyes trace the line of his abs, the faint ripple of muscle that flexes with each shallow breath he takes. His skin looks impossibly smooth under the golden glow, and I can’t help but wonder how it would feel under my fingertips—or my tongue.

I bite my lip, my gaze dropping lower. His briefs cling to him in a way that feels almost unfair, leaving nothing to the imagination. The bulge there is impossible to ignore, and heat floods my cheeks as my thoughts spiral into territory I know I shouldn’t entertain.

But I do.

I imagine leaning forward, pressing my lips to the sharp line of his hip, trailing kisses lower until he groans my name. I wonder how he’d react if I ran my tongue along the waistband of his briefs, teasing him, making him beg.

Would his hands tangle in my hair, guiding me where he wants me? Or would he let me take my time, watch me explore him at my own pace?

My pulse races as my eyes flicker back up to his face. His smirk is gone, replaced by something darker, hungrier. He’s watching me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, and it makes my stomach flip.

I should look away, say something, anything to break the tension, but I can’t. Not when every nerve in my body is screaming to touch him, taste him, memorize every inch of him.

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