Page 105 of Ashes to Ashes

Her knees wobble. She catches the wall. I don’t touch her. I don’t have to. The magic between us crackles like heat before a storm.

“One day,” I promise, voice rough with desire, “you’ll beg me to let you scream my name. And I’ll make you wait for it.”

I walk her backwards until her shoulders hit the wall, never breaking the kiss, never stopping the slow exploration of her mouth with my tongue. My hands tangle in her damp hair, angling her head so I can deepen the connection, so I can taste more of that intoxicating sweetness.

My body responds instinctively, pressing against her until she can feel exactly how much I want her. She gasps into my mouth, her hips shifting against mine in a way that makes me groan.

“Is this what you desire?” I whisper against her neck, pressing a hot kiss to the sensitive skin there.

“Yes.” The word comes out breathless, desperate. “God, yes.”

One of my hands slides down to grip her hip, my thumb stroking the bare skin below the towel’s edge. She shivers, her head falling back against the wall as I trail kisses along her throat.

“You are absolutely exquisite,” I murmur against her collarbone, tasting the sweetness of her skin. “So perfectly beautiful.”

Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Reason dissolves like sugar in rain.

My hands move to the edge of her towel, fingers tracing the tucked fold at her chest. “Tell me to stop,” I breathe against her ear, though every fiber of my being rebels against the possibility. “Tell me this is progressing too rapidly for wisdom.”

“Don’t you dare,” she gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders. “I want this. I want you.”

The towel loosens under my touch, slipping lower until it’s barely held in place by the pressure of our bodies. My hands map the newly exposed skin—the curve of her waist, the gentle flare of her hips, the soft skin just above the towel’s precarious edge.

“Fuck, Ash,” I groan against her throat. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

She pulls my head up to claim my mouth again, the kiss desperate and claiming. Her hands slide under my shirt, nails raking across my chest in a way that makes me see stars.

The towel slips another inch.

“I need to touch you,” I whisper against her lips, my hands trembling with restraint. “All of you.”

“Yes,” she breathes. “Please.”

My fingers find the final tuck of the towel, and with one gentle pull, it falls away completely.

She’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.

My hands worship every newly revealed inch—tracing the curve of her breasts, thumbs brushing across peaked nipples that make her gasp and arch into my touch. Her skin is like silk, warm and smooth and more intoxicating than any magic I’ve ever encountered.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, my mouth following the path of my hands. “So fucking beautiful.”

Her response is lost in a moan as I take one nipple into my mouth, my tongue circling the sensitive peak. Her hands fist in my hair, holding me close as I lavish attention on first one breast, then the other.

“Finnian,” she gasps, her body writhing against mine. “I need... please...”

One of my hands slides lower, tracing patterns on her inner thigh. She spreads her legs slightly, an invitation I can’t resist. When my fingers find the heat between her thighs, we both groan.

“So wet,” I whisper against her breast. “Is this all for me?”

“Yes,” she breathes.

My fingers explore gently, finding the bundle of nerves that makes her cry out and buck against my hand. She’s so responsive, so perfect, and the sounds she makes are driving me absolutely insane.

“I want to make you come,” I whisper against her ear, my fingers moving in slow circles. “Right here, right now, with my name on your lips.”

“Yes,” she gasps, her hips moving against my hand. “Please, yes.”

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