Page 61 of Forbidden Hearts
Well, I would if I had my car, a ride, or Uber actually existed here.
I see headlights flash through the window, and my heart accelerates.
I’m out of time.
I jump faster, putting a little weight on my bad ankle, noting it doesn’t hurt as much as it did before. I must win.
Damn him and his thinking he could tell me what to do.
As soon as I round the corner, the door flies open, and my chest heaves as I stare at Asher.
He looks regretful, angry, and filled with unabashed desire, and I am sure he sees the same in my eyes.
His bag falls to the floor, and then he’s in front of me in two heartbeats. He doesn’t say a word, and I don’t need him to because there is nothing either of us need to say, this is beyond that.
My mouth opens to say something—I have no idea what—and then his lips are on mine, robbing the air from my lungs. Strong arms hold me to him, and I cling to his shoulders as his tongue swipes against mine. There is nothing tonight that will stop this, and no alarms are going to go off other than the one inside me that’s telling me not to do this.
It’s telling me not to blur another line, make another mistake by wanting a man I shouldn’t, and I hit snooze on the feelings I refuse to acknowledge.
His hand moves down my back, grabbing my ass and molding our bodies together.
“Fuck, Phoebe,” he moans as his mouth is moving down my neck. “I can’t resist you. Just . . . one . . . taste,” he says between kisses to my shoulder.
This top was not made for sexy times. It’s the cutest crop top that makes my boobs look freaking phenomenal in the front, but it crisscrosses in the back and has this weird zipper thing on the side. He tries to pull it down, but it doesn’t budge.
“Take it off,” he orders.
I need control. I can’t just give in to him. “You want it off, you take it off,” I toss back, and then he turns me, forcing my chest to the wall, hands splayed there.
Well, there goes control.
He slides the zipper down so slowly it feels like it takes a year. He presses me closer to the wall, and his erection is hard against my ass.
“When I saw you in that bar today, I almost lost my fucking mind,” he admits, his hands moving to the straps that are really going to give him a hard time. “I saw you on the floor, and I wanted to lift you in my arms and haul you out of there.”
“You did exactly that.”
“No, I had to go talk to people, pretend that you weren’t there, and ignore the way every man in that bar was staring at you.”
My stomach flips. “Asher,” I say his name on a sigh when his hands snake around my front, kneading my breasts beneath the shirt.
“This isn’t happening, Phoebe. This, right now? Me touching you and kissing your perfect skin? We aren’t doing it, do you understand?”
Yes, this is a dream anyway, one that I hope I won’t wake from. “What is happening then?”
“I’m not sure because I am trying not to name it, but I can’t make myself stop.”
Thank God for that. I might combust.
His fingers drift down my stomach to the button of my pants, snapping it free before sliding the zipper down as his teeth nip at the base of my neck. “How is your ankle?”
Do I have those? I can’t seem to remember. I put my weight down and then flex it. “It’s much better.”
“Good.” He moves my hands up the wall. “Keep your hands like this.” Then he’s moving to the waist of my jeans and sliding them down. “Step out.”
What am I doing? What am I doing?I ask myself this over and over, but then I lift my foot and let him remove my pants. “Asher . . .” I fight for some freaking control because I’m losing it. If we do this, then what? Will he hate me? Will I hate myself?
The last one is definitely not going to be how I feel, but I know his rules and how he feels about me. I know how I feel, but God, when he’s near, every excuse disappears. Right now, I don’t care about his reasons or mine.
