Page 40 of Beneath the Desert Bloom
Pain and desire were becoming indistinguishable.
“You always come when I call,” she murmured, delirious with sun and ache. “Even when I don’t mean to.”
A faint shift in his face. A tightening at the jaw. Regret? Hunger?
He reached for her and lifted her into his arms, like she weighed nothing.
She gasped again as her side pressed against his chest. Every inch of him was hot and solid and massive. She could feel the texture of his skin through her clothes, jagged in some places,soft in others. His scent filled her nose. Earth and ash and something deep, like spice crushed in a mortar.
She held on, not because she needed to.
Because she wanted to.
He carried her effortlessly, his gait smooth, his arms strong and sure. The desert blurred around her.
She might have been dreaming.
She didn’t care.
The house appeared like an illusion, flickering through the heat, then solid again. He stepped up the porch without a sound, nudging the door open with a hand far too gentle for someone that big.
Inside, the light was dimmer. Cooler.
He laid her down on the couch with no hesitation, no clumsiness. Like he knew the shape of her body already.
Nora breathed in through her nose, chest shaking. Her ankle screamed, but the rest of her felt like it was floating.
Asher knelt beside her, hand still on her leg.
Then, he touched her face.
His knuckles grazed her cheekbone, barely there, like she’d disappear if he pressed any harder.
She turned into the touch.
His fingers slipped to the edge of her jaw, traced the line behind her ear.
The sting in her ankle faded into the background, still there, but distant now. Muted beneath the slow flood of heat that rolled through her at the feel of his hand on her skin. She felt open, like her body was pleading for him without permission.
She ached with need, her breath caught shallow in her throat. Her heart thumped like it was trying to get closer to him through her ribs.
She wanted to drag his hand lower. Just to see what would happen. Just to see if he’d still be gentle, or if he’d finally let go.
His hand moved to her collarbone, fingertips barely dragging over the ridge of it, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She felt her nipples harden beneath her shirt. Felt the swell of pressure between her legs, sharp and aching, like the ghost of a dream that hadn't fully ended.
This wasn’t a dream. It was worse. She couldn’t grind against him here, couldn’t beg, couldn’t lose herself completely.
She bit her lip, eyes fluttering shut.
She wanted more.
Not in some abstract, safe way. In a full-body please-take-me-through-the-wall way. And the worst part, or maybe the best part, was that he wasn’t even trying. His touch was careful. Chaste. But her whole body was already reacting like he’d kissed her open.
A soft sound escaped her throat, involuntary. A tiny moan. He froze.
His thumb moved to her throat, just feeling her pulse, like he could read her from the inside out.
She arched slightly. Her body reaching. Opening.
