Page 45 of Beneath the Desert Bloom
Asher knelt between her legs, head bowed. His breath was heavy, his body trembling with restraint.
She reached for him, weakly.
"Come here," she whispered, fingers brushing the line of his jaw. "Let me see you."
He looked up, eyes burning, glowing low like embers ready to consume.
And that’s when she saw it.
His cock.
Massive.
Hard.
Throbbing.
Straining against the edge of the loose fabric knotted low on his hips, his cock was impossibly thick and long, the shaft marked with dark, textured ridges that ran along the underside like cords of bark or muscle. The tip had slipped free, glistening and slick with need, flushed deep and unearthly. It pulsed with each breath he took, too large to ignore, a thing of wildness barely contained.
“Oh—” she breathed, voice catching, her thighs pressing together automatically.
It looked like it could break her.
And she wanted it anyway.
A soft sound escaped her throat, more whimper than word. She reached again, a tremble in her fingers. Whether to touch him or pull him up to kiss her, she wasn’t sure. She just wanted his weight on her, around her, in her, even if it ruined her.
And then saw it.
A flicker ran across her outstretched arm, like something glowing just beneath her skin, radiating from inside her.
His breath hitched. His gaze dropped, his jaw locked.
Then, he stood and stepped away, like he was resisting temptation, and using all his willpower to do so.
She blinked, stunned, the heat of him vanishing from between her legs, her body suddenly cold. Her chest rose and fellin uneven swells. Her hands still reached toward the space he’d filled.
“No, wait,” she whispered. Her voice was raw, hoarse from gasping.
But he was already at the door. Still hard. Still glowing. Still silent.
And then, he was gone.
The silence was brutal.
Nora lay sprawled across the couch, legs still parted, breath slowly returning to something like normal. The air felt too still. Too sharp.
Her skin glowed with the aftershocks of being touched. Really touched, not with hunger or demand, but with devotion that had no name.
She blinked at the ceiling.
"Okay," she whispered to no one. "Sure. Let’s just… add ‘eaten out by a desert guardian’ to the weird little scrapbook of my life."
The joke tasted dry in her mouth.
Her body was a live wire. Her thighs still trembled. Her breast, the one he’d held like it meant something, ached in the best way. She could feel the ghost of his thumb circling her nipple like a ring left behind.
But her hand was empty. The weight of him was gone.
