Page 82 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
His fingers trace maddening circles that keep me right on the precipice without pushing me over.
"You want me to show you who does this to you. Who takes care of you like this."
"You." The word comes out broken, desperate. "You do this to me, Asher. Only you."
The admission seems to satisfy something deep inside him. His touch becomes more focused, more intent, and within seconds he's driving me toward another peak that promises to be even more devastating than the first.
"That's right." His words are reverent now, almost awed. "Only me. Only ever me."
When the second orgasm hits, it's different. Slower-building but more intense, spreading through my entire body like fire through my nervous system. This time, I don't just cry out, I sob his name, my body convulsing against his as pleasure tears through me with mathematical exactness.
Twice. He made me come twice, and he hasn't even taken his clothes off.
For several minutes, we stay like that, my face buried against his neck as I struggle to remember how breathing works, his hands making soothing passes up and down my back despite the tension I can feel thrumming through his entire body.
When I finally have enough strength to lift my head, I'm struck by the sight of him: hair disheveled, skin flushed, dark eyes still wild with want despite his careful control.
"Your turn." I reach for him, but he catches my hands gently, intertwining our fingers to prevent me from touching him.
"No."
The word comes out strained, like it costs him something to say it.
He's not going to let me touch him. This really was all about me.
The realization sends another shiver through me, but this time it's accompanied by something deeper—a recognition of what he's offering me. Complete focus, total attention, pleasure without expectation of reciprocation.
"I understand."
And I do, finally. This level of control, of restraint while his own need is so obvious, is its own form of claiming. He's showing me that he can put my pleasure first, that he can be trusted with my vulnerability.
"Do you?"
His eyes search mine, looking for something. "Because I meant what I said earlier. I don't share."
"Even with Jax?"
The question slips out before I can stop it, and his grip tightens almost imperceptibly.
"Especially with Jax."
His words hold a dangerous edge that makes my heartbeat stutter. "Or anyone else who thinks they can touch you."
Instead of the angry retort I should give, I nod. Something about his intensity, his complete attention on my pleasure rather than his own, has shifted something fundamental between us.
"Good."
He presses a surprisingly gentle kiss to my forehead that contrasts sharply with the possessive marks he's left across my shoulders and collarbone.
"Now you know exactly what you are to me."
As he holds me there, both of us breathing hard, rain continuing its steady rhythm against the windows, I realize he'sright. I do know what I am to him. And more importantly, I know what he is to me.
But I'm not ready to give him that victory yet.
"This doesn't mean I'm going to stop talking to people."
My attempted defiance draws a chuckle from him, the sound rumbling through his chest where I'm pressed against it.
