Page 112 of Second Sets Omnibus
Every part of me throbs and rejoices all at once. We've walked on thin ice around each other, suffocating in the tension growing thick in the air for days. And now, my brain chants a tune of “fucking finally!” No matter how often I told myself I’d never touch Asher’s psycho ass with a ten-foot pole. Well, call me a liar all you want, but I’m about to get dicked down and hate fucked within an inch of my life. It’s all that rests in the back of his dilated hazel eyes, promising me a multitude of things with one glance.
Rad chuckles, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, finally! Asher, my man!” Rad whoops, sitting back in his seat with wide eyes like he's about to watch the best movie of his life.
“Not another word,” Asher demands, pointing in Rad and Callum's direction, and they nod, zipping their lips like good little boys. “Little Brat. You have three seconds to crawl to me. I won’t tell you again.”
“And if I don't?” I ask, getting to my feet on the other side of the table and placing my palms against the cold wood. My palms are slick with sweat, and my heart pounds a crazy beat inside my chest when his eyes narrow at my reaction.
“Then you won't sit right for a week.” He stares with no emotion, drumming his long fingers against the tabletop. “Come here,” he rasps, desperation leaking into his tone. “I want my fucking dessert.”
Shivers roll through me at the slightly drunken state he's in. I've never seen any sort of desperation come through, but now he acts like he wants me badly and can't stand to stay away. Maybe it's the booze. Perhaps it's the distance from CentralCity, but I'm giving in—all in. We’re doing this no matter the consequences. No matter how hard he’ll hate himself and me tomorrow morning when he rolls out of bed, realizing what he’s done. The moment we get home, he can return to the same dickbag I’ve come to love and hate and keep his distance. He can return to the jerk bag, who watches from the shadows while stroking himself until he’s exploding all over his fist. But tonight? Tonight, is our time to explore each other’s bodies and say fuck the consequences of our tryst.
Without a second thought and fanfare from the silent audience of two, Callum and Rad, who watch with rapt attention, I climb onto the large wooden table. It squeaks beneath my pressure as I hesitantly crawl across the smooth surface, digging into my knees. Inch by inch, I come closer and closer to Asher, who stares at me with hooded eyes, zoning in on my low-cut shirt, exposing my black, lacy bra, and swaying tits. Heavy breaths heave his sculpted chest, and with every slide of my knees, my heart works double time, pumping against my ribs. The tip of his tongue darts out, running the length of his bottom lip. His heavy eyes drag from my fingers, curling into the table, slowly dragging up my bare arms to my wide eyes staring down at him.
“Now what?” I ask breathlessly, an inch in front of his blank face, begging for the direction to fall from his lips. Leaning in, I test the waters, running the tip of my nose against his.
His eyes darken when my nose brushes against his, and his breath shudders, affected by me. Little by little, Asher is losing the tight grip of control he’s held tightly to for the past few months. For some reason, I'm here for it. Eager to see his breaking point. How far can I push Asher until he's choking me with his cock as punishment? Fuck. The imagery alone makes my pussy flutter around air, begging for him to fill me.
I’m living for today and today only. No regrets. No holding back. I’m taking what I want by the balls and seizing the day.
His eyes fall to my lips, and he licks his without thinking, forcing me to back up an inch. “Take your fucking clothes off,” he demands, resting his elbows on the table with anticipation sparking in his eyes. Nervously, he shifts, adjusting himself in the chair, but keeps those steely eyes locked on me.
His voice brooks no arguments, snapping like a whip at my resolve. I don't argue this time—well, maybe just a little. Something about Asher brings out my inner brat, desperate to poke and prod the beast until he snaps and takes what he wants. Mischief dances in my eyes, and a smirk plays on my lips when his gaze heats me to the core. The look he gives me lets me know I am the main course, and he's hungry to devour me.
I cock my head and lean back, resting on my knees. My arms float above me in a warm sensual dance of seduction. Digging my knees into the smooth, wooden table and creasing my flesh, I raise and slowly rake my fingertips up and down my arms keeping it teasingly slow. Asher's eyes darken, taking in every movement I make as I sway him with a slow strip tease.
My skin puckers with goosebumps when I lift my shirt over my head, twirling it a few times, throwing it in Asher's unamused face. Tossing it aside with a flick of his wrist, he sits back and watches me without speaking. Everything heats under the intensity of his stare, bursting every inch of me into heated flames. Without warning, I’m aching for his touch to soothe the pressure building under my flesh.
“Everything,” he rasps with urgency, grabbing the bottle of tequila. Mesmerized, I watch in fascination as his Adam's apple bobs with every gulp he takes, hypnotizing me until, piece by piece, my clothes are gone and thrown in Rad’s direction.
“I'll keep these for luck,” Rad murmurs, burying his nose into the fabric of my panties and groaning. “She's so fuckingwet already,” he rasps in a low, gravelly voice, unbuckling his pants with no shame and strips until he’s completely naked. His moans rumble through the room as his hand works up and down his shaft, using my panties for friction. “You do what you want; I'm going to stroke one out to her bouncing tits.”
“Eyes on me, Little Brat,” Asher says, beckoning me with a finger until he's sitting back in the chair with a bottle of tequila in his hand, commanding the scene like a king. “Callum,” he says with authority. “I need salt and a lime,” he demands again, climbing to his feet and towering above me. His calloused fingers run the length of my jaw, standing silently before me without muttering a word or new demand. It’s there, resting in the back of his dark hazel eyes—the promise of what’s to come.
My head spins when he barks those orders, and Callum pushes from the chair, stumbling over his feet a few times before disappearing into the kitchen. Drawers slam, and cabinets open and close before he reappears with a flushed face. He nibbles his lips, nervously looking anywhere but me, when he sets the chunky, wooden chopping board on the table beside us, along with a sharp knife and the glass saltshaker.
“Mmm,” Asher hums, picking up the salt and shaking it. “Hold out your wrist,” he mumbles, grabbing my wrist when I don't do it fast enough and yanks it forward with force. “Look at me, Little Brat,” he says, closing in on me with a deadly expression. “I'm holding on by a fragile string. Please don’t test me right now. Okay?” When I nod, he swallows heavily, squeezing my wrist between his large fingers. “Now, hold it here, and don't move.”
Through several shaky breaths, I confirm his demand with one nod. Practically trembling under his stern fingers latched around my hand, restraining me from moving. My mind conjures ropes and chains securing me to the bedposts as he takes what he wants and laps away at me with vigor. But I shakethose away, returning to the present when he methodically touches my wrist with soft, feather-like strokes, gaining my attention. Turning my arm over slowly, he exposes the inside of my wrist and deposits several shakes of salt on my flesh, falling like snow, and covering my skin in tiny white specks.
His darkened hazel eyes snap to mine, holding me captive in his desire-filled gaze. Tingling sensations of pleasure flood my body like a fire igniting under my skin.
“Hold it,” Asher orders me, taking his hand from my wrist. “And don't lose a single grain of salt. If you do, you’ll regret ever defying me. I’ll bend you over my knee and paddle your ass until it’s red and blistered.” He quirks a brow, eyeing the multitude of white specks on my wrist, and steps beside me, beginning the process of cutting limes into several bite-sized pieces—perfect for sucking.
“Okay,” I say through a shaky breath, counting down the seconds until his tongue brushes over my flesh.
Heat overtakes me like a damn fever as I strain to keep my arm straight out in front of me. Too damn scared to lose a single grain to the floor. A thrill shoots through me at the thought of his punishment if I did happen to lose one, but my ass wants to be pounded into next week. Sooner rather than later. So, I stay as still as possible, closing my eyes and counting down each shink of the knife severing through the limes.
One. Steady your fucking arm. Two. Shit! Don't fucking move. I breathe, counting the knife's third, fourth, and fifth clink against the wooden cutter until a deafening silence fills the room. My eyes flutter open, focusing on the man in front of me, looking as wild and dangerous as ever.
“Open,” Asher murmurs, holding the lime to my lips and placing it peel first between my teeth, so the juicy fruit sits on the outside. “Good little brats get rewards,” he whispers against my cheek, and I whimper around the lime, begging for more contact.“Now, I'm going to lick, drink, and suck—in that order. Don't move a muscle, baby.”
I swear his eyes dilate to blackness when the warmth of his tongue glides across my wrist, licking up every speck of salt. Scooping up the bottle of tequila, he gulps down a few drinks until he's swiping the extra droplets from his lips. Lurching forward, he desperately crashes his lips down on mine, sucking the lime between my teeth and holding me still between his palms on my cheeks. Stepping back, his chest heaves up and down quickly when he spits the lime out onto the ground with a feral growl.
“Lie down,” he demands in a gravelly voice, pointing to the table. “And spread your legs like a good girl.” My lips pop open in retort, but before I can speak, his fingers wrap around my throat, and he drags me closer until we're nose to nose as he lightly squeezes, knocking the air from my lungs. Silently, I beg for oxygen beneath his cruel fingers, but none comes, heating my face. “Don't fight this,” he pleads in a breathless whisper, brushing a stray strand of hair from my moistened face. “I've held back for so long. And now I want what I want, liquid courage and all.”
I swallow his moan when his lips attack mine, swirling his tequila-soaked tongue with mine in a dance of domination. He takes me completely. Body. Mind. Soul. With one kiss and I'm a goner, bending to his demented will and happily doing it without a fuss.
“Holy shit,” Rad whispers in a throaty tone somewhere in the dining room.
