Page 27 of Sweet Doe
I nod, sucking my bottom lip between my teeth, and he immediately slides the head of his dick into me, giving me time to stretch and adjust to him. A few shallow thrusts, and then he’s completely filling me, making me gasp for air and claw at the sheets below us.
In one swift movement, he withdraws and flips my body over, forcing me onto my stomach. He grabs my hips, hoistingme onto my knees, and then he’s back inside of me, thrusting into me with so much aggression and pent up energy I’m on the edge of screaming.
“Fuck,” I cry out, using every ounce of my strength to keep my body from collapsing.
Asher responds by thrusting into me harder. Deeper. He buries himself into me over and over again, gripping my hips and slapping my ass every few pumps. Our breathing consumes the room, and all I can feel in this moment is lust.
Lust for this fantasy.
The way his dick stretches me.
And how insanely good the weight of him feels over me.
I begin to unravel, stars forming in the corners of my vision. My walls clamp down on him as I come, squeezing him even tighter. Asher’s moan rips through the room as he comes with me, and we’re both tipping over the edge into oblivion. I can’t focus on anything other than how fucking good it feels as I come with him.
I give in, collapsing on the bed, and he follows, letting the entirety of his weight rest over me for a moment.
Fuck.
It was too fucking good.
Too fucking euphoric.
It’ll be too easy to get addicted.
Chapter Eight
ASHER
It’s snowing again.
Thicker this time. Heavy flakes drift past the windows like ash, layering the cabin in silence. The sky’s a sheet of white, and the trail that leads down the ridge has vanished beneath a blanket of snow so deep it’s like the woods are swallowing us whole. We’re not going anywhere. Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe not for weeks.
And honestly? That suits me just fine.
She’s still here.
Wrapped in a blanket, curled up on the couch with her legs folded beneath her, her bare shoulder peeking out from under the collar of the shirt I gave her. It’s mine—loose and oversized, one I used to wear when I worked on the truck. It hangs off her like it was made for her body instead of mine, like it knew all along it belonged to her.
She hasn’t tried to run. Hasn’t screamed. Hasn’t begged.
Not today.
She’s calm. Watching the fire. Quiet, but present. Her breath’s slower now, her body relaxed. It’s not submission exactly—she’s still got that fire in her eyes, still sharp-tonguedwhen she wants to be—but there’s something in the way she sits there, silent and still, that tells me the war inside her is shifting.
She’s accepting it. Acceptingme.
The thought sends a slow burn down my spine. Something heady. Dangerous.
Because I’m not rational when it comes to her. Never was. Never will be.
Delusion? Maybe. But I’ve lived my whole life chasing instincts sharper than truth. And right now, mine are screaming that she’s choosing me.Finally,even if she doesn’t know it yet.
Her body did. That night. When I was buried inside her, when she broke around me like her body had been waiting for that exact moment all its life—I felt it. Her soul recognized mine. Her body fucking worshipped me.
And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
How tight she was. How she gasped when I gripped her jaw. The way her thighs shook, her back arched, her voice broke when she begged me not to stop. She shattered in my hands like something holy.
