by Gemma James
“You sure about that?” Her voice is a seductive sigh in my ear.
“Oh, yeah.”
“What lesson do you have in mind?”
“The one where you give your virginity to the man who’s crazy in love with you.” I step back and gesture toward her dress. “Take it off.”
“You’re being bossy again. We’ll have to work on that.”
“I’m being practical. Clothing will only get in the way.”
“In the way of what?” She’s baiting me, one eyebrow raised as she unzips the red number that’s taunted me all night with its short length and cleavage-revealing front.
“In the way of your body and my hands.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself.” She’s putting up a token fight, but with her next breath, she lets go of the dress and it pools around her feet. Next, the heels come off, and she’s standing in nothing but lingerie.
Sexy white lingerie. I take her in from the crown of her red hair to the pearly polish on her toenails. That shimmery hue matches her lacy undergarments to perfection. Her bra is sheer enough that I spy the dusty rose of her nipples. I lower my perusal and give her panties an appreciative eye.
Lace. Soft and pure, just like she is.
“Damn, Sawyer. I’m pretty sure it’s my birthday, and I’m pretty sure you wore that for me.”
Her cheeks go pink, and I know I’m right.
“I have one condition,” she says.
“Name it.”
“I don’t want anything between us. I’ve been on birth control since we started dating, and I trust you, Ash.”
I’m blown away by what she’s asking and completely humbled by it. The idea that I’ll be the first man to get inside of her, and that I’ll get to do it bareback, leaves me in awe.
I grab her by the chin, the need to dominate her a force I can’t fight. “I also have a condition.” We’re shuffling toward the bed again, one footstep at a time. “I want you to bend over the end of the mattress.”
Her eyes widen. “This is our first time. You’re not fucking me from behind.”
“I’m not fucking you at all. This is more than sex, Sadie.” I run my thumb across her lips. “I’m going to share with you what I’ve never shared with anyone.”
She bites her lip, and I let out a low growl. “Head down, ass up. Before we get to our firsts, I need you to submit to me.”
So there’s no question of who’s in charge here, I peel the shirt from my body and drop it on the floor. Planting my feet shoulder-width apart, I hammer home our roles with my rigid posture as I settle my hands on my hips.
My job keeps me fit, and I’m no stranger to the inside of a gym. Next to her feminine, petite form, there’s no contest who has the physical advantage.
The longer she stares at me, the more her pupils dilate.
My cock is big enough to choke her, and it has, multiple times. She’s probably a little apprehensive at the thought of taking all of me inside her.
“What do you mean by submit?”
“What do you think I mean?”
“You want to spank me?”
“Fuck yes.”
“But it’s your birthday. Aren’t you getting this ritual a little backwards?”
“Semantics, sweetheart.” I whirl her and push her over the end of the mattress. She raises her ass in the language of invitation, and the arch of her spine is graceful, the exquisite curvature of female beauty.
Round bottom exposed, cheeks left bare from the strip of lace running between them. She wore that scrap of lace for me, and that’s as good as her begging for my hand.
That first night at the club, when everything between us changed, I thought she was too innocent for a guy like me.
Too pure.
But Sadie Sawyer is far from innocent. She might be dressed in the hue of purity, her virginity intact, but her kinky streak is as real as my love for her, and it’s begging to come out to play.
I plan to bring her onto my playground with every orgasm and firm strike of my hand.
Chapter Forty-one
Sadie
Ashton’s hands are magic, zapping my system like a live wire. As he trails his fingers over my shoulders and down my spine, I feel his touch at the core of my sex.
“Clasp your hands together.” He draws them to the small of my back. “Don’t move.”
As I interlock my fingers, Ashton nudges my feet apart, and the space between them throbs, my pulse gallops, and a shiver travels down my backside. I’m exposed to his gaze, vulnerable to his whims, the thin piece of lace the only thing barring his access to my pussy.
His breathing is a soughing song, his warmth permeates the winter chill, and his presence…it’s more overpowering than I remember.
The soft pad of feet hint at movement, and he settles between my spread legs, the crown of his erection a frustrating tease against my slit. He leans over me, skin hot against mine, and wraps my thick hair around his fist.
“Head up. Understand?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
He gives my hair a gentle tug. “When I ask you a question, I expect an answer.”
My breath hitches. “I understand.”
“That’s my girl.” He loosens his fist, and my locks slip free. With each shift of his body, his jeans are a coarse sensation against my legs, arousing me further, eliciting sporadic whimpers.
“Best birthday present ever.” He settles his palms on my ass. “You have no clue how gorgeous you are, do you?”
“Freckles and all?”
“Especially your freckles,” he says, caressing the lone one on my left butt-cheek.
“Ash?” His name tumbles off my tongue with an unspoken question. An unspoken need tightening my core.
“What’s on my girl’s mind?”
“I need you to touch me.”
He smacks my ass. “Ambiguity will get you in trouble, Sawyer. Tell me where you want me to touch you.”
I groan, and if my cheeks weren’t flushed before, they are now. “You know where. Between my legs.”
He caresses my inner thigh. “I can touch you like this all night. Tell me where.”
He’s going to make me say it.
“My pussy.”
He dips his fingers beneath the edge of lace, and as those digits spear into me, I lose control of my breathing. He works me into a lustful frenzy with the shallow thrusts of his fingers, and I need more. God, I need more.
I arch into his touch, my muscles tightening with the need to come, but he refuses to finger me deeper.
“Please, Ash.”
That’s when his palm connects with my flesh. I jump, the strength of that blow a sharp sting, and I cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. He spanks me again and again, alternating butt-cheeks as he sinks those fingers inside me a little deeper. Self-conscious of the noise I’m making with every strike of his hand, I muffle my next cry into the bedding.
He yanks me up by the hair until my throat is exposed, neck arched back, his grip a burning pull on my scalp. “I want the whole house to hear you come for me.” He pushes his fingers to the knuckle, and I cry out.
“Christ, you’re wet, and so damn tight.” His touch plunders until I reach zenith, crying out “oh God” half a dozen times, each sinful prayer an octave higher than the last. I have yet to come down from the high when he pulls me to my feet. His mouth slams down on mine, and we go to war with our tongues.
I could lose hours kissing him. Spend days discovering the map of his body. Years upon years of loving him.
His hands land on my shoulders, and the kiss breaks as he pushes me to my knees. He shoves his pants down his muscular thighs, trembling with an air of desperation, and grabs the root of his shaft. I catch sight of the glistening head before it’s pressed against my lips.
“Suck me.”
This bossy side of him shouldn’t turn me on so much, but I’m already building toward the next summit and eventual fall, my pussy tingling in anticipation of ful
fillment as he demands the glove of my mouth. He palms my cheeks, thumbs brushing my temples as he pushes between my lips, working his way toward the back of my throat with each lazy thrust.
“I can’t believe I get to call you mine,” he says, almost reverently, eyes deepening to the hue of the ocean at twilight. “Mine.”
This is what it means to submit to Ashton Levine.
To put my trust in his hands.
Give my body over to his mastery.
Enclose my love in the shelter of his heart.
His lids are at half-mast, and I sense him striving for control, mouth pulled tight at the edges as he withdraws. He brings me to my feet, and our mouths mate in another wet kiss.
But I’m growing impatient.
“Make me yours.”
I step out of my panties.
Unhook my bra.
Climb onto the mattress.
And lie before him, legs open in silent offering.
“Hell, Sawyer. I’ll never forget the sight of you like this.” A moment passes, and he exhales.
Sheds his jeans.
Kneels at the juncture of my thighs.
Blankets my body, weight braced on his forearms.
We’re pressed together, chest to chest. Groin to groin. Heart to heart.
“Are you nervous?” he asks.
We’ve been this close before, but it feels different this time. It is different this time because he’ll be inside me in every way that matters.
“No. Nothing’s ever felt so right.”
“I want to make this special for you.”
“You are.”
Tempting me into a slow kiss, he reaches between us and rubs the head of his cock along my slit, through the wetness. It’s a tease I can’t stand, and I buck against him, grasping for that high.
Aching for it.
“I’m so close.”
“Not yet, sweetheart.” He positions himself, on the cusp of entering me, and entwines our hands before shoving them to the mattress. His gaze pins me more effectively than the grip of his fingers, and I wish we’d turned off the lamp on his nightstand, because that stare of his is more intimate than the joining of bodies, the sharing of secrets.
I cast my attention over his shoulder and study the spackle on the ceiling.
“Look at me.”
Of course he picked up on my sudden shyness. I drag my gaze back to his.
“Stay with me,” he whispers, and then he’s pressing into me, just past the tip, returning the tight grip of my hands as he works his girth in another inch, then another.
And that’s where he stalls.
“Fucking hell.” He buries his face in the curve of my shoulder, breaths shuddering against my skin, arms shaking under his weight as I stretch around his cock. I’m tingling and burning where we connect, and yearning for more.
“Please, Ash.” I raise my hips to make my point.
“Give me a moment. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me.”
“I will if I fuck you the way I want to.”
“I’m not breakable.” I’m so worked up I’m about to rip apart at the seams.
He lifts his head, our eyes lock, and we’re suspended in a defining moment. Then, with a final thrust, he’s inside me, breaking past the last barrier.
“Aaah!” As I bow into the ache, he silences my sharp cry with his mouth. Sparks of pain and pleasure erupt behind my lids, and I whimper, letting him taste the surrender on my tongue.
“Sadie,” he groans against my lips. He pulls out, pushes in again, and I experience every hard inch of him becoming one with me.
The pace he sets is slow, maddening. Wrenching my hands free, I clutch his shoulders and dig my heels into the mattress, arching into him, gritting my teeth through the stretching sensation as I bring him deeper.
Sweat breaks out on his back, dampens his hair, and he’s shaking, struggling to hold back as he waits for me to catch up.
Every plunge feels better than the last, shooting me higher, cocooning me in another headspace entirely—one where I’m drifting, my awareness reduced to the sensation of him thrusting inside me.
And I’m aching.
Aching in a way I’ve never ached before.
It pulls at me, subtle at first, then with more strength until I have no choice but to let it haul me into explosive surrender. I don’t recognize the sound of my voice as I whimper and cry out in rhythmic bursts, flooded with intense waves of pleasure spiraling through me.
“I love you,” I gasp, sinking my hands into his dark hair.
And that’s when he jerks to a stop, grunting curses under his breath as he reaches the tipping point. His forehead drops against mine, his muscles tense, and when he comes, spilling everything he is inside me, I feel it to my soul.
The following moments seem endless, but I’m content to lie here with him, foreheads pressed together as we regain our bearings. His eyes drift shut, and he slowly relaxes, limb by limb.
“Ash?”
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, but you’re…”
“Spit it out, Sawyer. Now’s not the time to get shy on me.”
“You’re still inside me.”
His mouth lifts in a grin. “Am I turning you on?”
“Maybe.”
How much time do guys need to recover? A few minutes? The time it takes to shit, shower, shave and…smoke a cigarette or something? God, I don’t know how this works. I only know I’m aching to do it again.
Right this second.
He pushes to his knees, and I immediately miss the weight of his body, the heat of his skin…the full sensation of him in the one place no one else has ever been. I follow the trail of hair below his belly button and find his cock taunting me, not quite ready to give me what I want, but not disinterested either.
He grips me by the waist, and suddenly I’m dragged on top of him. Tucking one leg then the other on either side of him, he aligns our bodies, and his eyes are pure lust and mischief as he flicks his thumbs across my nipples.
“Ready for another lesson?”
“God, yes.”
“Now it’s your turn to call the shots.” His hands fall to my hips, offering guidance.
With a shy grin, I rock into him and take the lead.
Epilogue
Sadie
Seven months later…
The rush of waterfalls. The warmth of August sunshine on my skin. The aroma of coconut sunscreen in the air.
And Ashton half-naked at my side, the cut of his abs a temptation to my tongue as his swim trunks ride low enough to hint at…other things I’d like to lick.
Life doesn’t get much better than this.
We hiked halfway up the mountainside so we’d have a modicum of privacy from the people scattered in the area. Like us, they’re in search of a good swimming hole and some fun in the sun.
Only our idea of fun in the sun is a bit more…risqué.
Which is why it’s a good thing most people don’t venture up here, put off by the steep climb and small space.
But it’s perfect for Ashton and me.
We’re sprawled on a blanket to the side of the falls, and hidden behind that cascading wall of water is a cozy swimming hole fed by the falls as they spill over the hillside.
“Move in with me,” he says, pointer finger doodling sweet-nothings across my mid-drift. The thong of the bikini he bought me last week is riding up my ass—as I’m sure he intended. He removed the top with his teeth shortly after we got here.
“After I finish school.” I’ve told him this a thousand times, but he brings it up at least once a week.
He nuzzles the valley between my bare breasts. “I want to wake up every morning next to you.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice to wake up next to a girl with a degree in criminal justice?”
He levels me with his ice-blue eyes. “Do you know of any? The left side of my bed is in the market for a sexy chick.”
<
br /> I smack him on the shoulder. “The left side of your bed better stay empty until I’m ready to fill it.”
“So,” he murmurs, pushing to his knees. He crouches over me, hands planted on either side of my head. “What should I do in the meantime?”
“Deal with it?” I raise my brows, but when his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, my gaze is dragged to his mouth. Damn him. He’s an expert at distraction.
He lowers his lips to mine and coaxes me into a long, deep kiss. I still can’t believe I waited so long to taste his mouth in the first place, and even longer to learn what it means to be loved by him in every sense of the word.
“I’ve got something to ask you, Sawyer.”
“My answer isn’t going to change.”
“That’s okay. This is a different question.”
“Oh, well in that case, fire away.” My tone is light, but the seriousness of his gaze makes my heart skip a beat.
Or several.
“Marry me.”
I gape at him, thought processes slamming into a wall. “That’s…that doesn’t sound like a question.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No,” I breathe.
“Okay.” He lowers his forehead to mine. “Then it’s a plea. Marry me.”
“But…I mean…but I’m not even ready to move in with you yet!” Shoving against his chest, I force him back until we’re both sitting. “How the hell can you jump from moving in together to marriage?”
Mischief teases the edges of his mouth. “I figure if I go for the big guns, you’ll change your mind about other things.”
“So you’re trying to manipulate me?”
“No, Sawyer. I’m trying to love you until the day I die. Is that so horrible?”
God, he knows how to turn me to mush.
“It’s not horrible,” I whisper. “It’s sweet and sexy and completely unfair because you know I can’t resist you when you say things like that.”
“Then don’t resist. Say you’ll marry me so I can put this ring”—he rifles through the pack of supplies we brought with us and pulls out a jewelry box—“on your finger.”