Fingertips toy at the hem of my sweater, and I suck in a lungful of air.
“Relax. Is this okay?” His smooth accent purrs in my ear.
My nipples bud at his voice, and I nod into his shoulder. Slowly, so slowly that I have to hold my breath, Asher lifts my sweater up and away. The cool air of the room hits my bare skin, and I have an instinctual need to fold my arms across my chest.
“Let me see you.” Asher’s voice is husky as he prevents me from doing just that, reaching down and twining his fingers through both of my hands. Silently studying me, I feel his eyes trail over my simple navy bra and down toward the waistband of my jeans.
“I want to see you too.” I don’t realize I’ve spoken until his eyes shine bright with devious pleasure.
Asher’s head tilts, those dark black locks shifting a bit, and then he pulls his sweater over his head with one hand gripping the fabric behind his neck. I’d seen him in his rowing uniform at the regatta, and then once after school when he’d been going to practice. But neither of those experiences had prepared me for this.
I’d also seen shirtless men before, even ones my own age. But those meant nothing compared to a real, live Asher in front of me … the first boy who I’d really been attracted to naked just inches from my own shirtless body. His muscles looked as if they’d been carved into his flesh, his arms long and brawny from the hours spent in the boat. He had a little white scar running up his left shoulder, and his nipples were dark against his olive skin. Six perfectly sculpted ab muscles stuck out like bricks against his flat stomach, and I couldn’t help but reach a finger out to touch them.
I’d never been alone, in a dark room, this close to a boy that made my heart beat out of my chest when he was around.
“You’re beautiful.” The simple words make my throat burn.
The need to clench my thighs together in my jeans is strong as Asher lifts me by the elbows to sit on the bed.
“Scoot back.” He tells me as he starts moving onto his hands and knees, crawling up toward the pillows. With his dark hair and soundless movements, he’s like a panther ready to strike on its naïve prey.
We both reach the top of the bed, and I rest my head on the fluff of pillows. Asher faces me, a streak of moonlight crossing his chest. I’m tingly and I feel like I can’t take full breaths, my lungs won’t hold the normal capacity.
His hand reaches for my cheek, and we meet in the middle, our kissing session from downstairs continuing on a deeper level. There is more speed involved, and when he moves his hands to my bare stomach, a single firework detonates in my stomach. It fizzes into every part of my body, and fills me with enough boldness to reach out both hands and palm the muscles on his stomach.
Asher hisses into my mouth, and I pull back, thinking I may have done something wrong.
“Keep them there.” he growls, but his eyes are compassionate, and he dives back in for another kiss.
I put my hands back, exploring his warm flesh as our tongues dance and light the fire in between my legs. Before long, I’m squirming and I can’t quite seem to stop. Asher’s hands move up, sending goose bumps trickling across my skin. And soon, his fingertips play at the exposed skin of my breasts, wandering along the top of my bra cups in a teasing manner.
He pulls back, the question in his eyes. I nod, gulping because I know that I’m about to cross a line I’ve never ventured over before.
Painstakingly, Asher’s fingers reach behind my back and undo my bra. I feel the straps loosen, the cups give. My nipples bud even tighter, and in a second they’re exposed, seen by a man’s eyes for the first time.
He palms them, rolling the buds in circular motions. The action makes me rub my thighs together and strain my neck, a moan involuntarily escaping my lips. I grab the skin in my hands tighter, and Asher moves his hips against mine. I can feel how aroused he is, the hard length of him pressing against the zipper of his jeans.
After a few minutes of kissing and fondling, it’s not enough. I burn in a place I’ve never burned before, and I’m not even embarrassed by the noises I’m making. All air leaves the room when Asher reaches for the button of my jeans, but I don’t stop him.
“I’m going to make it feel good, but it will hurt first.” he whispers against my hair.
My body tenses, thinking I need to reciprocate the favor and not knowing how. I reach for his button, fumbling to undo it.
“No, let me do this first. I want to make you feel good, Nora.” His voice is sincere, and makes me flush all over again.
I keep my hands on his stomach, and let him push my jeans over my hips and down. How he knows it will hurt, that I’m a virgin, I’m not sure. Maybe he guessed, or maybe it shows. The thought flits out of my head when his hand breaches my underwear.
Thick fingers feel around my core, pulling gently at the hair on my pelvis. I bury my head in his shoulder, suddenly self-conscious that I’m not bare like most of the girls my age. I just never thought to shave it, and now I don’t know what he thinks.
“This is so sexy.” Asher rasps into my ear, and a jolt of wetness burns through me.
His fingers travel south, stopping when he swirls the wetness at my core between them. Then he presses one long, dexterous finger against the swollen button, and I shudder with sweet relief. It feels incredible, out of this world, indescribable. His rhythm picks up, circling faster and with more pressure.
“Oh God …” The words escape my lips.
“I’m not God, princess. But I can make you feel better than him.”
A screech emanates from my throat when something invades me, pushes inside me. The burn mixes with pain, and pleasure circles around it. The two mix as Asher pushes his finger in deeper, a dam in me bursting. Slowly, the buzz of pain fades and a tidal wave of ecstasy follows it.
“Please …” I don’t know what I’m asking for, but Asher seems to know.
He slowly pulls the finger out, and then pushes it back in. I squirm, gripping his abs tighter. He continues the rhythm, slow and torturous, leaving me teetering on the edge of some kind of cliff.
I’m only half-conscious of Asher popping the button of his jeans open and pulling the zipper down, freeing himself. I watch in lustful awe as he tugs on himself, the thick erection in his hand turning my stomach inside out and making me burn even more as his finger plunges into me.
I want to make him feel the kind of pleasure he’s making me feel. Tentatively, I reach down, covering his hand with my own. His eyes burn as my fingers touch his heated skin, the hardness not as solid as I thought it would be. It’s more like velvet-wrapped steel, soft but rigid all at the same time. I circle my hand around his length, and stroke as I just watched him do.
“Bloody hell, Nora …” His head drops into my hair as I do it again, and he adds a finger inside me.
I can’t help but moan louder, which only makes him increase his rhythm. And that only makes me squeeze him harder, pull on him faster. It’s like we’re the fuel to each other’s fire, and only our hands can light the matches.
Everything moves like a blur, fast but slow, sweet but sinful. I’m so close to something that I can taste it, and it feels like my skin starts to sing in a way. My toes curl, and everything inside of me - every nerve ending, hair, follicle - feels like it’s going to combust.
A careening moan hits my ears, and I realize absently that it’s from my own mouth. My whole body convulses with the orgasm that Asher takes from me, and I squeeze my eyes shut to focus on the intense pleasure coursing through my system.
“Christ!” Asher growls, and wetness coats my hand where I’m still stroking him. My lids fly open, and I watch his face as it contorts with relief and gratification.
As my ears stop buzzing from the pressure that my body lets out, I realize that his fingers are still inside of me and my hand is coated in his pleasure.
“I didn’t know.” The thought must pop out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“Huh?” Asher sounds breathless.
“I know.” He smiles, kissing my cheek.
We clean up, with him handing me tissues and letting me use his bathroom. And when I go to leave, he pulls on my elbow and tells me to stay.
We don’t talk about the fact that I’m a virgin, or that he’s the first boy to ever touch me in that kind of way. He just gathers me in his arms under the covers and nods off.
I don’t think I sleep more than an hour, my brain is so full of thoughts.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nora
I key in the code to my locker, and let out a shriek when a balloon floats out and into my face. Something starts crowing, or singing … I can’t tell because I’m too flustered by the thing floating above my head.
“What the hell?”
“Happy Day of the Turkey!” Asher stands on the other side of my locker door, his arms spread wide and a genuine smile on his face.
Looking at the balloon floating on the ceiling, and finally being able to place the song, Arlo Guthrie’s “Alice’s Restaurant.” Laughter bubbles up from my throat until I’m hunched over in amusement.
“Do you mean Happy Thanksgiving?” I say between breaths.
His green eyes falter, but the spark is there. “Well, whatever … you knew what I meant. But yes, we don’t celebrate here, and I know how much you like your locker decorated.”
Suspicion pulls at my insides, back to the first day when Miley Cyrus had sang from my American-flag decorated locker.
“Was it you who put that stuff in my locker on the first day of school?” I eye him cautiously.
He laughs. “I may have charmed the ladies in the front office to give me your combination. Although being me, it’s never hard to get what I want.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” I rolled my eyes, and he tickled my ribs. “You know, that really humiliated me.”
Asher looks repentant. “And I’ve been trying to make up for how big of an arse I was.” Bending down, he wraps his hands around my waist and whispers in my ear. “I hope I’ve been doing a good job.”
My body flushes, because I know he has been working diligently, with his hands and mouth, to make it up to me. My mind flashes to the other night in the recreation room of his house, where he’d undressed me on the couch and made those noises come out of my mouth again.
“You have. But I’m not letting you off the hook just yet.” We may have gained a lot of ground back in Switzerland, but my self-preserving nature still sat firmly locked in place.
One of the girls who had approached me in the hallway when Asher and I had first started seeing each other stares at us, jealousy burning her through her eyes. I wasn’t usually the kind to search for attention or gratification, but her comments had pissed me off. The way she felt she should know my personal business, as if I was open fully for all of Winston to gossip about.
And Jesus Christ, I’d just realized it. For months it hadn’t sunk in, because being attached to Bennett was one thing. But back home, in school, I could have been invisible for how much the other students noticed or talked about me.
And I realized … I was popular.
It was such a trivial, narcissistic thing to be proud of, but when you’ve never had it before, the adrenaline it shot your blood up with was addicting. I’d loathed the popular crowd, especially those here at Winston because money was everything and technically none of the money I had now was mine. But when you were actually on the inside … the view from the top was heady.
I leaned into Asher and kissed him gently, the song still playing behind us. I heard the girl’s quick footsteps away from us as she caught up with a friend down the hall, their side eyes directed right at me.
“You know, we Brits aren’t huge into PDA.” He doesn’t let me go.
“Well, too bad you’re dating an American then. So, did you get me some cranberry sauce?” We start to walk down the hall, the day over.
“I’m going to be honest, I have no idea what that is.”
The winter air is chilly, but not terrible as we push open the front doors. I wrap my fleece cape, a gift from Bennett, around my shoulders, and Asher just buttons his blazer. He told me once that from being on the frigid water so much for rowing, he is never truly cold.
“It’s this kind of jelly that comes in a can, and you slice it up.”
“Yuck.” He makes a face as he latches his fingers in mine.
My heart speeds up, the gesture so touching and intimate. I never thought I’d be one of those girls, the ones who turned to mush when a boy talked or looked at them. But Asher is apparently my kryptonite.
“Says the guy who eats Yorkshire pudding and mince pie.” I shudder at the thought of eating either.
He rubs his stomach as he hails a taxi. “God, I can’t wait for Christmas feast. Or Boxing Day for that matter.”
Opening the door, he ushers me in. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. I may be able to find you some cranberry sauce after all.”
His spontaneous nature is one of the things I admire most about Asher. One would think that someone with as rigid an upbringing as he had would tend to follow rules and act in accordance. But I’ve found, in the time we’ve spent together, that he is actually very go-with-the-flow. An adventurer with a calm nature about him, Asher is the perfect balance against my anxious personality. I never worry when I’m going anywhere with him, because I know that if things don’t go as planned, he’ll still make it fun for the both of us.
“I didn’t even realize it was Thanksgiving.” Strange, since it was one of my favorite holidays back home.
“It’s because no one was talking about it.” His profile is like a historic statue.
“Back home, Mom and I would bake all kinds of pies for just the two of us. We’d buy deli slices of turkey and make sandwiches, and leave all the room in our stomachs for pie. Apple, pumpkin, chocolate, pecan … any kind we could fit in the oven.”
Thinking about those memories makes me sad. This year, we’d be in a new place for the holidays. Already we’d forgot one, and we’d also have Bennett. We’d have to make new memories.
“That sounds nice.” Asher squeezes my hand, and I know he’s trying to lift me out of my funk.
The car comes to a stop and a mischievous glint comes into his eye.
“Who even said I had time to go gallivanting with you today?”
“I love it when you use big words. Come on, princess.” He takes my hand and leads me up to an official looking building.
It’s the same make and model as almost every building here; imposing and beautiful in its craftsmanship. The columns of white stone reach high up into the sky, and ornate windows and gargoyle statues are carved into the sides. Asher ducks us into what I think is a doorway, but on second glance, is actually an archway.
I can’t help but gasp.
“What is this place?”
Staring up, I take in the high ceiling made of glass, the arches formed by columns at every store front. The alley that looks like something out of a Harry Potter novel, with its Victorian architecture so beautiful and prominent.
“Welcome to Leadenhall Market, one of my favorite places to come and hide out for an afternoon.” Asher takes my hand and leads me under the giant archway and into a maze of shops, outdoor seating, and people milling about.
“This place is amazing. See, I thought we had big flea markets back home, but nothing near as gorgeous as this.”
“A ‘flea’ market?” Asher swishes the words around in his mouth, not sure if they’re good or bad.
I laugh at his sour expression. “Pretty much the same as this … lots of vendors selling their own foods or goods. But nowhere near as upscale. Typically, it’s held in a big field, with stalls separating the sellers.”
Asher still looks confused, so I pat him on the bac
k. “You know what, never mind. So, where do we go first?”
He smiles, a little mischievously, and pulls me toward a door. “I love this place, come on.”
It’s not turkey and mashed potatoes, but we start off with a cheese tasting that makes me want to groan. I’ve never had cheeses so creamy or delicious. Brie and cheddar with relish jelly and things I can’t even pronounce, but they’re so good that I never want to leave.
Eventually we do, venturing into a store kitty-corner from the cheese shop.
“They have some of the most amazing Korean pork you’ll ever eat in your life.”
I cock my head to the side. “I didn’t realize your food tastes ranged so far outside the box.”
“What, you think just because I attend all those stuffy steak dinners that I don’t have a palette?” He fakes looking wounded.
“Well … yeah.” I can’t help but chuckle. “It’s nice to know you have some street sense in you. I love any kind of Asian food, but haven’t been able to venture out much for it while I’ve been here.”
“Then allow me, princess.”
The store clerk prepares us a mini-sandwich each, loaded with Korean pork and red onion and purple cabbage. He squirts on a dash of spicy looking sauce and my mouth starts to water. We take our sandwiches outside, sitting at the tables under the glass dome and people watching.
“Oh my God.” I can’t help but exclaim.
“Good, right?” Asher says with a mouthful.
I nod, and a piece of the sandwich falls right out of my mouth and onto my chin. I blush horribly, embarrassed that I look like an animal devouring the fantastic creation in my hand. Asher just chuckles, leaning over and licking the bite off my chin. Then his lips travel higher, until they land on my mouth, giving me a spicy kiss.
“That’s even better than my sandwich. Here, give me yours.” He smiles with his eyes closed as he pulls away.
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