It was only slightly awkward when we went to bed. After all, it wasn’t the first time Ash and I had shared a bed, only this one didn’t leave much space between us. I was hanging onto the edge, trying not to fall off, but however I angled myself, some part of me was touching Ash. In the end, after several minutes of both of us failing to get comfortable, he grunted with frustration, rolled me onto my side, and wound his long body behind me, so his chest was pressed against my back.
“Sleep,” he said, his warm breath blowing across the back of my neck.
I jerked awake as Ash’s elbow crashed into my ribs and he cried out. Then some garbled words in a long moan as his body thrashed around.
I struggled to free myself from his arms and roll over, but when I did, I saw that his eyes were tightly shut and a thin layer of sweat made his skin glisten in the scattered moonlight.
“Ash, wake up!”
He yelled again, then sat bolt upright, his eyes wild, panic turning them into black pools.
He reacted suddenly, but it wasn’t what I expected.
His lips crashed down on mine with bruising force and I gasped as his heavy body pressed me into the mattress. Shocked, I pushed hard on his shoulders, but he lifted only slightly, moving his mouth to my neck, his hands tightly gripping my waist.
“Laney,” he muttered hoarsely. “My wife.”
Was it a statement, a question, an invitation? I couldn’t tell, but I did hear the need in his voice, and as one hand brushed against my hip and squeezed hard, my body leapt.
This was weeks of pretending I didn’t want him. This was two months of ignoring our mutual attraction. This was the man who had crashed into my life and painted it with color. This was the missing piece.
“Ash, I want . . .”
“Laney, I need . . .”
We spoke at the same time, but his mouth slid to my throat, to my breastbone, and whatever words he was going to say were lost. Then his teeth bit through the material of my pajamas, fastening around the hard nipple, and I gasped.
He knelt up, ripping his sweat soaked t-shirt from his body while my hungry hands pushed the waistband of his shorts over his hips and the curve of his ass. He kicked them off impatiently and his whole long, lean body was revealed briefly, his thighs solid, his cock rigid. He braced himself over me, then his head dipped and he dragged my shirt up with his teeth and ripped my pajama pants from my legs with one hand.
A second later he was inside me, my body barely prepared.
I cried out as he pushed my knees up, sinking deeper, and this time a zing of pleasure ran up my spine, then settled low in my belly.
Ash’s eyes were closed, his forehead lined with a deep frown, his dark head bent.
Then he buried his face in my neck, pumping so hard the bed shook and creaked. I was right: he fucked like he danced—intense and full of passion, utterly focused.
I felt wanted, needed, all woman, desirable and desired.
It was so sudden and furious, so urgent, answering a craving I hadn’t acknowledged, so surprising, so shocking, so intoxicating. One hit and I was hooked.
I hung onto his shoulders as he pounded into me, trying to lock my legs around his waist, but the chaotic, thrusting force of his dick ramming into me shook me loose. All I could do was hold him against me.
Sweat slicked our chests together, my breasts flattened almost painfully.
He came suddenly with a growl and I felt the pulse of hot cum inside me, making me cry out.
“Ash!”
Hearing my voice, he froze, then lifted his head slowly, a sort of wide-eyed wonder on his face.
“Laney?”
He stared at me, shock and disbelief clear on his beautiful face. I gasped, my clit shooting bolts of pleasure through my body.
“I was dreaming,” he whispered. “I thought I was dreaming.”
“Feels real to me,” I whispered, loosening my fierce grip on his shoulders.
He pulled out abruptly, making me wince, and as his cum leaked out of me, the level of embarrassment for both of us was painful.
He swung his long legs so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.
“God, I’m so sorry, Laylay,” he said, his body trembling. “Moj son?ek, I’m so sorry.”
I didn’t know how to respond. My body was warm and satiated, but my mind was traveling a million miles an hour.
“I . . . um . . . I’d better go clean up,” I muttered.
I grabbed my robe from the floor and hurried to the bathroom, feeling moist and uncomfortable as semen continued to trickle down my thighs.
I cleaned up quickly then took a deep breath, trying to process what had happened, or rather, what it meant for me, for Ash, for us.
He so obviously regretted what had happened. I ought to—God, he hadn’t even known it was me, had he? But somehow, I couldn’t regret it. I wanted him. From the first time I’d seen him, the attraction had been intense, but so much had come between us. Life had been cruel.
When I opened the bedroom door, he looked up. He was in the same position, still sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I hurt you.”
His sharp cheekbones threw shadows across his face, and his eyes were clouded.
“I was surprised,” I said quietly, sitting next to him.
He searched my face for any trace of a lie, or pain, or fear, but seemed satisfied as I watched him steadily.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his eyes dropping to his empty hands.
“For what?”