Maybe Once, Maybe Twice(72)

He stood up, kissing my mouth, leaving me hungry for him to go back down on his knees and finish what he had started. Instead, he put his strong hands around my waist and tugged my body upward, into his arms, lifting me and spinning me onto the edge of the bed. Before I could come up for air, he parted my legs with his face, and set his hot tongue inside me. I clenched my nails into the silk sheets, fire inside my body. I arched my neck to dare and look at him. His eyes floated upward to harden onto mine, with his lips between my thighs. He placed his strong hands against my thighs, keeping my trembling body tight against the bed. I tugged my shoulder blades together as wild heat engulfed my insides, until I was exhaling his name breathlessly to the ceiling, with gold spots in my eyes.

I panted, holding my hand over my pounding chest, as if trying to keep it from leaving my body. He softly kissed my pelvic bone, his lips moving all the way up me, over my stomach, my clavicle, my throat—lighting tiny fires against my skin until his mouth landed tenderly on my lips. He pulled his neck back from mine, and his smile came into focus above me. He kissed me again, warm and salty, skin against skin, his dick hard against my leg.

“I’ll go get a condom,” he said softly into my ear.

I shifted myself up on the bed, watching as Asher’s perfect naked body walked away from me like a Men’s Health cover come to life. I took in the definition on his olive torso, his runner calves, the deep line from his pelvis to his dick, every inch of him bathed in firelight. A moment later, he came back into view from the bathroom, ripping the condom wrapper open with his teeth and putting it on.

His mouth found mine again, his body sending the back of my head onto the soft duvet below me. He parted from my lips, staring down at me for a long, quiet moment. He wiped a curl away from my face, keeping his hand on my cheek. His eyes were soft and wide, as if he knew he was about to dive into a warm, safe place, but he couldn’t believe it all the same.

“Hi,” he said.

I opened my mouth to say it back, but his body was trembling against mine, so wondrous that I couldn’t make a sound. He widened his eyes and took me in. Tears were stuck in my throat, and I felt them sting my eyes.

“Hi,” I slowly cracked, as his thumb wiped away a tear falling down the corner of my eye.

I smiled, my chest bursting. I wondered if this moment—this moment right here—was what all the pain and all the heartache had been for. This was the exit off the harsh road—the turn that I had been waiting for: a life with Asher Reyes. He was the other side of trying. Being in his arms made me feel like I didn’t have to hope anymore. He was a boomerang, leaving me years ago like a sharp inhale, and coming back to me like an exhale. I could breathe now.

I ran my hands through his wet hair and brought his mouth onto mine, and slowly, I led him inside me.

“Fuck,” he said, burying his face into the heat of my neck as he moved over me, back and forth, hard, hot, perfect.

He brought his eyes back onto mine, kissing me tenderly, rolling us both over, so I was on top of him. I grinned. He always did like me on top.

“What?” he asked, coyly.

“Glad to see some things never change,” I said, raising my eyebrows.

I moved on top of him with ease as his hands tightened against my hips. He sat up suddenly, pressing his mouth against my ear.

“Turn around,” he demanded.

He spun me around, his heart racing against my spine. He hugged an arm around my breasts, pulling my spine closer to his chest as he pressed his finger hard against my clit and thrust himself inside me. I felt my breathing quicken.

“Okay, that’s new.”

I exhaled with eyes to the ceiling fan, until suddenly, I couldn’t see anything at all. I felt my body clench hot and wet around his dick, waves pulsing through me, and he tugged me closer to his chest as he came.

I leaned my head back against the curve of his neck. My damp skin against his skin felt like finding the lost piece of a puzzle. It was almost like the last eighteen years had been nothing but a bad dream.

Almost.





37

SEVENTEEN




“MY MOM IS GOING TO murder me,” I said with a huge grin.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Asher asked, raising his eyebrow.

My jaw dropped as I shook my head.

“You’re chickening out, aren’t you? I can’t believe I got a fake ID for nothing,” I huffed.

Asher looked at me hard, and with the streetlights adding fire to his eyes, he grabbed my hand and pulled me past the doors of the only space alive in this barren strip mall: the tattoo parlor.

This had, not shockingly, been all my plan. The idea of putting art on our bodies came up a few months ago during one of our nightly phone calls. “We should get matching tattoos,” I said with a shrug—without honestly thinking it through. It felt like something two people in euphoric love could do—like a promise of forever without a rabbi. I knew he wasn’t the type to fold into a dare that would leave a permanent mark—Asher would obviously just laugh on the other end of his new cell phone. Instead, what followed was long silence, his breath in my ear from thousands of miles away. “How about the moon?” he finally said. Then it was my turn to be silent. My eyes widened, a smile curled around my lips, and the idea of sharing a tattoo with my favorite person became all I could think about.