by Elaria Ride
I hiss as his warm palms skate over my calves and thighs before he tosses them over the side of the bed. The cool air of the cabin hits my heated center, and I dimly accept that I’ve never been this exposed, not with anyone.
But the look on Asher’s face combined with his deep, rasping moan leaves no room for discomfort or embarrassment. He blinks up at me slowly. “You’re beautiful.”
My face flushes; I’m about to respond that I’ve never thought about that part being beautiful before, but then Asher brings his right hand up to separate my folds, and I find there’s no need.
In a split-second, his head darts down, his tongue finding my clit with practiced ease. If I thought I’d been turned on before, I’d been wrong. So, so wrong, because ohhhhmygawd.
I cry out and clench my fists at my sides as he flicks and sucks, providing the most perfect, exquisite pressure. He knows what he’s doing, but now, I can’t compel myself to care... not when he’s moaning right along with me and sucking on my sensitive bundle of nerves, his tongue twisting around me. He’s lapping at me like a man who comes upon an oasis in the desert, like every flick of his tongue brings him closer to survival.
And holy shit, I’m along for the ride.
I writhe and twist beneath him, my hips bucking against his face, my thighs clamping around his head. When my stray heel comes a bit too close to kicking his shoulder, he deftly hooks my left leg beneath his muscled deltoid without looking up from his task.
A few seconds later, he peers up, his face shiny and covered with me… and although he hasn’t said a word, I know he’s asking for permission once more.
He wants to put a finger inside.
“Please,” I consent, my hand coming to rest in his hair.
Asher bends down and glides his tongue over my clit again, and when I feel his middle finger prodding at my entrance, I inch myself even lower, needing to feel him… needing to feel any part of him inside me.
He moans in response, but inches in his middle finger before returning to my clit.
Holybuggeringmother —
“Asherrrr.” My head slams back against my pillow as I writhe in wild abandon. His finger feels perfect, absolutely perfect, and I could probably come right here, right now.
But I should have known he’d made it more intense. I should have known the only warning I’d get would be his devilish smirk…
The second our eyes meet, he dives again, and with the slightest pressure, the tiniest shift crook of his finger, he hits my g-spot while staring at me with those intense, dark, penetrating eyes.
And I shatter.
White-hot bliss surges through my body, vibrating through every limb. I only cling to the sheets with my clenched fists as Asher continues his gentle strokes, coaxing me through my climax.
When I finally return to earth, my body is humming in the post-climax haze. I numbly feel Asher’s muscular form settling in behind me. I can’t help but notice something else that’s long and muscular prodding my ass. Just like before.
I’m still cresting on the strength of my release when I flip over to face him, my chest heaving. He’s gazing at me softly, his eyes filled with adoration — and perhaps the fact that he’s not expecting anything in return is what really gives me a push.
Without breaking our heated gaze, I slip a trembling hand beneath the waistband of his pitched pajama pants… and I grasp him, boxers and all.
Asher makes a choked sound and arches his back. “Oh, wait, Autumn, you really don’t have to ahhhhh…” He cuts himself off with a groan and thrusts into my hand like he can’t help himself.
I whimper and rub my thighs together against the heat that’s rising once again. I didn’t know that just touching Asher would arouse me so much… but I suppose I’m learning a lot of things tonight.
Asher lets out a groan from deep in his throat, his eyes slammed shut, and even though I’m only touching him through his boxers, I feel him pulse.
Unless I’m very much mistaken, his boxers are already… rather damp. I shudder and feel another trickle between my thighs. Even I know what pre-cum is. If he’s leaking that much and I haven’t even touched him, it’s a good sign.
I bite my lip, emboldened, and slide his boxers away with trembling fingers until I’m grasping him in my fist.
Ohhh.
I swallow, looking down at his massive cock, at the bead of clear pre-cum that’s already gathered on the tip. He’s… big. Bigger than I’d ever imagined, easily larger than nine inches, fully erect. And based on the way he’s panting, I’d wager he’s fully erect.
I stare at his cock for another two seconds, suddenly filled with an irrational surge of panic as I wonder how he’ll ever fit inside me. Or if he even wants to fit inside me. I bring my other hand around to grip him, but even with both of my hands around him, I don’t reach the head…
Asher makes a strangled sound as my second hand joins the first. I take this as another good sign.
And with that, I begin to pump.
I barely know what the hell I’m doing as I stroke him, but he doesn’t care. I’ve probably done this three times in my whole life, but Asher’s acting like I’m a professional. His face is screwed up in concentration, his chest rising and falling. After a few moments, his hips start to buck as he makes noises from deep in his throat with each pass.
I’m about to ask him if it’s too much when Asher takes the lead. He opens his eyes for a split-second before reaching for my hands, holding them in place… and without breaking our gaze, he adjusts his cock, aiming it at his stomach.
And then he absolutely explodes.
Asher throws his head back, groaning in pleasure as his cock spurts all over his chest. I watch in fascination as he pulses in my hands, his skin taut and even harder. I wish there were more light in the cabin: I have a bizarre desire for tangible proof of the effect I’ve had. Of the way he wants me…
I’m about to broach the subject when Asher lets out a deep breath. Stained dark patches cover his shirt as he blinks at me through the darkness, and I have a delirious moment where I’m reminded of a splatter-paint artist I studied in college…
“Sorry,” Asher mutters, gesturing to his shirt. “I really didn’t want to… get it on you.”
Oh, so that’s why he’d… reached out. At the end.
I giggle and roll my eyes, about to remind him that he’d gotten me all over his face not ten minutes ago — but a yawn interrupts my attempt at sass.
Shit. Orgasms always take it out of me.
Asher chuckles and sits up. “Aaaaand I think that’s where I officially draw the line. You’re going to bed — for real this time!”
I pout and try to push him back with my fingertips. Now that I’ve felt him hard once, I have a craving to feel him again — between my thighs, this time.
“But no one else has ever made me do that!” I murmur, rocking back on my heels. It’s the truth, even if it’s a bit of over-share. I’ve only had him once, but dammit, I want more!
But Asher remains resolute. “No,” he says firmly, shaking his head. “Bed.”
I sigh, but don’t fight him — especially not after he shucks his wet shirt off and nestles up behind me. I’m still wearing his pajama shirt. We aren’t exactly skin-to-skin, but feeling his warm chest behind me is heating me more than the now-roaring fireplace ever could.
My last thought before I drift off to sleep, his hard body protectively curled around me, is that another nightmare won’t scare me.
Because if he’s with me — and I’m with him — we can face anything. Even snakes.
10
Asher
Let’s break up.
The words thunder through my chest the second my eyes open… and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear I could hear my ex-girlfriend shouting in my ear, her face twisted in cruelty and disappointment.
Let’s break up.
I’m still curled around Autumn’s sleeping body, but I don’t stay that way for long; I can’t re
main this close to her, not with the guilt bubbling up my throat. I ease my arm from under her shoulders and flop to my back. It’s only now — as the first gray watercolor shades of a dreary afternoon filter through the windows of my cabin — that I realize what I’ve done.
I guess it’s taken the distance of several hours (and one hell of an orgasm) to figure that part out. I’ve slept in through morning and early afternoon, but my subconscious hadn’t given me a break for long. What can I say, though? I’ve never been the smart brother.
Nope. I’m Asher. I’m the hippie brother. The one who lives off the beaten path and doesn’t follow any rules — except the laws of nature. I’m the brother who was so mortified by a tragic accident 15 years ago that he took to the woods.
But now I’m also the brother who took total advantage of his gorgeous co-worker. I’m also the brother who more or less seduced her while she was in an altered state. I’m also the brother whose entire life is about to fall to shit, right in front of his eyes.
Christ. What have I become?
I stare up at the ceiling, my jaw gritted in self-loathing. My stomach roils and pitches as Autumn snores softly beside me, her warm body still pressed right up against mine.
And because I’m the most colossal pervert the world has ever seen, I’m hard. Again.
I suppress a groan, but the damage is done: I took advantage, plain and simple.
Granted, I hadn’t heard her complaining… but that’s not really the problem.
The problem is that I’d let her beauty and curves and our close contact overtake me. The problem is that I’d forgotten about all the valid reasons — my job, her job, my baggage, my entire life — keeping us apart. The problem is that I’d ignored the alarm bells in my head telling me what a horrible decision it is to become intimate with someone I see every day.
I swallow and shake my head, more disgusted with myself than I’ve ever been. And what’s worse is that I know I need to do something drastic to throw her off the scent, to keep her from understanding just how deep my feelings have become.
I can’t lose my job… plain and simple.
And having relations with a co-worker smells an awful lot like losing my job.
Still, I’d never dream of asking her to quit or making her leave. Besides the fact that she’s hands down the best damn ranger I’ve ever worked with, I’m really the one who should be resigning. Maybe she’ll forgive what I’ve done as a moment of weakness. Maybe we’ll both report to HR about the singular incident that had occurred while the blizzard (and her fall) had ensconced her in my cabin. Maybe — for once — those vultures at the NNS will have a heart.
Even I admit that’s a farfetched dream — but at least it’s something.
And right now, something has to keep me going.
Something is what will get me through this weekend without losing my damn mind.
So with newfound determination, I hoist myself up from the bed, ignoring the pounding in my cock. Keeping myself busy today is the name of the game… and I plan to do just that.
Fortunately, there’s a lot to do in the middle of a blizzard.
Unfortunately, though, menial tasks have always given my mind the space to wander… and right now, as I fruitlessly shovel snow in near white-out conditions, my mind is wandering quite a lot.
You’ve probably gathered that Autumn isn’t the first girl I’ve fooled around with.
You’ve probably also gathered that with Asher Bosco, there’s more than meets the eye: I’m clearly running from something.
And you’d be right, on both counts.
You see, the situation with Autumn is remarkably similar to the setup with my first relationship… the relationship I’ve let ruin me.
I sigh and prop up my shovel for just a second before sinking to the snow-covered ground. I need a break; shoveling is a full-body workout. If I’m not careful, I’ll overdo it, and I can’t risk passing out.
But as I sit here staring at the snow, I engage in a much different kind of stupidity: I start thinking about Sarah again.
I draw a deep breath, but this train of thought is a long time coming. I avoid thinking about Sarah at all costs… but a little introspection is finally in order. My brat of a sister would probably be proud; she always warns that the strong, silent types hold the deepest pain in their hearts.
As much as I hate to admit it, Sylvie’s right.
Because I haven’t always been Asher Bosco, a lone wolf. For a brief time in my life, I’d allowed myself to chase the possibility of sharing my life with more than just an all-consuming job. I’d dreamt of a happily-ever-after — and I’d been convinced it would happen for me. Hook, line, and sinker.
And I’d believed that happily-ever-after would come in the form of Sarah Wilkes.
Sarah and I had been high school sweethearts. Well, she'd been my high school sweetheart; things hadn’t been mutual. I spent three years of high school lusting after her long blonde hair and gorgeous curves and her soft smile and beckoning lips.
In spring of my senior year, Sarah summoned the courage I lacked; she caught my eye in homeroom, asked me out, and christened our relationship with a kiss in the hallway. Like a fool, I’d fallen for her — hard. We only dated two months, but when you have limited experience, you ignore red flags about falling too hard or moving too fast.
In my teenaged naiveté, I justified this by thinking about my parents and grandparents. They hadn’t dated long before getting engaged, but I’m living proof of the fact that they’d worked out. Somehow, I’d deluded myself into thinking my picture-perfect mental image of Sarah had any bearing on reality.
I also deluded myself into thinking I knew her at all. This is more my fault than hers.
My first red flag should have been that Sarah and I had absolutely nothing in common; from hiking to picnics, she’d hated everything about the outdoors. She’d also made no secret of her plan to move to LA immediately after graduation, forgoing everything that Biggal Mountain offered. She’d had high hopes of being a plus-size model; I’d had high hopes of being with Sarah Wilkes.
As a person with little direction in life beyond loving the outdoors, I’d been happy to help. I made decent grades in high school, but academia just wasn’t for me. In the span of just a few weeks, I’d thus readjusted my vague life goals (being outside a lot) to fit what she wanted (a supportive boyfriend).
Within a week of asking me out, Sarah started pressuring me for sex. At first, I hadn’t thought much of it, but she became increasingly persistent. I must have been less oblivious than I thought, because from the far recesses of my mind, I got an inkling that something was seriously, seriously off… or at the very least, that we shouldn’t rush things.
I refused to take her up on her offer until prom night. Not coincidentally, that’s the night when everything fell to shit.
After an amazing experience at prom, we returned to a hotel room I’d rented for the occasion. Sarah had demanded the finest accommodations available on Biggal Mountain, and I’d paid with the money I’d saved from working at the lumber mill.
And, yeah, we’d had sex.
I won’t lie and say it was as good for her as it was for me, but is anyone’s first time great? I’d thought our first night together was unique and beautiful and perfect — for what it was. I’d expected to wake the next day and do it a few more times with a girl who represented my future… the girl I’d wake to see every single morning for the rest of my life.
Unfortunately, I’d woken alone. The bed was cold, her stuff was gone, and the door was wide open. When I’d finally checked my flip phone (remember, I’m not a technology guy), a simple text provided an option I’d never even considered. Apparently, Sarah had gotten dressed, hitched a ride from our classmate, Joey, and then chosen to send me a three-word text that deftly broke my heart into smithereens: Let’s break up.
I’d been damn devastated — and not to mention mortified. I was convinced I'd been a terrible lover, that I'd some
how hurt her. We'd both been virgins, but I’d tried my hardest to treat her with respect.
As it turns out, she’d known I would be all of those things… which is why she’d pursued me. For two weeks after our breakup, I lived in a constant loop of replaying every single event of that night, every single thing that might’ve led to this.
Finally, I’d made a last-ditch effort to get some answers. I asked her to meet me at my house, and to my surprise, she’d complied — but the meeting had been remarkably brief. She’d sat on my couch, sipped a glass of lemonade, and told me she never loved me.
Apparently, Sarah had wanted to lose her virginity to ‘someone dependable’ before heading into the sunset. She’d done a lot of research into modeling, and said research had convinced her that L.A. operated on a revolving door of sexual favors and gigs. Everything with me was mere practice; she’d bided her time and picked me over everyone else because she’d known I’d treat her with respect.
Sarah just hadn’t given a shit about my feelings in the process.
After delivering this information (which would have been a soul-crushing blow to anyone), Sarah sent a text to her ‘friend’ Joey… the same friend who’d picked her up from the hotel room after prom. As I should have guessed, she was now fucking him, too.
But this story doesn’t end here.
I’d like to say that Sarah sped off into the sunset with her new ‘friend,’ moved to LA, and enjoyed her life as a part-time model. Unfortunately, I hadn’t realized that Joey was drunk… very, very drunk. He’d come straight from a graduation party after pounding several vodka sodas. It seems Sarah hadn’t known, either, because she’d willingly gotten into his convertible.
Neither one of them survived the car crash five minutes later. Which is bound to happen, I suppose, when your convertible wraps around a light pole. As it turns out, inebriation and a still-frozen patch of asphalt (yes, even in April) are a bad combination for remaining in control of one’s vehicle. The only consolation to Sarah’s parents and Joey’s single mother had been that their children were killed on impact; neither one had suffered at all.
