Torn(52)

"Your tattoos are beautiful." I lean forward to press my fingertips against his chest. "Tell me what they mean."

He glances down, his eyes raking over his own muscular frame. His body is remarkable. It's a testament to hard work and dedication. He gestures towards his right arm. "I had a design in mind for this arm but it all went to hell."

I laugh as I study it. It's an intricate blend of symbols and images, all woven together in a design that is as unique as he is.

"I went to a different tattoo artist in each city I've played in. During some of those sessions I knew what I wanted, other times I didn't. This is the result so far."

"Is there one from Philadelphia?"

"No." He kneels on the floor in front of me, pushing my thighs apart. "We'll go back together one day and you'll help me decide what to get."

I nod softly, studying his handsome face. His beard is almost full now. It's dark, unkempt. He looks beautiful and dangerous, desirable and tortured.

"What about this?" I rest my hand on his chest over the Roman numerals. "It's the number twenty-six, isn't it?"

"I got that one the day of my twenty-sixth birthday." His hand leaps to cover mine as he holds my gaze. "Someone once told me that I wouldn't live to see my twenty-sixth birthday. They told me that I'd die before then from an overdose. That person told me they'd die if I did."

I stare at the definition of the tattoo. It's faded some but it's bold, strong, a testament to the man whose body it adorns. "Who said that?"

"My dad did." He exhales audibly. "I was twenty-one at the time."

"You were young."

"Young and stupid," he whispers. "He dropped by my dorm room one afternoon. It was a Wednesday, in the spring. I was so high I fell over. He didn't help me up. He just stood there telling me that I needed to clean up before I died."

"You did clean up." I stroke his cheek with my hand. "Look at you now. You're a rock star."

He smiles softly. "I'm clean now. I'll stay clean forever."

***

"You're everything I've ever wanted." His lips find mine again in a heated, wet kiss. I lick through the kiss, pushing his mouth open, claiming his tongue. He pushes me back onto the bed, rising above me.

My hands are all over him; grabbing his shoulders, sliding down to his pectorals, gliding over his rock hard stomach. "You're so perfect, Asher."

He smiles against my lips. "I love that you think that."

"I do," I whisper as I move my hand lower, circling his cock with my hand. It's wide, heavy and hot in my palm. I move my hand, stroking him slowly, the motion pulling a series of groans from within him.

"Your hands do something to me," he growls. "Your lips too."

I take that as a suggestion, moving quickly. I push him onto his back, taking the tip of his cock between my lips. His body tenses immediately.

"You can't do that to me." His warm hand strokes my hair. "I'll come from your lips."

"I won't complain if you do." I lick the side of his erection, lapping my tongue against it. "I want to give this to you."

He quiets, his hand falls to his side. "I won't deprive you of anything you want."

I smile and giggle before I grip the root and lower my mouth over the shaft. I go slowly, taking as much as I can before I slide it out, almost completely. I repeat the motion, over and over, faster, then slower. I pump with my hand, cup his balls with my other hand, use his body as leverage when I finally take him quickly, hot, fast plunges into my mouth.

"Stop, please." His voice pleads." Let me f*ck you now."

I still. I want to taste his release. I crave it. I have since that day in my shower when he came all over my face, his face twisted with pleasure.

"Fuck me," I whisper against the length of him.

He's on his feet in an instant, his hard-on bobbing heavily between his legs. He opens a drawer, pushes his hand in and then he starts yanking things out, tossing them behind him. I move slightly so I can get a better look.

"Those are boxer briefs." I point at all the pairs he's thrown from the drawer. "You have more underwear than I do."

He laughs as he pulls a condom package from the depth of the drawer. "I knew there was one here somewhere."

I watch in silence as he sheaths his thickness, pulling the condom over, carefully, precisely.

He's not gentle when he lowers himself over me, his hand cupping my ass, positioning me just right before he buries himself in me in one deliciously, long and thick stroke.

"Asher," I moan.

"Tell me it's good, Falon." He tilts his hips, the drives harder and deeper. "Tell me."

"It's only this good with you," I say into the skin of his neck. "Only you."





CHAPTER 42


Asher




I f*cked Falon Shaw and then I fell in love with her. It may have happened before that. Who the f*ck am I kidding? I fell in love with her that first day in her studio. Back then it wasn’t real love. It was more, I want a taste of that sweet * love, but now, this is different.

She's been sitting at the foot of my bed, in nothing but her white lace panties, reading everything in the envelope Daniel dropped off. That same envelope that I'm now, more than ever, determined to show my dad.