Bad Intentions (Bad Love #2)(82)

“Head wounds tend to look a lot worse than they really are,” Asher says, clearing his throat and pulling away. I back up, still dazed, as he stands and reaches behind his neck to pull his blood-speckled white tee off his back before balling it up and tossing it to the floor. I think he’s going to take one of Dash’s shirts, but he doesn’t. He plops back down on the bed, exhaling roughly, running a hand through his hair. I gulp watching the way his forearms flex with the motion, and when he lies back on the bed, displaying the muscles on his stomach, I have to look away.

He’s always been magnificent to me, with his onyx hair that hangs in his dark, mismatched eyes. His full lips and slightly pointed nose. The dimples that I didn’t even know existed for an entire year into knowing him, because the boy never really smiles. Smirks, yes. Taunting, mocking, sarcastic grins. But a full-blown Asher Kelley smile is rarer than a blue moon. Now that his shoulders are broader, his chest and arms bigger, and his jaw more chiseled…he’s a man. And he’s perfection. Suddenly, I’m all too aware of my small breasts that visibly harden beneath my tank top and my tiny baby pink sleep shorts. I’m looking every bit of fourteen, feeling so inferior kneeling in front of this young god.

Asher scrubs a hand down his face, and I notice that his knuckles are bloody, too, but the sight is nothing new.

“Do you want ice?” I ask as I stand up, gesturing toward his hands.

“What, this?” he asks, examining his knuckles. “I’m fine.”

“Do you want me to go?” I fidget with the hem of my shorts. His eyes follow the movement, then move up my body until his eyes lock on mine.

“No.” His tone is firm, but he doesn’t elaborate. My stomach flips with nerves, and I nod, biting on the corner of my lip.

“Do you…want to watch a movie?”

A shrug. “Sure.”

“What do you want to watch?”

“You pick.”

I look around for Dash’s remote before finding it underneath a sock and start flipping through the channels. I stand in front of the TV awkwardly, not knowing if I should take my spot on the floor or join him. Asher pats the bed next to him, seeming to sense my hesitation.

“I won’t bite, Bry.”

I sit next to him and settle on one of my favorite movies. No matter how many times I’ve seen it, I always have to watch it when it’s on.

“Really? Tombstone?” Asher cracks a real smile at that.

“Hell yes. It’s my favorite.”

“I’ll be your huckleberry,” he says, quoting the movie.

“Shut up.” I give a weak smile, still feeling helpless in this situation, but I toss a pillow at him in an effort to appear unfazed.

“Shit!” he growls, bringing his hands up to his face.

“Oh my God! I’m an idiot! I’m so sorry!” I say, crawling over to his side of the bed, feeling terrible for already forgetting.

“Are you okay?” I ask, prying his hands away, but when I do, he’s laughing.

“Jerk,” I huff, turning away, but he grasps my wrists and flips me onto my back. His body hovers over mine.

“I’m sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “But you were looking at me like my dog just died. I had to do something to lighten the mood.”

He still has my hands pinned above my head, and he’s close enough that I can smell his spearmint gum and the faint trace of cigarettes.

“I worry about you,” I admit, not making any effort to escape. His eyes clench shut, like it physically pains him to hear those words.

“Don’t,” he says. “The last thing an angel like you should be doing is worrying about a fuck-up like me.”

“You’re not a fuck-up. And I’m no angel.”

Asher drops his forehead, rolling it against my own.

“You are,” he insists, his lips trailing from my cheek down to my ear, leaving goose bumps in their wake. “And this is the last fucking thing I should be doing with you.”

“What are you doing with me?” I whisper.

“Touching you,” he says, rubbing my wrists with his thumbs. A small noise slips from my mouth, and he lowers his body onto mine. Instinctively, my legs part to make room for him. He groans once he fits his hips between them.

“I need to leave,” he says, his voice thick and strained.

I lick my lips, mustering up all the courage I can when I ask, “Can I kiss you?”

He makes a pained noise, but he doesn’t deny me. He presses his lips to the skin just beneath my ear, then he trails his lips back across my cheek, down to my chin, and finally, his mouth is on mine. I’ve kissed a few boys, even though Dashiell, Asher, and Adrian, have done their best to run them off, but this is so much more than just a kiss. At least, for me it is.

Asher licks the seam of my lips before tugging the bottom one into his mouth. He sweeps his tongue inside, and tentatively, mine flicks out to tangle with his. I don’t know what I’m doing, but he must like it, because his hips flex, grinding into me. I feel him harden beneath his jeans, and I spread my legs further, wanting more, more, more. I pull my hands out of his grasp and bring one to the back of his neck, kissing him harder. The friction between my legs is something I’ve never experienced, and I don’t think anything could stop me from chasing this feeling. I feel it building, much more intense than anything I’ve ever done alone in the privacy of my bedroom. I wrap my legs around his back and rock into him, uncaring of seeming too eager.