Bad Intentions (Bad Love #2)(83)

“Fuck. Stop,” he rasps. I don’t.

“Briar, that’s enough,” he says, pinning my hands to the bed once again, this time using his demanding tone that brooks no argument. But I don’t listen. I tilt my hips up again, and he groans. Before I know what’s happening, I’m flipped over onto my stomach, my arms trapped at my sides by his knees as he straddles me.

“You’re fucking fourteen, Briar. I’m not even in high school anymore, for fuck’s sake.”

“I don’t care,” I say stubbornly. “I’m old enough to know what I want.” My hair is in my face, muffling my words. He brings a finger to my cheek and sweeps the strands behind my ear.

“You have no idea what you want,” he counters. “What you’re asking for.”

His condescending tone makes me feel childish and inferior, and if it wasn’t for the fact that I could feel his want for me digging into my backside, I’d probably feel hurt, embarrassed, and rejected. In a brazen move, I arch my backside and move against him.

“So, show me,” I say, looking over my shoulder at him. His eyes are fixed on my pajama shorts that have ridden up, exposing my cheeks.

“No,” he says harshly. I drop my face into the mattress. God, my brother’s mattress. I’d tell him to take me to my room if I thought for one second he wouldn’t come to his senses and put a stop to this—whatever this is.

He shoves off me, horrified, and sits as far away from me as Dash’s queen bed will allow. “Fuck!” he yells, tugging at his hair. Seeing him like this is enough to make me feel guilty, but not enough to regret anything.

“Why, Asher?” I ask, tears brimming my eyes. “What is so wrong with me?”

When he doesn’t respond, I turn to leave, but Asher lunges for me, snatching my wrist and pulling me back toward him until I’m straddling his lap.

“Briar,” he says, his eyes searching mine, begging me to understand.

“Say what you mean and mean what you say, Ash. I’m not a mind reader.”

“You’re fourteen,” he stresses, as if that’s reason enough. And I suppose it is. But this thing feels bigger than our ages. He’s not some predator. He’s just…Asher.

“Not to mention, my best friend’s little sister. Do you know what I’d do if someone even looked at my little sister sideways?”

“You don’t have a sister,” I point out. “And it’s different,” I insist. I’m not like other girls my age, and I want this. My friend Sophie still plays with Barbies—when no one is looking, of course—and loves One Direction. I like this. This feeling with Asher, right here, right now.

“It’s not. It makes me sick,” he starts, his warm hands smoothing up my back. “It’s not right.”

I push his shoulders, causing him to fall backward, and boldly, I lean down and press my lips to his. At first, he doesn’t react. He simply lies back, allowing me to explore, to kiss and nibble and suck with his hands clenched at his sides. But when he feels my tongue against his lips, seeking entrance, his hands fly to my waist, and he kisses me back. This time it isn’t timid or polite. This kiss feels like war. A battle between right and wrong. Moral and corrupt. Honorable and deplorable.

Asher slides his right hand into my hair and positions us so that we’re both lying on our sides as he continues his assault on my mouth, on my soul. He shifts his body until his leg is wedged between mine, and I can’t help but chase that glorious friction once again. A moan slips free, and I feel him stiffen like he’s about to deny me again. I bring my hands to his cheeks to keep his lips on mine and rock into his thigh.

“Please, Ash. Touch me,” I beg.

“No.”

“Then let me touch you.” I reach for the bulge in his jeans, and he smacks my hand away.

“Fuck no. It can’t go any further than this.”

I could cry tears of disappointment right now.

“Look at me,” he orders, hooking a finger under my chin. “Keep your hands to yourself. If you go for my cock again, I’m gone. Understand?”

I nod eagerly in agreement.

“Goddammit, give me words, Briar.”

“I promise. Just make me feel…that.” I feel my face burn with embarrassment, and the corner of his mouth twitches, like maybe he’d be amused if he weren’t on the verge of jumping over a line that should never be crossed.

Asher plants each of my hands on his shoulders and gives me a searing gaze, silently ordering me to keep them there. I swallow and give a sharp nod, and he places his own hands flat on the mattress by his head, purposely not touching. I press my lips to his, and he reluctantly kisses me back. I start rocking into his leg, powerless to this feeling. Once I find my rhythm, he clasps his hands behind his neck, watching my body move. Seeing him lying back like a king while I grind into his thigh is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Oh my God.” My voice is just above a whisper.

I press myself into him even harder. The new angle has my eyes snapping shut and my head flying back. My movements are becoming sloppy and jerky, and I know I’m close to something epic. Life-changing even. I hear Asher shifting again, but I don’t dare open my eyes. I can feel my wetness leak through my shorts, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if that’s normal. But Asher doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t mind.