The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7)(100)

I suddenly knew why the French called this the little death, because I’d certainly just passed through a whole other realm of existence.

Seriously. Best orgasm ever.

I stared up at the tiled ceiling of Asher’s basement apartment, not sure how I was supposed to go on from here. Life as I knew it had just altered completely.

“Damn, you look so good right now,” he murmured in one of those smugly satisfied male voices when he sat up.

I slid my gaze to him, not sure how he could call me beautiful when I was still half deceased, not yet fully resurrected from my little death. But his grin only grew as our gazes met. Oh, yeah, he knew exactly what he’d just done to me. Then he went and cockily wiped the back of his hand over his red, swollen lips. Beautiful, magical lips that housed the most perfect tongue ever.

I whimpered and my sex quivered wanting him back on me.

But Dios mío. Who knew Asher Hart would turn out to be a freaking sex god?

Still riding my high, I grinned as he stooped over me, licking my erect nipples playfully as he leaned past me to reach for his nightstand and pull open the top drawer. My body lit up, realizing he was searching for a condom. Oh, goody. I glowed in eagerness. More sex.

Then he sat up, a familiar box in hand with my own handwriting on the outside, the words Use Me Please written out with a smiley face beside them. I glowed, happy to see he hadn’t used any yet and was struggling to tear open the box.

It took him a second to see my message, and when he did, he stilled, his determined smile falling.

“Shit,” he whispered to himself as this crestfallen depression blanketed his expression.

Realizing he was remembering his promise to me—boy-me—I gulped, suddenly not so glowy. I was making him feel guilty.

The last thing I wanted to do was cause him any distress. This was all on me. The guilt should be mine, mine alone. Not his. He’d done nothing wrong.

Damn it, what had I done to my beautiful, sweet Asher?

Reaching up, I cupped his face, trying to convey that he was innocent, guilt-free, and fine. His tormented gaze moved to me.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I promised a very good friend I wouldn’t do this.”

Tears rushed to my eyes, not only because I hated doing this to him but because he’d called boy-me a very good friend. I sat upright and rested my cheek against his, trying to let him know it was okay, I understood. Even though the girl parts of me were throbbing and ready to keep going, I didn’t want to torture him with any undue guilt.

His Asher-smell filled my nostrils and I breathed him in, realizing this was probably the last time I’d ever get to be this close to him. I smoothed my cheek along his, relishing the soft rasp of beard burn I gave myself. I touched my lips to his temple, and he let out a tortured sound as he squeezed his eyes closed.

I pressed my forehead to his and he pressed back, clasping a hand around the back of my neck to keep me from leaving.

“What the hell am I doing?” he bit out harshly to himself, shaking his head back and forth. “This shouldn’t be so hard to stop. I don’t know the first thing about you. You don’t understand a f*cking word I say. And why am I sitting here talking to myself while you’re naked in my bed when I just want to bury myself so deep inside you I can’t remember my own name?”

Opening his lashes, he pulled away and searched my gaze as if he was trying to get inside my head. “And yet,” he murmured. “Whenever I look into your eyes, I feel like there could be more, so much more. Like there could be everything.”

I kissed him. Seriously, there was no helping it. The man couldn’t say shit like that to me and not expect me to molest him senseless. My tongue spiked deep, and he was right there with me, pushing me back onto the mattress and ripping off his shorts before opening the condoms and putting one on with a savage intensity that only made me wetter. Knowing all that intensity would be focused on me soon—inside me—I arched into him, tugging at his shoulders desperately.

Then I glanced down, and my mouth went dry as I watched him roll the non-latex over his length. But shit. He’d been big when I’d spied him limp in the Chicago hotel room. But erect, Asher’s cock was massively enormous. Without a doubt, I’d never had one that big before.

It kind of worried me, and I shied back as he leaned down on top of me. He looked so predatory, I knew I was going to be taken hard, not gently. It thrilled as much as it scared me.

He must’ve sensed my wariness because he paused and crinkled his eyebrows as he looked into my eyes. “What’s wrong?”

I gulped. “Grande.”

“Grande,” he repeated, confused at first. Then his eyes cleared and he translated, “Big.” Then that smug male grin reappeared. “Why, thank you.”

I scowled because I hadn’t been trying to compliment him, the goober. God, he could be such a guy. But then he seemed to realize I was more worried than amazed.

The backs of his fingers feathered across my cheek as he whispered, “Baby, don’t even worry about that. It’ll fit. I promise you.”

Yeah, easy for him to say. He wasn’t about to be impaled by the Empire State Building of male appendages. But then he pressed the head of himself against my opening and I spread my legs wider, eager to be filled despite his size, because damn it, big suddenly seemed very appealing. My mouth watered as he thrust forward, and the delicious feel of my inner walls stretching, and then stretching some more, to accommodate him had me moaning, “Yes! Yes!”