Then she moves my hand down to her thigh, to the vertical scar there.

But then I glance up into her eyes, and I see fear and pain and the trust her actions are hinting at, and I can’t look away. “Scars aren’t ugly,” I say.

She bites her lip. My mouth goes dry.

“You’re...” I can’t find words. I’m not good with them. But I have to tell her the truth. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Her cheeks flush, and her eyes sparkle.

My hand slides up her silky thigh, between her legs. I stroke my thumb over the lace and she shudders. God, this girl sets my blood on fire. I have to finish what I started at her apartment.

Will she stop me? She looks amazing in her black underwear, giving me glimpses of what I know is underneath. I remember the taste, the feel of her br**sts in my mouth.

I grab her waist and steer her toward the table. Her eyes are wide as I lift her, sit her on the edge, and tug down her panties.

God, she looks amazing.

“Open for me,” I whisper, and the flush spreads on her neck and the mounds of her br**sts. I place my hand on top of her leg, then slip it down between her legs, to the soft, red curls there.

“Ash...” She’s breathing hard, her br**sts rising and falling.

Losing control now is easy—and I shouldn’t. I want to give her pleasure. I need to taste her, touch her, hear her cry out my name.

No girl has ever made me feel this way before.

She shudders when I tease her seam with my forefinger and splays her legs wider, giving me access. Swallowing a groan, I press my finger inside of her.

Slick and warm and wet.

“Take off your bra,” I say through gritted teeth. I’ve never had trouble keeping myself back before, but I feel I’m going to come in my pants as if I were twelve or something.

At first I think she’ll resist my demands. That she’ll chicken out, that I’ve gone too far. I long to undress her, but I don’t want to stop what I’m doing—touching her where she throbs, where she’s burning with desire.

But she reaches behind and unclasps her bra, tugs off the straps and lets her beautiful br**sts spill out.

My mouth is dry as the desert. Shit. I have to focus on her. This isn’t about me. I want to give, not take for once. Show her she comes first.

Make her come first.

“I’m going to taste you now,” I say and she whimpers, her legs shaking. “Lie back, on your elbows.”

I plan on making her scream with pleasure.

Chapter Eleven

Audrey

Ash’s blue eyes nail me, dark with arousal. He can’t seem to catch his breath, and his finger keeps stroking me where I burn with need.

It’s Ash. Ash, with his square jaw and soft mouth, his shiny dark hair tousled and silky¸ his shoulders wide and muscled.

I need him. I’m nearly going mad with desire. I burn and shiver and my whole body is one heartbeat, from the top of my head, to my br**sts, all the way low in my belly.

And he looks at me like he knows—he’s fully aware of what he’s doing to me, how I want him. Flashing me a confident grin, he lets his gaze roll over my n*ked body, lingering on my br**sts until I’m about to scream with frustration.

“Please,” I murmur. I remember how he licked them and sucked on them, and the memory’s enough to turn the heat up.

His finger flicks over my cl*t and I gasp, my legs opening wider. I want him inside me.

But he’s still fully dressed and although his erection bulges, he doesn’t seem inclined to undress. And before I can ask him to, beg if I have to, he drags a chair closer, sits and places both of his hands on my inner thighs, spreading me.

It’s an odd feeling—the cool air hitting my most private, throbbing parts—but then his tongue laps at me, rough and hot.

Undoing me.

I fall back on my elbows, my br**sts tingling, ripples of pleasure shooting up from where he’s holding me and torturing me so perfectly. I moan, needing more.

And he gives me more. His fingers slide inside my core, pressing and stroking, and I can’t stop the cry building up in my throat. I’m so close.

He looks up at me and presses his mouth more firmly, eating me up, as his fingers f**k me harder.

“Ash!” I shudder and shake as lightning pleasure goes through me, waves and waves of it, hitting me one after the other, shattering me. I sob for breath, and he still licks at me, still touches me, prolonging my orgasm, wringing every last drop of it, until I fall back on the table, limp and drained.

I wanted him inside me, but god this was mind-blowing. My body sings with pleasure, and my every muscle is lax and heavy.

Arms slip under my back, under my knees, lifting me. No energy is left in me. I wrap an arm around Ash’s neck and let him do what he pleases with me.

Boy likes carrying me. I could get used to that. Could get used to his deep smell, the warmth of his skin, the feel of his strong muscles, the way tendons bulge on the side of his neck.

“Auds...” he whispers.

Yeah, I could also easily get used to the way he speaks my name, low and full of desire.

He sits down on the sofa, on the sheets where he sleeps, keeping me on his lap. He holds me, his arms like steel around me, his face buried in my hair. He’s still fully hard; I can feel his erection against my leg.

“I’m sorry,” he says against my skin.

“What for?” My body feels liquid, draped all over him.

“Ignoring you back in school after we kissed.”

I nod. I still don’t really get it. He went through some rough times, I know that now, but still... “It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not. I screwed up.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I understand.”

“No,” he says, “you don’t.” His heart booms. Whatever he’s about to say is hard for him. “Dad knew I liked you. He said he’d go talk to you, tell you what a f**k-up I am. God, Auds, the thought of him coming anywhere near you...” He presses his lips together.

Oh dear god. His dad is such an ass**le. “I’m so sorry,” I say. “And you’re here now.” I thread my arms around his neck. “We’re here. We’ll be fine.”

He sighs, cradles me closer. Then his hand drifts down my arm and moves to my breast, lightly touching. Making me throb with need again.

He lowers me until I sit on the sofa and leans over me, his mouth closing over mine, his tongue teasing my lips.

Oh god, this is crazy. I came by to show him my scars, to let him know it worked. Showing me his scars made me trust him again. It also gave me a glimpse into his life and made me understand him more. It’s a step in the right direction, and I wanted to let him know that.

The transition from that part to this is blurry. One moment I’m showing him my ugly scars, and the next he’s going down on me—and now he’s doing it again.

Driving me insane with need. For him.

My hands fumble with his shirt and I manage to snag the hem and tug. This time he helps me, grabbing it and tearing it off.

Jeez, this boy’s chest should be illegal. My hands smooth over his six pack, his firm pecs, the grooves at his hips. His hardness presses between my legs and his lashes flutter against his cheekbones.

“Wait,” I say.

He glances at me under his lowered lashes. His chest rises and falls rapidly. “God, Auds. I’ll stop if you ask me to, but I don’t want to.”

I sit up, push him back against the cushions. He lets me, sighing, a look of sadness stealing over his features.

Kneeling at his feet, I unbutton his jeans and tug them down. His eyes grow heavy-lidded, pale blue swallowed by black; his pupils blown huge with desire.

Pulling his boots and socks off, I take off his jeans and look up at him. He wears black briefs. He’s so hard, the head of his c**k is peeking over the elastic, and he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s staring at me, his hands clenched by his sides, as if afraid to make a wrong movement and scare me away.

Taking a moment to enjoy the sight—his handsome face, his awesome body—I place my hands on top of his muscular thighs and reach for his briefs.

Tit for tat. His breathing hitches when I pull the briefs down, freeing his erection so that it bumps against his belly.

“Fuck,” he hisses. His c**k is thick and long. Powerful like the rest of him.

He groans when I wrap my fingers around the base and rise on my knees. His eyes dip from my face to my br**sts and then down to my hand on him.

Then I bend over him and the movement seems to snap him from his trance.

“Auds, no.” He puts a hand on my shoulder, gently pushing me backward. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” I say, holding his gaze. “I’ve imagined doing it.”

His eyes widen, then, and he stops pushing me away. His fingers dig into my shoulder.

I don’t have much experience with this. All this. A little known fact, even to Tessa, is that although I’ve had two boyfriends since I moved to Chicago, I’ve barely gone past first base.

Which is probably also the reason they didn’t last long. That, and the fact my boyfriends were bastards, as Tessa often likes to point out.

But deep in my heart, I know the real reason those relationships didn’t last: it’s Ash I’ve always wanted. Surrogates just can’t cut it.

I take him into my mouth, loving how he moans and tangles his fingers in my hair; how he trembles and throws his head back. He tastes salty and sweet, with a hint of bitterness.

When I tighten my fingers around him, when I firm my lips around his girth, when I suck—he pants and groans and tugs lightly on my hair. He’s fascinating.

His eyes fall shut and his teeth grind together when I take him deeper. His face twists in a grimace that looks like pain, but his h*ps roll once, twice, and I know he likes what I’m doing to him. A lot.

It makes me feel good. Makes me feel powerful—like he needs me as much as I need him. I can make him crazy with lust, give him such pleasure he gets lost in it and doesn’t realize he’s pushing my head down to take more of him.

I can’t. Have no idea how, he’s so big.

He opens his eyes when I pull back, looking so confused it’s cute.

And embarrassing. There goes my sense of power and sexy sassiness.

Concern crosses his features. “It’s okay,” he rasps. “Come here.”

I lick my lips and climb up the sofa, settling next to him. He draws me to his chest, an arm around my shoulders. A corner of his mouth lifts.

“You all right?” he asks, his voice husky.

It sends shivers all over me. “Yeah.”

“That felt so good.” His eyes are pale blue slits, and his lips stretch into a full grin. “So f**king good.”

I laugh, smothering the sound against his shoulder. “I was that good, huh?”

“You’re amazing,” he says, his voice suddenly serious.

“You didn’t come, though.”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”

I look down at his erection. It’s rock hard, the head purple, and liquid drips from the small slit. It’s hot. Sexy. Makes my skin burn with desire.

As I watch, his c**k twitches.

“If you keep looking at it like that, you’ll finish me,” he breathes, his voice catching.

“Really?”

He chuckles. “Wanna see?”

I put my hand down, trail a finger up his length. He shudders and more liquid seeps out.

“Yeah,” I say and close my hand around him. “I wanna see.”

He grunts. “Every time you’re near me I get hard,” he whispers. “Just thinking of you, looking at you, smelling you. The sound of your name makes me hard.”

I bite my lip. My face heats up.

“What do you want?” he whispers.