Cinders by Asha King Page A

desperately wanting him to move his hand lower, the memory of how his fingers drew her to climax last time entering her mind unbidden.
    “Is your sweet pussy wet for me, baby?” His breath tickled her ear and she gasped again.
    “Yes,” she breathed out as his hand crept down, over her stomach, beneath the blankets, reaching for the apex of her thighs. She parted her legs as his fingers deftly moved past the borrowed boxers, driving straight to her pussy and waiting slick heat. Her entire body shuddered as he made contact with her clit, pleasure jolting through her. He touched her like he read every sigh, every moan, like he understood exactly what she wanted, what she needed, what she craved. Her hips bucked and he slid one finger into her tight channel, giving her a taste of everything else she wanted. Her body was primed and it wouldn’t take long to come, no matter how she tried to reign herself in again.
    Brennen’s lips moved along her jaw, up her throat, sending shivers through her body. “Remember when I said I want my tongue on you the next time you come?” he whispered against her ear and she gasped.
    “Yes...”
    “I still do. But not until you ask for it.” He slid his hand from her pussy and eased her onto her back, gazing down at her.
    Gina reached for him, ran her hands up his exposed chest, the hard muscle a contrast to his smooth skin. His hips settled between her thighs and with blinding intensity the thought of him there, naked, thrusting between her thighs, entered her mind and she couldn’t let it go. His chest was tanned and sculpted, her fingers lightly trailing over his pecs. When her finger brushed his nipple, he took in a sharp breath; the sound brought a rush of pleasure to her, the thought of him responding to her touch like that, like he enjoyed it. She took her time, feeling corded muscle, soft skin, and the fine dark hairs smattered across his chest and pointing down between his trim hips. Everything about him was beautiful—what in the hell he was doing with her, she didn’t know and didn’t dare ask.
    Brennen leaned over her, kissing her temple, her nose, her lips. “I want to see you.”
    Her body iced over and eyes closed, wincing. If he saw all of her, he would see that . God, she couldn’t bear the thought.
    But he made no move to do anything else. “Only if you want me to.”
    Little by little, she urged the tension back and forced her eyes open.
    He stared down at her with kind, gentle dark eyes. He was asking and he wasn’t making her do it. And he genuinely seemed to want it.
    At last Gina nodded, her eyes big, chest rising and falling with each breath.
    Brennen sat back, still settled between her thighs, his gaze sweeping over her clothed torso once before his hands grasped the hem of her borrowed T-shirt. With painstaking care, so she felt every second of it, he worked the cotton up and off, tossing it to the floor beside the bed.
    There was nothing about her figure worth paying attention to—her breasts were barely handfuls, bare to him now with her bra in the laundry. Her dark skin quivered with each breath, arms crossed over her torso.
    Then she knew, he saw . She felt the shift in the air when he studied her right side, the slightly paler uneven flesh that ran for several inches. His fingers traced the pattern, frowning a moment as if pieces were falling into place for him, and he looked up at her again.
    “Don’t ask,” she requested, wavering on the edge and wanting to put her shirt back on and run.
    But Brennen nodded and kissed her, gentle but firm, seeming to work his lips deliberately until she began to relax again and momentarily forgot the scarring now apparent to him. He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, her jaw, moving lower over her neck, to the sensitive flesh over her collarbone. His hands slid up her sides, taking a breast in either one and fingers moving in a slow, seductive caress that had her panting. Her pussy throbbed and legs