Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“Now, do you think it’s a good idea we . . . came here?”
It’s the best idea ever, I want to shout.
But there’s no way I can speak without sounding like an overeager teenager who just discovered his first X-rated video. I simply nod, though I can’t hide the smile that’s taking over my face.
I, Mark Banks, am on a sex errand.
My lips twitch and they don’t stop.
“Ah, so errands do get you hot?” Asher teases.
I tug at my T-shirt. “A little.”
He stares at my neck, then his eyes sweep down my body, landing at my crotch. “A lot.”
I just nod several times, giving in. “Yeah. A lot,” I say, and I’m in a trance.
But a question hangs over my head. How exactly are we doing it?
Like I did last night when I asked him to dance, I dive into the deep end. “Asher,” I ask, in front of the extra-large condoms, since that seems fitting. “What you said in the car yesterday about not being a control freak. Were you alluding to . . .”
Asher laughs. “Yes, I was.”
And I should know how to do this. This is a negotiation, after all. But I have no clue how this works.
Something else nags at me, though. I don’t know exactly what I want in bed either when it comes to . . .
So I’m quiet because I don’t want to say the wrong thing.
Maybe sensing I need him to handle the conversational reins, he takes them and speaks again. “Let me help you. Do you want to know if I’ll top or bottom?”
Just hearing him ask the question fuels me. I have to know. I have to say those words to him. “Well? Will you?”
He strips away the teasing from his tone. “Like I said yesterday, I’m good with anything. What about you? Do you want to fuck me or do you want me to fuck you?”
Images of us tangled together flash before my eyes. I drag a hand along the back of my neck. I am lava. “All of the above. I think.”
He brandishes the box of protection. “Then we really should buy these right now. And some top-shelf lube.”
“We should,” I agree, as he reaches for a bottle. There’s an issue though. “Trouble is, I don’t think I can move for a while.”
He smiles slyly. “So you really do like my big charm?”
I like it so much, it’s frying my brain cells. I’m a starving man at an incredible feast. Asher’s offering me everything and anything, and I can pick and choose at the buffet of his body.
“Sometimes,” I say, lying and he knows it.
He leans in and I expect him to say all the time. But he doesn’t. Instead, he whispers, “Je te veux tellement.”
I don’t know French. But I have a feeling that means something like I want you.
It also means he’s figured out his French turns me on.
“Same,” I mutter.
He brushes his lips along my jaw, stopping at my ear, taking his time with each word, letting them last. “Alors, prends-moi et fais de moi ce que tu veux . . .”
What the hell did he just say? I try to repeat it in my head, to make it stick.
I pull back. “What was that?”
His eyes glimmer with taunts. “Bet you’d like to know.”
I simmer. “You multilingual fucker.”
His gaze drifts down my body again. “Je te l’ai déjà dit, Banks. Tu peux me faire tout ce dont tu as envie.”
Once more, I try to press the words into my brain. Memorize them.
Then he waggles condoms and lube. “I’ll buy these, and you can meet me at the car.”
Asher turns and walks away, leaving me with my erection, my filthy thoughts, and my white-hot desire for the other best man.
A minute later—who am I kidding? It takes five for my dick to settle to walkable levels—I make it to the car.
Aviator shades on, Asher leans against the hood, cool and casual, tossing the keys in his palm. “Want me to take the wheel?”
“Yes.”
I spend the rest of the drive in Google translate, ignoring messages and notifications, desperately trying to unlock the puzzle of what he said.
I plug in every possible combination of sounds and words, and finally, when we pull up at the house, I’m pretty sure I’ve got it.
Pretty sure, too, I might pounce on him in seconds flat.
He cuts the engine, and I follow him inside, driven solely by my desire to get his clothes off, stat.
When we reach the pool, I clear my throat, take a stab at translating that line of French he spoke to me back in the store, the one after the I want you bit. “Then, pin me down and have your way with me . . .”
Asher turns around, a throaty rumble escaping his mouth, approval in his eyes. “Well done, Banks,” he says, and I stalk over to him, peel off his shirt, toss it on the concrete, then run my hands along his smooth, sun-kissed skin.