nipple.
“Oh my gods,” the moan fumbles from my lips.
I know I should stop—make him stop—before I end up releasing all of the energy swirling inside me, but I can’t think past the haze clouding my mind as he nips and sucks, his hands wandering all over my sides. I can barely comprehend anything except the feel of his lips and the wonderful sensations throbbing through my body. And then, all of those sensations collide and pulsate through me in a giant wave. I dig my fingernails into his back as I struggle to hold on yet let go.
But I finally let go.
Fly away up to the fucking stars.
By the time I return back to reality, Asher is kneeling between my legs and staring down at me. His eyes are wild, and he’s breathing raggedly.
“I don’t … I need to fucking breathe for a moment,” he whispers, but I think he’s talking to himself.
He’s all riled up, his scarred chest moving as he struggles to breathe.
Those scars on his chest … He never did tell me where they came from.
I reach up and brush my fingertips across a small, round scar on the center of his tattooed chest. “Where did these come from?”
He swallows hard. “My father.”
Sadly, I’m not that surprised, with all the horrible stuff I’ve heard about Asher’s father.
Swallowing hard, I move my fingers downward to the next scar. “What about this one?”
He carries my gaze. “What do you think?”
“Your father did it to you,” I say quietly, brushing my thumb along it.
He gives a small nod. “This would probably be the part where I explain what a terrible creature he is, but I think you already know that.”
“I do.” I move my fingers down to the next scar and then the next.
They’re like a map of his painful past, each one marking all the pain he’s suffered. “I didn’t even realize genies could scar until I saw these on you.”
He swallows shakily. “I … We only can when we’re harmed by magic.”
I glance up at him. “He hurt you with magic?”
He nods, his gaze searing into me. “It was a long time ago. I got over it.”
He sure doesn’t seem like it, something I note as he shivers when I touch a scar located on his lower abdomen.
“Does that one hurt?”
He shakes his head from side to side. “No. Not at all. In fact, there’s not a single ounce of pain inside my body right now.”
Then why does he seem in pain?
I trace my fingers back and forth along the bottom of his abs, right above the waistband of his jeans.
“Little thief,” Asher warns, circling his fingers around my wrists.
I look at him confusedly. “You said it didn’t hurt.”
“The scars don’t.” He’s tense, his muscles all raveled up. “The touching, however, is becoming more painful by the second.”
“Oh.” I resist a hurt frown as I start to withdraw my fingers.
He must see the hurt on my face because he holds my hand in place, keeping my palm pressed against his lower abs. “It’s not painful in the way that you’re thinking … I love you fucking touching me. It’s just that …” He wavers while chewing on his pale blue lips. “It’s turning me on a little too much.”
My lips form an O, and my gaze unintentionally lowers to his crotch. Through his pants, I can see how hard he is, and that makes my heart rate increase even more.
I’m not certain why I do what I do next. Maybe because I want to see what one feels like, or maybe it’s because he got all bossy with me earlier when he touched me and I want to take back the upper hand. Whatever the reason, I find myself letting my hands drift to the waistband of his jeans and then underneath them.
I smash my lips together as my fingertips brush against him. “It’s so hard.” I immediately bite down on my tongue.
Oh my gods, did I seriously just say that?
He tries to laugh, but the noise is strangled. “Yeah, it definitely is.”
“Does it still hurt?” I ask, meeting his gaze.
He shakes his head, his eyelids lowering. “No. It feels good—”
“Um …” a voice slices through the moment.
Asher jerks back and spins around, looking over at the doorway where Maxton is now standing.
Maxton’s gaze slides from his brother to me. Or, well, not me, but my chest—my exposed chest since Asher shredded my corset. I quickly cover myself, my skin flushing. I’d probably die of mortification right there