Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Fuck. No. No, no, no.
This has nothing to do with Lucian.
Maybe spanking just wasn’t Ash’s thing, I justified.
“Let’s try something else,” I blurted, shoving upright.
He released his grip, and I faced him, surprised to find wide-eyed innocence shining back. Ash Killian exuded an aged confidence, but right then, he looked like a boy in his mid-twenties, leaving me to be the woman in charge.
Again.
No.
No, no, no.
I needed to shut it off.
Like a woman drowning, I frantically reached for anything. “You know what? Let’s see what you are capable of. You said you had skills, so let’s see them,” I suggested, my voice edging toward panic.
Maybe if I put him in his comfort zone, he’d find the control I needed him to have.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. C’mon. Or are you not as good as you promised?” I goaded.
The curious innocence faded, replaced by the dark smirk everyone swooned for. He stepped closer, resting his hand on the curve of my waist—the sensation no less discomforting. The smooth skin of his jaw distracted me. The lush curve to his lips was too full.
Focus, Aspen.
I dropped my gaze to his neck, hoping the innocuous body part wouldn’t hold my attention too tightly. But even as his hand coasted up my ribs, I couldn’t stop wishing for a formal black collar against rugged flesh.
Just as his hand reached the edge of my breast, he leaned in to kiss me.
“No,” I shouted, jerking back.
He immediately stopped, his hands lifting as high as his brows. His shocked face embodied the chaos tugging away at my insides. His obvious confusion mixed with my own. I needed…I needed…less.
“You know what, let’s stick with our usual,” I suggested, turning and bending over the couch.
“You sure?” he asked. “We can just hang out if you want.”
“I’m sure, and we can hang out after.” I needed to be sure. Maybe I couldn’t recreate the same situation from last night, but I could still prove that I relaxed with Ash. I could still prove that Lucian wasn’t the key to letting go. Maybe I’d set the timer for six minutes this time—or not at all. Maybe that was it.
The whirr of his zipper sounded. The condom wrapper crinkled. His hands grazed my thighs, tugging my skirt up. His fingers hooked around my panties to pull them down. His hands gripped my hips. The head of his cock brushed against my opening.
My thighs clenched.
Let go, let go, let go.
My shoulders cinched tight around my neck.
This isn’t right.
My chest squeezed, preventing any air from reaching my lungs.
Something isn’t right.
He started to push in, and I jerked away. “Wait. No. I can’t.” I whirled around, tugging my clothes back in place. One glance at his concerned gaze, and I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asked softly, refastening his pants.
“Yeah.” Except I shook my head, and my voice spiked with a manic edge.
“Aspen.”
“Seriously. I’m totally okay,” I pushed, opening my eyes, and adding a too-wide smile.
“Aspen…” He sighed and his shoulders dropped, offering a much more normal and understanding smile than my insane one.
“Listen, okay. It’s just…” I stumbled, rubbing my hand over my face, trying to find the words. “It’s not you. It’s me. I swear.”
He leaned back with a soft laugh. “That’s shocking, since most women claim it’s my fault.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said with a soft laugh of my own.
“Okay, let’s just…take a step back,” he suggested, buckling his belt.
I sighed. “Yeah, I think that’s good.” I took a deep breath, trying to process the emotions rolling through me.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He leaned against the back of the couch beside me with crossed arms and legs.
“Ugh. Not really.”
He stood in silence, knowing something happened and waiting me out because we always ended up talking.
“I don’t even know what to say.” Because I couldn’t figure out how I got there. Once I opened the door, I lost all sense of reason and rushed through one action into another until it all spun into a blurry mess.
“Usually, you call me when you need to relax from something. So, what has you so stressed?”
I did. I called him when panic loomed ahead, and I didn’t want to be alone. But I hadn’t been on the edge of anxiety this time. Not really. I’d been confident and prepared to prove a point.
At least, I had when we started.
Now, after each second ticked by, more and more weight bore down on my chest until I struggled to breathe. Each instruction I gave added to the pressure banding around my lungs.
Not only had I needed to take control of a situation I used to let off steam, but I also ended more stressed than when we started. Even when I lost the point of calling him over in the first place and shifted to our familiar routine, my anxiety grew so large I couldn’t move past it. I couldn’t find the usual connection and comfort he gave me.