Shattered: An Extreme Risk Novel (20 page)

My knees tremble and I press myself against him, my fingers tightening in his hair in an effort to hold myself up. He groans, deep in his throat and the soft nibbles become a sharp nip that sends shock waves of sensation tearing through me. I cry out, clutch at him, and Ash does it a second time. A third time. Then his tongue darts out and laves at the little stings until all that’s left is a heat that burns all the way to my core.

I bite my lip against the whimper rising inside of me, but it doesn’t work. The high-pitch sound escapes, hangs in the crisp night air all around us. Ash laughs a little, a low, wicked sound that only turns me on more. He kisses his way back across my stomach, lower this time so that his tongue traces along the edge of my mons, before he gives my other hip bone the exact same attention.

It feels good, really good. Shockingly good, considering I’ve never considered my hip bone of any particular erogenous value before. I mean, how could I when up until now they’ve been used for biopsies, my hips used as pincushions for shot after shot after shot, the flesh around them so sore some days that just the feel of the soft cotton of my pajamas sliding over the bruises made me wince. Not to mention how skinny I am, the bone pressing right up against the thin layers of skin grotesquely.

The thought upsets me more than I want it to, yanks me out of the sensual haze Ash has had me in since he first touched me. I shudder, my whole body responding to the dark memories of chemo, of being so sick I couldn’t eat, of the endless pain that burned me alive.

Ash whispers to me as I shiver, soft, soothing words that slide through the nightmare of my past and yank me right back to the present. He moves closer, presses his wide shoulders against me as if to shield me from the cold. Somehow it works, his presence—his warmth—shielding me from all the memories I wish I could forget.

I reach for him then, stroking my fingers down his face, reveling in the sharp, sexy feel of the stubble on his jaw. I play with it for a second, rubbing my fingers back and forth against it, and he groans. Turns his face into my hand and presses hot, open-mouthed kisses against my palm.

At the same time, one of his arms wraps around my waist, his hand so big that when he presses it against me, it covers my lower back and half my ass. He kneads me gently, his fingers rubbing teasingly against the edge of my crack.

It feels good, shocking and strange and totally outrageous, but good all the same. So good that I can’t stop myself from pressing back against the wall, against his hand, and Ash groans again. This time his mouth is poised just above my sex when he makes the sound and his warm expulsion of breath—complete with vibrations from the groan—hits my clit at just the right angle.

The last, lingering thoughts of the hospital, of cancer, of anything and everything, flee. Suddenly, I’m a bundle of sensation, my every nerve ending inflamed, my every cell arching toward him, begging for more. Pleading for as much of this insane, all-encompassing pleasure as he is willing to give me.

It turns out he’s willing to give me a lot. Willing to give me everything. His arm tightens around my hip even as his other hand spreads my legs as far as they can go with the restrictive leggings around my knees. I have a moment, just a moment, to register the rush of cold air against me and then his mouth is there. On me.

And nothing I’ve read, nothing I’ve seen, nothing I’ve ever even imagined could have prepared me for what it feels like to have Ash go down on me.

He starts out gentle, his tongue licking along the outside of my folds, tiny little licks, each
one overlapping a bit with the one that came before it. Over and over again, he covers every inch of me, pausing to play with my clit a couple times—his tongue turning around it in slow circles that make my breath stutter and my eyes cross—before he licks back down in the same soft, gentle, maddening pattern.

“Ash.” His name escapes without my permission. Not that it surprises me. At this exact moment, it feels like there’s no part of my body that actually belongs to me. Instead, it’s all Ash’s. Ash’s to touch, Ash’s to pleasure, Ash’s to do with whatever he pleases. Why should my vocal cords be any different?

The thought should terrify me, and maybe it will later, when this is over. But right now, it barely registers. How can it when pleasure is streaking through me, intense, powerful, mind-numbing pleasure.

He kisses me then, hot, open-mouthed kisses against my sex, my mons, my clit. My knees tremble and my hands shake as my whole body slams into overload. I clutch at him, pulling his hair, arching against him, begging him for more. For everything.

Ash curses, soft and low, and his breath is hot against me. It ratchets up the tension inside me, the ache that’s building a little more with each second that passes.

I can’t think, can’t see, can’t breathe. All I can do is feel.

Feel Ash in front of me, touching and kissing and licking me.

Feel the heat slamming through me like a comet.

“I need … I need … I need …” It’s all I can think, all I can say, those two words the mantra of everything going on inside of me.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

And then he gives me what I didn’t even know I needed, long, hot licks against my sex that make me cry out. Make me clutch at him. Make me clench around the emptiness inside of me as his tongue explores every part of me.

He lingers at my clit for long minutes, his tongue spinning slow, lingering circles around and around it. He pauses every once in a while to flick across the top—once, twice, a third time—before going back to the circles that are driving me out of my freaking mind.

I’ve never felt anything like this before, never imagined that it was possible to feel anything like this. I mean, sure, I’ve experimented a few times in the shower, or in bed late at night, just to see what other girls were so crazy about. But nothing I did to myself ever came close to feeling like this.

Being touched by Ash is like being touched by the sun. I’m basking in his warmth even as he burns me alive. And I can’t even complain. For all the agony, all the desire, all the aching need clawing its way through me, I wouldn’t change a thing. It just feels so good.

And then he does it, something I never expected, something I never even thought people
did. He slides his tongue deep inside me, twirls it lazily against the walls of my pussy as his thumb comes up to rub at my clit.

“Ash!”

His hands pet at me soothingly, even as his tongue continues to slide in and out of me in a rhythm that has me gasping and shaking and clutching at him. I hold his shoulders tight, press myself against him, because in this moment—with the wall of the resort rough against my back and the dark, star-dotted sky spread infinitely out in front of me—it feels like Ash is the only thing keeping me grounded. The only thing keeping me from flying into a million pieces.

And I’ve spent so long fighting it, so long trying to keep myself together through cancer and chemo, through certain death and now unexpected life, that the idea of losing it, of shattering, terrifies me more than I know how to explain, even to myself.

Except Ash is there, and he’s touching me, holding me, bringing me closer to an edge I barely understand and am not sure I want to fling myself off of. But I don’t know that I have a choice either, because his mouth feels so good,
he
feels so good.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers, the words hot against my sex. “I’ve got you, Tansy. I’ve got you, baby.”

His hands tighten on my ass, grounding me even as his tongue spears deep inside me again. It’s what I need, the reassurance along with the pleasure, the concern along with the sex. Even if it doesn’t mean anything, even if it’s only for this moment, it doesn’t matter. It’s enough.

I shatter, my body breaking into a million, beautiful pieces as feelings unlike anything I’ve ever imagined rip through me. “Ash!” I cry his name, my fingers clawing at his shoulder as he licks me through it, taking me higher, higher, higher, straight into the stars that shine so brightly above our heads.

And then it’s done and I’m falling back to earth, piece by jagged piece. And Ash is still there, putting them—putting me—back together again.

God. She’s trembling, shaking, her whole body limp against mine and all I really want to do is hold her. Well, that and strip her naked and plunge inside of her. But since that second choice isn’t actually an option tonight, I settle for tugging Tansy’s leggings back into place and then folding her into my arms.

Lately it’s been that when the deed is done, I just walk away—it’s easier on both of us that way. But with Tansy, I can’t bring myself to do it. I want to take care of her nearly as much as I want to fuck her.

It’s a problem, I know it is—the old Ash would have been all over that, but I’m not that guy anymore. I don’t have time for anything but Logan right now—I owe it to him. And to my parents.

And still, knowing that, believing it with everything I am, I can’t bring myself to turn away from Tansy. I just want to keep her here, against me, for as long as she’ll let me.

She buries her face in my chest, and I can feel the cold of her nose even through my hoodie. “You okay?” I ask. “You want to go back inside?”

She tilts her head, turns wide, pleasure-dazed eyes to me. “But I haven’t—”

Her voice trails off and I try to figure out what she means. I know she came—I felt her fall apart against my mouth. But then she’s reaching for me, her fingers stroking along my dick, and I figure out what she’s getting at.

She’s come, but I haven’t.

I’m not going to lie. Her hands feel good on me, really good, even through the thick fabric of my jeans. For a second, I can’t help myself. I press my hips forward, slide through her hands a couple of times. Fuck, she feels amazing and as she starts to fumble nervously with my zipper, there’s a part of me that wants to let her finish what she’s started.

But again, she’s swaying on her feet—whether from the orgasm or the alcohol, I’m not sure—and I don’t want to take this somewhere she wouldn’t normally let it go. She’s not the snowbunny type, no matter what she’s wearing—or what she said in my kitchen last week.

Which is why, though it costs me, I shift backward, gently pull her hands from my zipper and hold them against my chest instead. “We should probably go back in,” I tell her. “Logan
might wake up and need something.”

It’s the truth, but it’s also an excuse. I’m trying to be noble here, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to turn her down a second time, especially if she’s touching my cock.

“Oh, right.” She bites her lip, looks a little confused. But doesn’t say anything else, or try to touch my dick again. Which is a good thing—or at least, that’s what I tell myself. I only have so much control.

“Come on.” I rub a hand down her back. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s not like it’s a big deal. We’re on the same floor.”

“Oh. Right.” She sounds a little disappointed by that fact, which is strange considering I did just have my tongue inside her. I don’t know what’s wrong, why she went so tense when just moments ago she’d been warm and pliant in my arms. But as we walk awkwardly toward the elevator, I find myself missing the girl I just went down on. The one who sighed and gasped and called my name in a voice so sexy my dick is still hard from it.

We ride the elevator in silence after I try a couple of different gambits only to get shot down. In fact, Tansy doesn’t talk again until we get to her room and then it’s only to say a very stilted, “Thank you” as she swipes her key card and opens her door.

“For what?” I ask, more than a little mystified at this whole turn of events. How she can go from crying out my name to practically ignoring my existence—all in under ten minutes—I don’t know.

“For, you know …” Her voice trails off and she makes a weird gesture with her hand that I have no hope of understanding.

“For …?” I raise an eyebrow questioningly.

She turns bright red. “For, you know.”

I shake my head, still clueless.

“For the orgasm!” she whispers fiercely, glaring at me like it’s my fault for not knowing what she was going to say. But how could I? I’ve been with a lot of girls and none of them has actually thanked me for that before.

Still, it’s kind of charming that she does. And totally endearing, especially with how pink she is. “You’re welcome?” I answer, because really, what else am I supposed to say?

It must be the right answer, because she nods right before she dives into her room and slams the door in my face.

For long seconds, I just stand there, trying to figure out what the fuck happened. Something did, obviously, and I’m wondering if maybe I should apologize, even though I don’t know what for. I mean, she thanked me for going down on her, so that can’t be what’s bothering her, right? So what—

My phone buzzes, interrupting my train of thought. I pull it out, check my texts to find that Logan’s awake and wondering where I am. Shit. I thought he’d be out for the night.

I fire back a quick response, then head down the corridor to the room we share. Figuring out what’s wrong with Tansy’s going to have to wait. Logan needs me.