Stupid! Dumb! Who said that? What I really thought was that once I’d opened my chemise blouse he might forget the promise we’d made. Who would see us? We were in complete privacy now, and while it was only a short ride to his house, as far as I knew, it was enough. Nothing serious, nothing more than this, but I desperately wanted him to want me. Irrational, yes, and impossible. I knew that, and still…
“Oh!” he said, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Yes. That makes sense. Of course.”
Of course? “So, maybe, should I remove this?” I asked. Without waiting, I slipped out of my shirt and tossed it onto the seat next to me. Turning to face him, I inched closer on the smooth leather. “What else is there?” I asked. “If these are sexy pictures, I should remove my skirt, too, right?”
Asher was breathing heavily. I watched him, his chest rising and falling. He swallowed hard and I could see it start at the top of his throat by his Adam’s apple, slowly trailing downwards towards his shirt-clad collarbone.
“This isn’t for Playboy,” Asher said with a hint of amusement. “If those are the types of pictures you want me to take, I can, but it’s not necessary.”
I unzipped the back of my skirt and scooted out of it, letting it drop to the floor. “Do you really think I’m sexy?” I asked him.
“What?” he said.
I was having second thoughts then. A bad time for it, seeing as I was down to my bra and panties, with the useless addition of high heels, but the thoughts remained. “I just… Asher… I don’t think I’m sexy. I really don’t. I don’t think I can do this properly. The pictures aren’t going to come out any good, no matter what. And then what? You’re not going to keep them, are you? I don’t know why I agreed to this.”
Swiftly, surely, he moved close to me. My bare thigh touched the rough cloth of his pants and he lifted his hand up to grab my chin. Making me look at him, though I wouldn’t have looked anywhere else, he leaned forward until our lips almost touched.#p#分页标题#e#
“Jessika,” he said to me. “You are beautiful. You are sexy and amazing and I think every picture I’ve ever taken will pale in comparison to the ones I’ll take of you. But, if you really don’t want to go through with this, I won’t force you. I want to, though. I want to do this. I want you,” he said, and my heart skipped a beat as he paused, “to want this, too.”
He held my chin in his hands, keeping me facing him. I wanted to look away, to turn my eyes down, to hide from him, but he forced me to bare his scrutiny. His cool, blue eyes never wavered, never stopped looking into mine, and I didn’t know if I could stand it much longer. His lips, so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath tickling along my mouth and down, down, towards my throat. So intimate and soft, yet demanding and confident all at once.
“Asher…” I said. I didn’t know what else I would say, but I wanted to feel his name quiver against my lips, to taste it.
“I would love to keep the pictures,” he said. “I would like to keep them so I can see them every day and know that we have made beautiful art together, but they are your pictures and if you want me to dispose of them afterwards then I can.”
“No!” I said hastily. What was I saying no to? “I don’t know. What do I do?”
He moved away. So close, and now so far. I had him for myself, but now I had nothing. He pressed his back against the car door and stared at me long and hard. I sat there, feeling helpless under his gaze, not knowing what to do or why I’d started doing this in the first place.
And then his hands were on me. Without warning, without asking, he eased my back onto the seat. It was large enough to fit the both of us, even with me reclining, my upper body prone. I looked at him, watched him, as he guided me downwards, cradling my shoulders so I wouldn’t fall. I let him move me and place me as he wanted, all the while feeling a thrill of pleasure race through my skin at each of his touches. My heart beat fast, faster.
When he’d finished laying me down, he moved towards my legs. One he placed against the back of the seat, pulling my foot towards his crotch. He put my toes in between his legs and pressed them further so that I could feel the warmth of his rear heating the top of my high heels. The other leg he pressed towards me so that my heel pressed as close to my crotch as I could bring it.
“Put your arms up,” Asher said. “Pretend you’re grabbing your hair, but just reach for it. Barely touch it with your fingertips.”
“What?” I asked. I was so drunk, caught up in the heady pleasure of his touches, that I couldn’t understand a word he said.