“Do you see this bullshit?” I snapped, spinning to present my back. “I got these on sale at a department store, and they’re supposed to be high quality. But they use a low thread count fabric that scratches like a hobo with bedbugs, and their cheap-ass clasps dig into your skin like a scalpel if you do anything more physically active than breathing.”
I ran my finger underneath the fabric and lifted the band a little to show him the hook and eye marks that I knew would be imprinted in my back.
Asher let out a sympathetic breath. “Damn, that looks like it hurts.”
“Of course it fucking hurts,” I snapped. “But that’s what you have to deal with when you get something mass-produced, when no one takes the time to understand your unique wants and needs.” I cupped my breasts. “Look at this sorry ass one-size-fits-all foam cup! It’s going to tear the second I put it through the washer. Thanks to that eh-good-enough mentality, I have to use an extender to even get this lingerie on in the first place! And what about these cheap straps that are already fraying?” I snapped the bra straps angrily, and he actually flinched. “And don’t get me started on this sorry excuse for panties, and the shoddy stitching on this elastic.”
As I caught my breath and took in the perplexed expression on Asher’s face, hope rose in my chest: he was finally listening. Maybe I should have been ashamed that I was standing there in my underwear, but instead all I felt was triumph. It seemed like I was actually getting through to him.
“And yours aren’t like this,” he said slowly, nodding as he looked over the samples I had spread on the bed. He ran his fingers down a triangle of embroidered silk, his brows knitting together thoughtfully.
“Hell no,” I shot back. “I take my time. I get accurate measurements, and I use materials that feel good against your skin. So my stuff costs more? Well, it damn well should, because it’s special. It’s not some trick I play on women—it’s a real luxury, that makes a real impact, and the price reflects that.” I grabbed at a metaphor. “A minivan would be more practical than that spaceship you’ve grafted onto a Porsche. So why you do drive it?”
“Because it’s better,” he said, understanding dawning in his eyes as slowly and beautifully as the rising sun. “It handles better, it’s faster, it’s more beautiful. It makes me feel better to have it. It costs more…but it feels worth it.”
“Exactly!” I said.
“Your product is high-end, designer,” Asher went on, the words coming more rapidly now, his eyes lighting up as the ideas began to pour in. He leapt up and grabbed for my hands, a grin splitting his face: “You want a smaller market, a higher price, to be exclusive!”
Ding ding ding we have a winner, give the boy a medal and a microwave oven and an all-expenses paid trip to Hawaii, were the words that I had been planning to have come out of my mouth.
But then I felt the warmth of his hands on mine.
And then I felt the warmth of his breath, panting with excitement, against my skin.
And then I looked deep into those brilliant green eyes, lit up with passion and intensity…
…and I remembered that I was in my bra and panties, alone in a room with a man so hot it was a wonder he didn’t spontaneously combust, and I couldn’t remember a single reason why I wasn’t supposed to kiss him.
Asher’s eyes darkened, pupils dilating as his hand traced up the suddenly tingling skin of my bare arm, and I knew that he couldn’t think of any reasons either.
He leaned forward, the silk of his shirt rustling, the crisp clean smell of his sweat making me clench my thighs together in desire, and I couldn’t let him kiss me, if he kissed me he would win, he would get what he wanted, what he’d assumed was just his for the taking—
And so I kissed him instead.
He grabbed my hips and pulled me into him, growling against my mouth as he kissed me back with a furious need. I bit at his lips, demanding entry, and his tongue teased at my own. My breath caught in my throat as his hand began tracing a line along my abdomen up to my breasts, ghosting lightly over the sheer fabric of my cheap department store lingerie. My nipples hardened and I felt a flush spread over my chest, my skin burning with the need to touch his.
I could feel his hard cock pressed against my thigh as he ground into me, and my own hands slipped down across the powerful muscles of his back to grip the perfectly formed globes of his ass and pull him closer. He groaned, squeezing my breast with one hand as his other slid around to my back, playing with the clasp of my bra, pulling just hard enough to almost snap it loose.