Under Pressure(28)

His fingers threaded through her hair, the warmth of his palm cupping the base of her neck. His thumb beneath her chin, Asher applied pressure until she looked up at him.

She’d been avoiding his gaze, but now she couldn’t. He looked the way she felt...somber. And she hated herself a little for ruining the moment.

Asher tugged on her hand, pulling her across the room until they were both settled on the couch. The TV came on, some mindless show neither of them particularly cared about.

He stretched his legs out and positioned Kennedy between his open thighs. She dropped her head back against his chest.

She’d dated, had a few boyfriends over the years. But none of them had ever made her feel this...safe. Accepted. Protected.

A knot twisted in her belly. Why did she have to find this now, when her entire life was about to change?

She’d watched friends—from high school and college—change their dreams and plans because of a man. And she’d always promised herself that was something she’d never do. Any man who wanted her would accept her life the way she lived it.

Maybe, finally, she was beginning to understand.

Because in that moment, if Asher had asked her to stay, she might have agreed.





15


GOD, HOLDING HER like this, snuggled up on the couch watching mindless television, it would be so easy to let Kennedy into his life.

But that wasn’t possible.

When Krista had left, he’d promised himself he’d never open himself to that kind of pain again. But it was entirely possible Kennedy had the ability to hurt him a hell of a lot worse than Krista ever had.

He was in over his head. Walking out of the airport, he’d known he needed to let her go. It was the logical time to end things. And that’s what he’d planned to do.

But when push had come to shove, he hadn’t been able to do it.

His palms had started sweating, and his mind had raced. His heart had pounded, and a sick sludge had churned deep in his belly. Until he’d touched her, and then all those symptoms had disappeared.

Having her here, in his home, felt right.

He wanted Kennedy in his bed. His physical need for her was overwhelming and elemental.

Asher’s fingers played over her body, tripping softly along her skin. There was something powerful about the way she melted against him, trusting him with her body as she relaxed.

Kennedy shivered, his fingers dancing across her skin, slipping inside the neckline of her shirt. She’d worn a pair of tiny white shorts that showed off her tanned legs. And a cotton shirt with a muted floral print and small white buttons up the front.

He paused at the first one, giving her a chance to tell him to stop before he popped it free. Instead, she arched against him, offering up her body for anything he wanted to do.

Making quick work, Asher spread her shirt open, revealing the light pink bra beneath and the silver clasp holding it closed between her breasts.

Her hands settled on the inside of his thighs, and through the fabric of his shorts, her fingernails scraped softly up and down. Twisting, her lips found the underside of his jaw and kissed. Nipped. Sucked.

Asher popped the catch, letting her breasts spill free into his waiting palms. Her nipples were already tight, begging him for attention. Rolling one between his thumb and forefinger, he relished the way her breath caught.

He wanted to go slowly with her, but his hands were already shaking, and he didn’t think he had it in him. Not right now. Maybe later, after that first sharp edge of need had been dulled.

Lifting her high, he placed her feet on the floor and quickly pulled the rest of her clothes off, revealing her luscious body. She stood in front of him, hands braced on his shoulders, and watched him.

Spreading his thighs wide, Asher pulled her into the open V and rained kisses across her skin. She swept her fingers into his hair and tugged, not enough to hurt but enough to get his attention.

Dropping his head back, he stared up at her and waited. There was something in the way she watched him, hope, fear and hesitation all mixed together.

He was about to reach for her clothes when she gripped the back of his shirt in her fist and pulled it off over his head. Lifting his hips, he helped her open the front of his shorts and push them out of the way, grabbing a condom out of his wallet before tossing them away.

Her hands trailed across his body, as if she couldn’t stop touching him. As if she’d never get enough. If only that were true. A few short days from now she’d walk away...like every other woman in his life.

Climbing back onto the couch, Kennedy spread her thighs wide, bracketing his hips.

She was soft and fragrant. Warm and welcoming.

The heat of her sex rubbed against his throbbing erection. She was wet, the evidence of her desire leaving him slick.

Sweeping his hands through her hair, Asher pulled it back, wanting to see her face, watch her expression. And there was something there. Something deep inside those whiskey eyes that made his throat tighten and chest ache even as she reached between them, guiding him to the entrance of her body.

Slowly, she sank down, taking him deep. Asher’s eyelids closed, blocking out everything except the pure feel of her.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how perfect you feel,” he growled, his hands on her flexing to bring her closer.

He held them both still for several seconds, simply soaking up their connection. The warmth of her broken, passion-saturated breaths. Her spicy, sweet scent filling him up. He wanted to savor this. Her. Them.

But Kennedy wasn’t content with that. Her hips began to move, and Asher was powerless to fight the friction and rhythm she was creating.

He followed her pace, enjoying the freedom to run his hands across her body, to suck her nipples into his mouth. He could feel her tighten, muscles clamping around him deep inside her body.

They were both panting, quickly reaching the edge of patience, wanting more. Asher’s hands were on her hips, urging her faster, harder. The soft sounds of her whimpers roared through his head. Her body trembled against him. God, he loved it when she trembled with need, searching for the relief only he could give her.

But tonight, he wanted more than an orgasm, no matter how mind-blowing it might be.

“Look at me,” he said.

Kennedy’s eyes popped open, glowing tawny brown, and immediately found his. Chest to chest, so close, there was no avoiding the emotions building between them, right along with the impending orgasm.

There was no hiding. Asher might feel the most vulnerable in his entire life, but in that moment, he wasn’t the only one open and bare.

What he saw in Kennedy’s gaze gave him a burst of hope. She wanted him. Felt something for him, the same deep connection he’d been desperately fighting.

Maybe, maybe...

The thought spiraled away, along with the crash of Kennedy’s release. Her body clamped hard around him. His hips bucked against hers, even as she ground down against him, milking every speck of pleasure from the moment.

Her lips opened, sighed a single word...his name.

The way she looked, lost in ecstasy, his name on her lips...it was too much. His own body shuddered and then exploded, everything spilling out with several deep, hard thrusts that left him spent.

At some point her fingers had tangled in his hair. Her heated skin pressed against him, but he never wanted her to move.

If he could, Asher would stay in that moment forever.

But reality slowly encroached. Somewhere behind them, Max perked up from his spot on the floor, the tags on his collar jingling an alert that came about thirty seconds too late.

The side door, the one all of his friends used to walk straight into his place, opened and slammed shut.

And a voice rang out, “Hey, man, what’s Kennedy’s car doing in your driveway?”

* * *

OH SHIT.

Kennedy barely had time to react, her brain still cloudy from what she and Asher had just shared. But she didn’t really need to do anything because the minute her brother’s voice sounded, Asher was in motion.

She was off his lap, on her feet, and the shirt he’d been wearing not an hour ago pulled over her head and dangling past her thighs.

Asher was zipping up his shorts when Jackson crossed the threshold into the room and stopped mid-stride.

Her brother’s quick gaze swept across the scene, taking in every little detail that told a story difficult to misinterpret.

A crease wrinkled the spot right between his eyebrows. His words were slow and deliberate when he asked, “What the hell is going on?”

Part of her expected Asher to distance himself, to put as much space between them as humanly possible. Instead, he stepped right up to her, his chest to her back, and wrapped a possessive arm tight around her.

The frown tugging at Jackson’s lips deepened as he rounded the couch. He didn’t stop until he was looming over her, face-to-face with Asher.

“She’s my sister,” he growled.

Asher applied pressure, urging her to the left, out from between the two of them.

“I’m aware of that,” he said, his voice low and even. “But it isn’t what you think.”

“No? So I’m wrong in assuming one of my best friends, a guy I’ve bled with and fought with, just got finished screwing my sister?”

Kennedy watched the blood drain from Asher’s face. And then it all flooded back, burning red with anger and indignation.

Crap.

The last thing she needed was for Asher to lose his temper and deck Jackson.

And she refused to be the reason these two friends came to blows. Especially now that she understood just how important Jackson and Knox were to Asher, how alone he would be without these brothers.