The good news was that Ash was getting my expertise before he reached the hangover stage.
The bad news was that I didn't think he appreciated it.
When I started to lift his head to take another glass of water, he caught my wrist and opened a pair of eyes so green, they shouldn’t have been permitted by nature. The fact that they were blood-shot just made the green stand out more.
“You need the water,” I told him, using my best stern sister voice.
In a surprisingly clear voice, he said, “Haven’t you shoved a swimming pool full of it down my throat already?”
I smiled sweetly. “No. Only a wading pool. Now drink.”
To my surprise, he obliged, and then accepted the ibuprofen I gave him.
But the second he sat up, it was damn clear he still wasn’t sober. He swayed a little and I braced myself. If I had to catch him, we’d both go down. I was strong, but there was no way I could handle that much dead weight.
“Just how much have you had to drink?” I asked him.
He squinted at me.
I was almost amused. “Do I need to rephrase the question?”
“No.” He spoke with the clear, careful enunciation of a man who was drunk enough to know he was drunk, but was trying to pretend otherwise. “I’m trying to remember the exact amount. I lost count after the second bar.”
I sighed. “You idiot.” I nodded at his hand. “You hit somebody.”
“Those keen powers of observation will serve you well when you're shrinking people.”
He flexed his hand, frowning down at his scraped knuckles as if he’d never seen his own hand before. In that moment, he looked so lost that I reached out, unable to stop myself, and stroked his hair.
At the exact same moment, he looked up and caught my wrist, our gazes connecting. His thumb stroked over the inside and my pulse leaped in response. Heavy, thick lashes drooped, but not before I saw his pupils flare with desire.
Memories of the heated moments we’d shared surged to life, and I could feel that fire arcing between us. He tugged me closer, reaching up with his free hand to cup my cheek. He stroked his thumb over my lip.
Echoing his movement, I caught his wrist.
“No.” Shaking my head, I turned my face away. “That isn’t a good idea.”
“Why not?”
He sounded like a petulant child, and if the circumstances had been different, I might've found it endearing.
“You’re drunk. You’re upset.”
He made a frustrated sound. “I was five seconds away from fucking you a few hours ago. I wasn’t drunk or upset then. Safe to say, that's not why I want you.”
He tugged on my wrist and I looked down at him. His expression changed, the atmosphere shifting. There was a sadness to him now, dangerously close to vulnerability.
“Toni…I don’t want to think anymore. It’s not solving anything and I keep doing stupid things…yelling at you…” He was almost pleading.
He tugged me into his lap, and I was helpless to resist. I groaned as he buried his face between my breasts. Through the material of my shirt, I felt the heat of his breath and an ache pulsed between my thighs. But logic was still in control.
For now.
“This isn't…”
He gripped my thigh, squeezing. His voice was rough. “I think right now, fucking you is the one thing that will keep me from flying apart.”
Shit. My heart nearly stuttered to a stop. Logic continued to scream inside my head, and I cupped his face. I had to take control of the situation.
“This won't solve anything,” I said, my voice shaking. “You'll wake up and Isadora will still be missing. You’ll be half-wondering if you can stand me again.”
“I can stand you just fine.” He wrapped my braid around his hand, using it to hold me so that I couldn't look away. “It’s just hard to look at you and not want to bury my cock in you the second I see you.”
It was like my blood had turned into a river of fire.
This time, when he tugged me closer, I couldn’t resist anymore. And, logic be damned, I didn't want to.
I gasped as his mouth closed over mine, and when his tongue stabbed between my lips, my pussy throbbed in demanding envy.
He was still wearing the thin, dressy trousers from earlier, and I sucked in a breath at how easily I could feel him hardening beneath me.
I wore an old, threadbare T-shirt from college and nothing else, not even panties. Nothing, save what he wore, separated us and it definitely wasn’t enough material. His fingers were nearly frantic in my hair, pulling apart my braid so that my still-damp hair fell in waves down my back. With that accomplished, he caught my hips and dragged me up, then down, rubbing me against him.
I whimpered.
The sound broke through the haze of arousal and some semblance of sanity tried to assert itself. I braced my hands against his shoulders, putting some distance between us. “Ash…”
“Toni,” he said, mimicking my inflection.
He dipped his head, raked his teeth along my neck. When he closed his mouth on the fleshy area where neck met shoulder and started to suck, hunger gathered and pulsed between my thighs. I could feel myself growing wetter. I knew I shouldn't have been so turned on, especially not by this man who made me so angry, but my body had other ideas.
As if he sensed the winning battle, he arched up and started to rock against me.
When he lifted me up and pulled at his trousers, all I did was brace my weight on his shoulders and my knees. I'd made my decision and I wasn't going anywhere. I looked at him, our gazes caught, tangled. Our breaths came in ragged pants and in no time, he had freed himself and he caught my hand, guided it to his cock.
I groaned when I closed my fingers around him. He was just as big and hard as I'd imagined he would be.
“Tell me again how stupid this is,” he said against my lips just before he stole another deep, hungry kiss.
My hair turned into a veil around us, blocking out the world. “It’s so stupid. And I don’t care.”
He lifted me up, and I braced myself. I was wet, but there'd been no other foreplay and he was big. This was going to be intense. With a groan, I sank down on him.
I think I’d been preparing for this almost from the moment I’d seen him at my door, and although I had to fight to take him, it was the sweetest damn battle. But he wasn’t going to let me win it, not my way. I was only half-way down when he took over, lifting me back up. I groaned and flexed, trying to take control back from him. Even like this, it was a fight between us.
He responded to my attempt by twisting and shifting in a movement so smooth, it took my brain a moment to process it. And, even still half-drunk, a moment was all he needed.
I was on my back a second later, half-leaning over the arm of the couch, and he was crouched between my thighs. His gaze bore into mine as he withdrew, almost completely leaving me. Then, slowly, he dragged his gaze down, as if he could see through the T-shirt neither of us had bothered to discard. I followed his gaze, down over the hard points of my nipples that were clearly visible through the thin cotton. When I saw what he was looking at, my belly contracted, the muscles in my pussy clamping tighter.
He was staring at where we joined, where I was stretched around him, his cock mostly outside of my body, only the swollen head still inside me. I groaned and shuddered, rolled my hips, desperate to draw him inside.
He simply tightened his grip on my hips, making it impossible to move.
“I knew you’d be like this,” Ash said, his voice harsh and hungry.
There was no trace of a slur to his words now. Whether it was the lust or the drinks that I've given him, it didn't matter. He wasn't too drunk to know what he was doing.
“You want to take control.”
He fed me one slow inch, and then retreated. He smiled when I made a sound of protest.