Amber to Ashes

  We both smile. His genuine, mine nervous.

  “And it looks like I’m on my second apology for the night.” He massages my side. “I’m sorry. Like an asshole, I just assumed you’d smoked it before.”

  I shake my head.

  “But I think this will help you to chill.” His voice is calm, soothing my nerves in a way I can’t explain. “Just a little. That’s all you’ll need to temporarily forget the shit that’s happened to you. It’ll wipe it from your head for a few hours. You’ll be okay because you’re doing it with me. I promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, Amber.”

  A silent minute goes by.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  I nod, and though I’m somewhat settled by his reassurance, perspiration surfaces on my forehead. I want to say no, that I can’t. That I’m more than aware this could lead me to darker places. I want to tell him I watched my parents wither away under their own drug addiction, but the words get stuck in my throat, verbal gridlock holding them captive.

  Brock reaches for the bong and lights it up. He sucks a hit into his lungs, keeps it in a few seconds, and brings his hand to the nape of my neck. Gently pulling me down to his face, he stares at me a moment, searching my eyes for a signal to stop.

  Though it’s only weed—and more than half my generation gets blazed on this shit—I know I’m staring at the birth of what could be my demise. I was born to become an addict, my past sprinkled with needles, paving a path in its dark direction. Still, something tells me to go for it. To finally let go and live. Let go of my parents and the love they held from me. Let go of the day that forever changed the colors of my world. Let go of my fear of loving anything or anyone.

  I just want to feel.

  Feel life.

  Feel this moment.

  Feel . . . human.

  I nod again, and Brock crashes his lips to mine, coaxing them open with a slow sweep of his tongue. My arteries—just a few seconds before filled with fear and hesitation—are thick with adrenaline and sexual desire as Brock simultaneously licks into my mouth and pushes the smoke into my body. I’m not sure which to concentrate on: the sting in my lungs as I inhale what I hope will erase my past or the feel of Brock’s lips on mine.

  I do neither. A cough bursts from me, my hand flying over my mouth.

  “Are you okay?” Brock asks.

  “I think so.” I nod, trying to catch a decent breath. “Should I be feeling something?”

  His eyes widen. “You don’t feel turned on?”

  “You know what I mean,” I half cough with a smile.

  “I guess I have to try harder,” he says with a grin, repeating the process of taking another hit from the bong as he stands me up with him. After setting it on the table, Brock’s hands slide to my hips, dominance wild in their grip, as he layers his mouth over mine. I close my eyes, surrendering to his warmth as I clutch his shoulders and inhale another pull. It doesn’t burn as much, and my body welcomes it like an old friend. Brock tastes different from the first time we kissed, but still amazing, an exotic mixture of mouthwash and weed. I barely register my arms becoming lethargic as Brock’s hands move up my rib cage, his thumbs grazing my nipples.

  “Christ, I could kiss you for fucking days,” he growls, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth. He licks into my mouth, his kiss growing relentless with each uneven breath we take. “Please, Ber, I’m begging, baby, let me fuck you like you need to be fucked. Let me give your body what it’s craving.”

  Need, want, and lust lightens my head, his sudden plea spreading over me. Without breaking our kiss, Brock lifts me onto the table, wedging himself between my thighs. A gasp shoots from my parched throat as he draws my legs up around his waist. I rest my palms on the cool marble, my gaze submerged in the hungry look prowling his face.

  “Tell me you’re gonna let me fuck you tonight,” Brock commands, his stare connected to mine with infallible precision.

  “Yes,” I breathe without a second thought. “You’re fucking me tonight.” I need, want, and ache for this.

  My stomach plummets to my toes as Brock snakes his hand up my thigh, finding and ripping my lace panties clear off my body. He trips a finger over my clit, sending delicious pinpricks of pleasure across my skin.

  Another gasp leaves me as his mouth lands on mine, his voice strangled. “Do you like kissing me while you’re high?”

  I moan, shudders bombarding every previously relaxed muscle in my body as he barely pushes a finger inside me. My head lolls back, my eyelids heavy, hooded like cement’s weighing them down as I clutch the table.

  “Yes,” I answer, thrusting my hips forward. “I love it.”

  “Do you want to know what it feels like to be finger-fucked while you’re high?”

  I nod, heat coiling around me.

  “Say it,” he slowly whispers, his eyes glued to mine as he cups my ass, pulling me to the edge of the table.

  On instinct, I bring my hands to his hair, gripping the soft caramel waves. “Finger-fuck me,” I beg, shame having no damn say in this moment.

  He pushes a scant inch inside me. “Say it again,” he growls.

  “Finger-fuck me,” I pant, digging my fingers into his skull.

  Another inch, another finger. My pussy clenches, throbbing for more.

  “Again, Ber. Say it again. Tell me to finger-fuck you harder.”

  At this point, I don’t know who’s the one begging. The only thing I know is that in some sick, twisted way, he’s playing with me. I know it by the way he’s waiting for me to answer, his eyes smug with control but still delicious with promise. I know it by the way he’s teasing his lips over mine, just enough to make me bite my own when he pulls back. And I know it by the way he’s slowly seducing me into loving everything he’s doing.

  I’m in uncharted territory, every fiber in my fucked-up being aware it’s a fiend for the drug that is Brock Cunningham. Everything about him is dangerously beautiful, an untapped high I want to fully experience.

  Fully consume.

  Fully shoot through the curious blood in my veins.

  Still, I’m not about to let him steal away my sexual control. It’s the only thing that’s kept me sane thus far. I’m going in for my next hit, but this addict’s not about to make it easy for the dealer.

  At. All.

  I grip his hair tighter and pull his face to mine, my eyes fierce as uncut gemstones. “If you don’t finger-fuck me harder, I’m getting off this table, calling a taxi, and going back to my dorm. A good porno and a dildo’s brought me to the exact same place you can without the added bullshit. Take it or leave it.”

  With a wicked smirk, Brock goes knuckle-deep with three of his talented fingers, their rhythm matching the harsh breaths pushing from our lungs.

  “Is that deep enough for you?” He buries his face against my sweaty neck.

  With words disappearing from my brain—vanished, poof, gone—I can’t answer. I can’t focus or think straight. Sweet hell of all fiery hells, I can’t breathe past the intoxicating sensations pulsing through my body as I claw at his T-shirt.

  “Yeah, that’s deep enough. This pussy’s as ripe and ready as they come.” Brock pulls back, his warm breath flirting over my lips as he stares into my eyes. “You want my cock? Need to feel it inside you?”

  “Yes,” I hum. “I don’t care. Just fuck me right here on the table.”

  Desire buzzes thick through my veins as he rips open my blouse, the buttons scattering against the floor, along with my sanity. He slips the scalloped edge of my bra down, palms my breast, and flicks his tongue across my nipple. I surge forward, my body’s primal need to fuck exploding.

  “Mm,” he groans, suckling the hardened peak, his fingers relentlessly manipulating my flesh. “But you’re begging me for it before I give it to you, baby. I wanna h
ear you beg for my cock.”

  I cave, crumbling under the sharp scalpel of desire. “Please. I need your cock inside me. Now.”

  “Ah. There she is,” he croons, his voice a dark ache as he pulls his fingers from me. Hunter eyes locked on mine, Brock touches them to my lips, sliding them into my mouth. I accept them without reserve, sucking my moisture from his fingers.

  “Fuck, that’s right, Ber. You like the way you taste on me, don’t ya?”

  On a moan, I nod and suck harder, my trembling hands wrapped around his wrist as I stare into his glazed-over eyes. As though the act shattered his sanity, Brock sweeps me off the table and up into his arms. He coats his mouth over mine as he carries me into the apartment.

  “It’s my turn to taste that pussy,” he growls against my lips.

  He fists the back of my hair, his shoulders slamming into furniture, walls, and the doorjamb of his bedroom before he sets me down on shaky legs. With dark eyes, Brock stares at me. God, he looks like an angelic demon, beautiful, frightening. My pulse thuds, sending blood screaming through my veins. Though the room’s scarcely lit—drabs of the moon’s potency filtering in through the wooden blinds—I see the hunger in his gaze, his want for me emanating off him.

  I blink, my breathing matching his as I become aware of what’s happening to my heated body. I feel different, light, something close to nonexistent. My arms are weighed down like bricks, my scrambled thoughts trying to get past a hazy fog clogging my head. A freaky sensation’s coating my lips, but for some odd reason, I think I like it. My tongue feels thick like fur, or maybe heavy like lead. Everything’s taken on a new shape, taste, and texture. With all of these foreign sensations, the world feels as if it’s spread beneath me, airless, intoxicating.

  “You’re drummed up,” Brock whispers, slowly sliding what remains of my blouse from my shoulders. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

  It does. It feels so fucking good. For the first time in a long time, I’m weightless, almost as though the sins of my parents aren’t holding me in their grip.

  “Mm-hmm,” I hum, thirsty for more.

  He tosses the silken clothing to the floor and unhooks my bra. “And I’m about to make you feel so much better.”

  My bra joins the discarded blouse, the soft wisp of it hitting the carpet crashing the finality of the moment through the air as I suck in a breath. I’m handing myself over to this man. I shiver and stare into his eyes, my senses drowning in his touch.

  “Christ, you’re fucking gorgeous.” Brock’s teeth sink into his bottom lip. “There’s not an inch of you I’m not gonna cover tonight.”

  Left in nothing but my skirt and heels, another tremble rocks through me as Brock circles my body. His movements are calculated, a hunter stalking its prey.

  He stops behind me and fastens his lips to my neck, his words a deep growl as he palms my breasts. “You want me to make you feel better, Ber?”

  My breathing hitches as he twirls my nipples between his fingers. “Oh God.”

  “That’s the answer I was looking for. I am your God for the next few hours.” Brock glides a hand down the flat of my stomach. I suck in another dizzying breath as he pushes his knee between my legs, spreading them open. My heart beats in anticipation as he hikes my skirt above my waist, his free hand finding my swollen clit. Rubbing it in slow, tantalizing circles, he groans into my neck, his breathing hot against my flesh. I gasp as he dips two urgent fingers inside my warmth. Greedy, I sheathe his fingers, my body hungry for his invasion.

  “You like the way that feels?”

  “Yes,” I pant, my arms flying up around the back of his head. I bury my hands in his hair, my fingers tugging the dampened strands. “Please, Brock, please keep going.”

  “Can’t do that,” he whispers into my ear, abruptly stopping his delicious assault.

  I moan in protest, my head dropping back against his chest as he unzips my skirt. It drops to the ground, pooling around my heels.

  “I need to taste you. Tell me you want me to lick this pussy dry.” His carnal demand breaks down every molecule of my blood as he feathers his lips against my neck. “Say it.”

  He could order me to commit armed robbery, and I’d do so without a second thought. Still, the push and pull’s not something I’m used to.

  Mindless in my want, I face him, our gazes meeting with equal need. “I want you to lick my pussy dry. However, you’re not to stop until I say when. Not you. Me.” I touch my lips to his, sliding my hand down his rigid chest. “I want you to lick it until your tongue can’t stand the taste any longer. Bitter or sweet, I want you to lick it until it can’t function properly without your cock buried deep inside of it.” I smile coyly and nip his lip, not an ounce of me ashamed by my filthy words. “You’ve talked a lot of game, Cunningham. The stage is yours now. Let’s see if you can make me ache to the point where it . . . hurts. Good?”

  “Yes. Fucking. Ma’am.” A slow grin creeps along his face. With one hand, he reaches behind his shoulder and pulls his T-shirt over his head.

  My gaze falls to the hard ripples of his abs—trailing lower still to the perfectly defined V, anchoring everything together in delicious slabs of raw muscle. I bring my eyes back to Brock’s and, with steadfast determination, work the button of his jeans, my lips on his as he backs me toward his bed. I feel the king frame hit my thighs, my heart hitting the ground as Brock pulls his mouth from mine.

  “Get on the bed and spread your gorgeous legs for me.” Though his command is whispered with coolness, the urgency on his face is hot, a branding iron to my flesh. “And, Ber,” he adds, his stare intent on mine as he slowly rubs the bulge beneath his jeans, “keep your heels on. I want to feel them cutting into my back while your legs go numb around my head.” He unbuckles his belt, the promise in his eyes flaring over my skin. “Also, I never talk game. Ever. I’m about to lick that pussy undone.”

  Burn. I’m literally burning with desire, its glorious tongue spitting flames across my body. I sink onto the mattress, a nervous swallow bobbing my throat as I glide along what feels like cool satin sheets. I watch Brock in utter amazement, my breathing a mess as he undresses.

  In nothing but black boxer briefs, he frees his cock and palms it, stroking the divine piece as he eye-fucks me with every pull. My heart kicks, every muscle clenching with longing. I lick my lips, aching to taste it.

  On a shaky sigh, my eyes close of their own accord as the bed dips with the weight of Brock’s body. Grabbing the backs of my knees, and stare honed in on mine, his breathing is eerily relaxed as he pulls me down the mattress. With my ass cushioned against his muscled thighs, I struggle to swallow as he hovers above me.

  “I’ve been waiting for this,” he whispers, his mouth landing on my breast.

  He flicks his tongue against my nipple, drawing it to a tight bud. I gasp as he sucks it between his teeth, his hand kneading my other breast with skilled precision. Another gasp catches in my throat as he lifts his head, puffing out a chilled breath over my slickened nipple. I lurch in response, goose bumps dotting my skin.

  Chuckling, Brock gazes down at me. “You like that?”

  “Yes,” I say breathily.

  He smirks, and moves down my body, his tongue leaving a trail of moisture along its path. Anywhere he can mark, he does. He sucks the hollow of my neck, ribs, the curve of my waist, stopping to dip his tongue inside my belly button.

  Another lurch, another chuckle.

  “Ticklish?” he asks, his brow drawn up.

  “Yes, very, but please—”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not down here to make you laugh.” His smirk is back. “I’ll leave that for the spooning and pillow talk.”

  A sigh of relief leaves me, but it’s quickly replaced by a sharp intake of air as Brock sweeps my legs over his shoulders. Positioned on his elbows—centered between my thighs—he gives me one last hungry lo
ok before he teases his tongue against my clit.

  I tense, and my hands fly to Brock’s head, grasping his hair as he sucks the swollen hood into his mouth with a deep groan. Each controlled flick of his tongue sinks me further into both bliss and confusion. I can’t remember ever being touched like this. I’ve had my share of guys go down on me, but none basked in it the way he does. He’s literally tongue-fucking my pussy senseless, cataloging its texture, taste, savoring it as though it’s his last meal. In and out, out and in, slow strokes, fast strokes, each delicious movement carried out with his sharp gaze pinned on mine.

  “Oh my God,” I moan, pinching my nipples. Chest heaving, I stare at him, every sense drowning in the here and now. The glorious stinging build between my legs, combined with the rapture of his fingers, sends me into a storm of sensations, a furious need to be fucked overtaking my thoughts. “God, yes, keep going, Brock. Don’t you dare stop.”

  Brock groans and slides his hands under my ass, pulling me flush against his face. “Your pussy tastes too good to stop.” He strokes a finger through my folds, exploring the edges of my nub. “It’s all the right flavors. Tart.” He lowers his head, tonguing the delicate slice of skin below my warmth. “Tangy.” He draws my clit into his mouth before releasing it with a pop. “Sweet.” He slides two adept fingers inside me, hooking and circling my G-spot. “Pure, fucking, edible, delicious pussy.”

  I crash, coming apart like a rickety house in a raging storm. Heels digging into his back, my muscles rock, hot ribbons of orgasm exploding through my body.

  Holding me snug to his face, Brock laps at my clit, through my center, and down the crack of my ass, sucking me dry like he promised. “That’s right,” he snarls, gripping me tighter, “give me everything this pussy’s got.”

  Unable to handle the second orgasm I feel coming on, I throw my shaky legs off his back, and sit up, my breath a choppy disaster. “That’s en-enough,” I stammer, pressing a trembling hand against the skull tattoo on his shoulder. “Please. I’m good. No—no more.”