I was embarrassed. No, mortified. The sexy outlaw biker was probably disgusted at the naïve, plain virgin in his bed. One that could hardly string a cohesive sentence together. Whatever was working behind his attractive eyes right now was probably along the lines of how to get rid of me.
“I’ll leave. I’m sorry,” I whispered brokenly.
Asher jolted. He gently began to move the finger inside me. I sucked in a breath. His hand cradled my face and his expression gentled.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled, his finger moving slowly. “Are you sure this is what you want, Lily?” he asked seriously, his finger still moving. “To give this to me, someone you barely know. Are you sure this is how you want this to go?”
My eyes rolled back slightly, pleasure starting to radiate to my toes with the work of his fingers. My eyes found his. In that moment, I was lucid. “I’m sure. I want it to be you,” I whispered with certainty.
We were silent for a long moment, something impossible passing between us, something that could only be a figment of my imagination. Because the connection that I felt was not a connection you made with someone you’d just met.
Asher’s eyes were glowing. “You just gave me the greatest fuckin’ gift, one I don’t deserve, but one I’m taking nonetheless,” he murmured. “You got no idea how fuckin’ hard it makes me, knowing no one else has been in here,” he said, pressing into me.
I made a little sound as his finger built the fire inside me, stretching me as another one joined it.
“I might not deserve it. Might not be the best one to take this from you,” he continued, kissing me softly. “I don’t do gentle,” his hands, his kiss contradicted him, “but I will own you, possess every inch of you, and make sure you feel me for a week after this,” he promised.
He moved down my stomach, and all of a sudden, his mouth fastened against my clit. I didn’t even think, I screamed at the pleasure that came from his mouth, his fingers. It was foreign, something I’d never imagined. It felt bad, naughty. So bad it was so good.
My breath was coming in pants, and I really hoped I wouldn’t have to lean over and scramble for my inhaler. That would totally kill the mood, and cement my nerd status in front of this sex god for the rest of eternity. But this was a different kind of breathless, the good kind. I didn’t think a pleasure this good existed, one that made me forget to breathe—where breathing seemed unimportant.
Then it came. An explosion, an earth shattering orgasm that made me see stars, and that caused my whole body to convulse. I called out his name at the peak. Asher was gone a moment, I heard a drawer open, foil crinkle, then he was back on top of me.
His hand spanned my head, and he kissed me slowly, the taste of me on his tongue making me twitch with arousal once more.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” he told me with dark eyes.
I sucked in a breath. I wasn’t nervous. I was impatient. “I want you inside me. Now,” I ordered, with a brazenness I didn’t know I possessed.
Asher’s eyes flared. “You need to tell me, babe, if it hurts,” he instructed as he positioned himself at my entrance.
I knew it would hurt. I’d read the literature, heard the horror stories. Listened to Bex recount the disaster of her first time. But the man on top of me, the post orgasm cloud I was floating on, made this prospect inconsequential. I needed to be filled with him. Needed him to claim me. I’d treasure it forever.
“Fuck me,” I whispered, my arousal causing me to utter a phrase that would never have normally come from my lips.
His eyes turned hooded and then he was inside me. Not slow, not gentle, he plunged right in. To the hilt.
It hurt. Mingled with the remaining pleasure was a sharp jolt of pain. It wasn’t pleasant. It hurt like a bitch if I was honest. For a split second, I was unsure if I would be able to handle the pain, if this could ever feel good. But I knew it would evolve. Be good. Be great.
His whole body was tight, his eyes on mine. “Flower, you okay?” he asked softly.
I wrapped my arms around him, clawing at his back, focusing on his eyes. “I need you to move,” I ordered hoarsely. I needed him to do something, make me think about something other than the pain, help build up the pleasure I hoped was coming.
I had barely uttered the phrase when he did as I commanded, thrusting into me hard and slow. His eyes never left mine as he fucked me, my body growing accustomed to him, welcoming him.
“So fuckin’ tight, baby,” he ground out. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”
I wrapped my legs around him, needing more contact. “Faster,” I ordered.
Asher immediately complied, pushing into me with an intensity that stoked a fire that burned within me.
It was coming. I knew it. Another orgasm that would shatter my world.
Asher’s body knifed up slightly, so he could thrust into me even harder, my hips moved in tandem with his, meeting him for each beautiful thrust.
“Fuck, baby,” he ground out through his teeth. “For a virgin, you take my cock like you were born to it.” His head bent forward to capture mine.
The moment his kiss began to ravage me was the moment I exploded. It was better than with his mouth, I milked his own release, and he shuddered on top of me as I rode the last of my waves of pleasure.
We lay there, him on top of me breathing heavily.
He leaned up and kissed my nose. “You okay, flower?” he asked softly, his eyes searching my face with worry.
I smiled dreamily at him. “Yeah. I’m okay,” I whispered the biggest understatement of the year. The century.
I was sated, happy, elated, and everything in between. I had just lost my frigging virginity. To a smoking hot biker, who I never thought would even give me a second glance let alone take me to bed and look at me like I was some supermodel. Someone special.
He pulled out of me gently and cupped my jaw. “Don’t move,” he commanded softly.
I smiled at him again. “No chance of that, buddy. I’m delightfully content staying in this spot for oh ... the rest of time,” I joked, in a manner that was so not me. But somehow was at the same time. The me of this moment at least.
He jolted slightly and his eyes sparkled while he watched me. He shook his head and turned so his back faced me.
I restrained a gasp. His back was corded and muscled, but with the rest of him it didn’t surprise me. His shoulders were broad and absolutely delightful. What amazed me was the huge tattoo spanning the entirety of his back. It was similar to the patch on the back of his vest. A grim reaper, riding a bike and brandishing a sword. Underneath, The Sons of Templar MC was written in a kind of ancient script. It was amazing.
I didn’t get time to run my hands along it or lick it, because after pulling on his jeans and giving me one last look over his delightful shoulder, he left the room.
I sank back on the bed, looking at the ceiling.
“Did that really happen?” I asked myself.
Before I had the chance to ponder the entirety of this night, Asher came back in. He watched me with his hazel eyes and sat close to my hips. They didn’t leave me as he gently cleaned me between my legs with a warm washcloth.
I flinched slightly, more out of reflex than anything else.
Asher’s frame tightened. “You in pain?” he asked.
I took stock. I felt tender, different, but the pain was a dull ache, not enough to mention. Plus, my emotional elation trumped any pain at this moment. I shook my head.
“No, I feel ... good,” I said quietly.
His eyes flared, he continued, while his gaze flickered over me.
I belatedly noticed I was naked. We’d thrown the covers over the bed in our lovemaking, and I had nothing to hide my modesty. No one had even seen me like this, certainly no man. Not one like this. I tried to shrink away, yank the fabric to cover myself.
Asher’s hand stopped me. “No, babe. You’re stunning. I don’t want anything obscuring the view I’ve got right now. Not when I
wanna fuck you all over again,” he hissed through his teeth.
My stomach dipped and arousal replaced embarrassment.
“That’s if you can take me, if you’re not in too much pain,” he added, his body pressing into mine.
“I’m not,” I said quickly, not wanting any excuse from stopping him.
He grinned. “Good,” he muttered. “Cause I wanna show you everything.”
And he did. All night he made beautiful, glorious love to me. Educating me on my body, on his body, and how they worked together.
It was the best night of my life.
There was no sleep that night, not a wink. We made love into the early hours, discovering each other’s bodies, Asher worshipping every part of me. I gave him every part of my body in those moments. And in the moments after, the moments where dim morning light peeked through the edge of his blinds, I gave him the rest. My heart, my soul. I talked. Talked more than I ever had to anyone. I told him about how I was studying to be a nurse, how the work kicked my ass, but I loved every second. I told him about my eccentric best friend Bex and how she was my complete opposite, and how we made total and utter sense. I talked about how close I was with my mom, and her lifestyle.
“What about your dad?” Asher asked gently when I’d finished telling him about the various marches Mom had dragged me on since I was a kid.
My body tightened at his question, and he didn’t miss it. The muscled arms around me squeezed, and his hands lightly drew circles on my back, as if to give me support. As if he knew this story wasn’t a happy one.
I kept my gaze down on his defined chest. “He’s dead,” I whispered.
Asher’s hands stopped moving.
“Shit, flower. I’m sorry,” he murmured, pulling my chin up to meet his eyes.
“I’m not,” I replied, surprising myself by verbalizing something I’d never told anyone.
His body jolted, and his eyes turned hard, but he waited for me to explain.
“My mom didn’t always wear tie die and swear off prescription medicine,” I explained quietly. “She used to be a housewife. Apron, hairstyle, court shoes, everything. She always had a free soul, but he put it in chains,” I whispered, pain in my voice. “He beat her,” I choked out. “My first memory is of him backhanding her for burning a pot roast. The next time he was yelling at me for leaving my toys out for him to trip on. I think he might have been going to hit me, but Mom stood in front of me, protected me. Took it for me.”
I knew he was a memory, that he couldn’t hurt me, but the fear that came with his memory was real. The urge to curl into myself, to be invisible, so I could hide from his wrath. I didn’t know why I was telling Asher this. Why I was uncovering the darkest part of me, that hadn’t seen the light in eleven years. Maybe I did know why. Because, as insane and completely unbelievable as it was, I loved him. Already. Something clicked the moment our bodies connected. Something more. Something indescribable. I was different. He made me different. So I wanted him to see me. All of me.
Asher’s body seemed to turn to stone. I avoided his eyes, so I didn’t see the fury burning in them.
“Everyone looked at us on the outside and saw the perfect family. On the inside it was a nightmare. Every day I wondered if it was the day when he wouldn’t be able to stop. When I’d have to watch him kill my mom and not be strong enough to help her,” I whispered.
“How old were you? When the fucker finally met the reaper?” Asher ground out, his tone blank.
My eyes flickered up to his hard jaw. “I was nine,” I replied, my mind traveling back to the day when my father had a heart attack. The elation I felt when we realized he was gone. The shame I carried with me as a result of that elation.
“Fuck,” he clipped. “Nine years,” he said, almost to himself. “Nine years you had to live with that, and you still turned into this.” His hand trailed along the side of my face, his eyes regarding me in what I could only describe as amazement.
I swallowed. “I was glad,” I blurted. “Glad when he died. That my mom and I could escape. That she would be free of his chains. I’m still glad. What kind of person feels happy when their father dies?” I whispered with shame.
His fingers grasped my chin and forced me to meet his eyes. There was no disgust in his gaze. I’d been expecting to feel a new wash of shame as Asher digested my words, but nothing. The look on his face seemed like, pride. Respect.
“The most magnificent creature I’ve ever met, that’s who,” he murmured softly. “The woman who hides the ugliness of what a monster did to her under the most beautiful surface I’ve ever seen. That beneath that surface lies more blinding beauty, untainted by that ugliness. Strength.”
A tear trickled down my cheek. Asher’s hand swiped it away.
“I’ve never told anyone that before,” I confessed.
He watched me with a gaze I couldn’t decipher. “As sorry as I am that shit happened to you, flower, I’m glad I get that. Another piece of you that’s for me and me alone. I want all of you, but I’ll treasure the pieces that you choose to give to me and no one else,” he said, intensity drenching his beautiful words.
We stayed silent for a long time after that. It was a silence that spoke a thousand words at once. That seemed to create a connection I couldn’t even understand, not at that moment. Three years later I’d still puzzle over it.
I trailed my hand across Asher’s forearm. My back was pressed to his front, him holding me close to his naked body.
“Why don’t you have any ink?” I asked suddenly. “Apart from on your back, the club emblem, why nothing else?”
Almost every other member of the club was covered in tattoos.
Asher’s arms tightened around me. “Tattoos are for life.” His breath tickled my ear. “Apart from the club, I’ve never loved anything that much to commit to a lifelong reminder of it on my body.”
He pulled me onto my back and moved atop of me, holding his weight so his body only just skimmed mine. His eyes searched mine.
“Why? Are you disappointed I’m not covered in ink like the rest of my brothers?” His voice was teasing, but there was a hardness underneath it, almost vulnerability.
I stroked his jaw, feeling bold, like I’d been ever since we’d entered this bed. It was like my shyness melted away and I could be the me only a handful of people made me be.
“No,” I said decisively. “I’m nowhere near disappointed. You’re perfect,” I added in a whisper.
“No such thing as perfect, flower,” he murmured back. His fingers played with my hair. “If there was, I’m so far from that end of the spectrum it’s not even fuckin’ funny.” He looked at me. “Though, if perfect does exist, I’m looking at the embodiment of it right here,” he added hoarsely.
My stomach did something weird at his words. Not weird wonderful, but weird like I ate a bad tuna sandwich.
“You don’t have to lie anymore, you’ve already got me into bed,” I said lightly, trying to hide my own vulnerability.
Asher’s brows furrowed. “What the fuck are you talking about? Not one thing in this bed, not one thing between you and me is a lie. You know that shit. You also know how fuckin’ beautiful you are,” he clipped.
I felt my face flame. Anger coiled in my belly. “You don’t have to say that, I know I’m not. I’m okay with it,” I responded in a hard voice.
Asher’s face turned stormy. “You know you’re not what?” he asked slowly.
“Beautiful,” I snapped, using my anger as a shield for my insecurities. I never snapped at anyone. It was another thing I surprised myself with.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” he ground out.
I opened my mouth to respond that… no, I was not, in fact “fucking kidding,” when a pounding at the door made me jump.
“Fuck off,” Asher yelled, not moving off me.
“Bro, we need you,” a deep voice called through the door.
Asher's eyes stayed on me. “I’m fuckin’ busy,” he b
ellowed.
“Steg’s orders,” the voice yelled back.
“Fuck,” Asher muttered. He looked down at me. His finger trailed my jaw. “I’ve gotta go, flower, but this shit’s not over,” he declared, frowning.
I frowned too. Not because of the conversation, but at the prospect of him leaving. All I wanted to do was cling onto him and beg him not to leave, but a little thing called self-respect stopped me.
“You stay here,” he ordered. “I’ll come back, we’ll finish this ridiculous conversation, and after I’ve told you how stunning you are, I’ll show you, too.” His hand trailed down to lightly dance over my breast.
I sucked in a breath and my nipple hardened in anticipation.
Asher’s face turned hard. “I do not want to leave this bed, but club business.... ” he trailed off as if ”club business” served as an explanation. I guessed in this world, it did. “Sleep. And I’ll be back,” he promised.
“Okay,” I heard myself saying.
He nodded, pushing up from the bed to dress.
I watched him silently. It wasn’t uncomfortable silence. Which was something different. I loved silence. My own company. Most people didn’t get that, had to fill every void of noise with words, it made me anxious, the constant need to measure time with words. Not now.
He was slipping on his cut when he turned to look at me. Something worked in his eyes as his gaze ran over me. The bed depressed when he leaned in to claim my mouth. It wasn’t hard to get lost in the kiss.
“Do you really have to go?” I whispered against his mouth, self-respect be damned, I didn’t want him to go. Didn’t want the spell to break with the harsh light of day.
He regarded me before sighing and straightening. “Yeah, babe, club shit.”
I tried not to let my disappointment show.
I think I failed because his face softened. “I’ll be back. Stay. Sleep. Don’t fuckin’ move outta my bed,” he commanded hoarsely.
He waited for my nod, then left the room.
I didn’t know how the heck I managed it, in an unfamiliar room, in a biker clubhouse, but I fell right to sleep.