39: Skin on Skin Part 01

The need to be near Asher, to seek solace and validation in his presence after the raw vulnerability of our confessions, had become an almost unbearable ache. The weight of my impending decision regarding Julian pressed down on me, a knot of anxiety tightening my chest. I felt the sheen of tears cling to my lashes, the silent tremor in my hands.

With a gentle touch, Asher’s thumb brushed away the wetness on my cheeks, his gaze filled with a mixture of tenderness and a deep, unwavering concern, his touch lingering, sending a shiver of anticipation through me. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “What’s wrong, CeCe?”

I clung to him, my arms wrapped around his neck. Through choked sobs, the dam of my composure finally broke, my body trembling with the force of my suppressed emotions and a growing desire for Asher’s touch. “I’m so afraid of hurting Julian, Ash,” I confessed, my voice thick with unshed tears, my breasts pressing against his chest, the friction a subtle spark. “I know I need to break up with him. It’s the right thing to do. But I’m terrified of the pain I’m going to cause him. I keep picturing his face…”

Asher held me tighter, his hand stroking my hair with a gentle rhythm that soon drifted lower, his fingers tracing the curve of my spine, sending shivers of anticipation through me.

"Hey," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "It's going to be okay, CeCe."

"But… hurting him…" I choked out, tears welling again.

His fingers stilled on my spine, then resumed their soothing motion. "I know it's hard. But think about it – dragging it out, living this lie… that hurts him even more in the long run, doesn't it?"

His words, though meant to comfort, only amplified the guilt churning within me. "But… it feels so selfish."

He pulled back slightly, looking into my eyes, his gaze earnest. "It's not selfish. Being honest, telling him the truth… It's brave. And it's the right thing to do, even if it hurts right now."

Finally, the raw truth of my deepest feelings spilled out in a heart-wrenching admission, a culmination of years of suppressed emotions, my body arching slightly against his. “Oh, Asher,” I sobbed, my voice thick with a vulnerability that laid bare my soul, “I think… I think I have always been in love with you. But I was so scared to lose what we had, our friendship. And now… now I’m terrified of everything… of hurting Julian, of what Isla will think, of what will happen to our friendship if… if this doesn’t work out.”

Asher’s response was immediate and visceral, a tangible expression of the years of longing he had kept hidden. He tilted my chin up, his eyes filled with a fierce tenderness that mirrored my own raw emotion. “This will work out,” his voice stated with determination, and he began kissing me hungrily. His tongue immediately sought mine, a desperate merging.

I met his kiss with a raw, desperate fervor, my hands reaching up to cup his face, feeling the familiar rasp of his unshaven jawline, my fingers tangling in the sweat-damp strands of his hair, pulling him closer until our breaths mingled, hot and ragged. My own lips parted wider, a silent invitation for the deeper exploration I craved, the ache between my legs intensifying with each passing second. The kiss deepened, tongues tangling and thrusting in a primal rhythm that mirrored the frantic grinding of our hips through our clothes, a desperate friction that ignited a wildfire within me. We tumbled back onto the narrow bed, our movements driven by a raw, untamed need, a tangible expression of the love we’d finally dared to acknowledge.

Our hands, slick with sweat and trembling with anticipation, clawed at each other's clothing. My fingers fumbled with the buttons of Asher’s shirt, popping them open with a frantic urgency, eager to feel the heat of his bare skin beneath my fingertips. He was equally impatient, his hands yanking at the hem of my t-shirt, tearing the soft cotton as he dragged it over my head, his gaze burning into my exposed breasts. His breath hitched as he cupped them roughly, his thumbs teasing my already hard nipples, sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight to my core. I moaned, arching into his touch, my own hands reaching for the buckle of his jeans, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his straining erection beneath the denim. With a desperate tug, the zipper rasped open, and I reached inside, my fingers closing around the thick, hard length of him, already slick with pre-cum.

His groan was a deep rumble that vibrated against my palm as I encircled his thick, pulsing length. His head fell back against the pillow, his eyes half-closed in pleasure, his grip tightening on my breasts, his thumbs now teasing my nipples with a slow, deliberate pressure that sent tendrils of heat spiraling down to meet the wet ache between my legs. The feel of his straining heat in my hand, the slickness of his pre-cum coating my fingers, was a potent aphrodisiac, a tangible connection to the desire that raged between us. The urgency of our undressing had transformed into a slow, sensual exploration.

His hot, wet kisses blazed a languid trail down my neck, each press of his lips leaving a slick sheen on my fevered skin. Lower, across the swollen curve of my breasts, his mouth lingered, sucking and nipping at my aching nipples with a slow, deliberate rhythm that drew sharp cries from my throat. His lips continued their sensual descent, tracing the delicate line of my stomach, his breath warm and intoxicating against my skin. Then, his head dipped lower still, his warm breath ghosting over my aching core. His tongue laved the swollen flesh, each flick and swirl a deliberate caress, a knowing precision that sent molten jolts of pure pleasure shooting through me. His hazel eyes, dark with a primal lust, watched my every reaction as I squirmed and moaned, my own hands instinctively gripping my breasts, kneading and squeezing in a desperate attempt to amplify the sensations that threatened to overwhelm me.