Banished at Dad's Wake, So I Came Back to Run the Boardwalk novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Terrace

She starts it on the terrace over the ocean, says the thing she has held for ten years, and he answers with his mouth and then the whole of him.

I put his hand on my breast, over the black dress I still had not taken off, and held it there.

Asher stood perfectly still at the terrace rail with his back to me.

Then his fingers closed.

He squeezed once, slowly, and my nipple pulled tight against his palm.

"You said ask you tomorrow," I said.

"I did."

"It's tomorrow. It's ten past two."

He turned around inside my arms.

The light from the Boardwalk came up over the rail and lit one side of his face.

He looked at me for a long time, and his hand stayed where I had put it.

"Say what's on your mind first," he said. "You've had it in your mouth since the club."

I had.

I had been carrying it for ten years.

"You stood in that doorway," I said. "I was nineteen."

"My father was in a box across the hall," I said. "You stood there and said nothing."

His jaw moved.

"My uncle told me himself," I said. "The Sklar boy said nothing."

"I said what I said when you weren't in the room," he said.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the one I've got tonight," he said.

His voice was low and not at all steady.

"Be angry with me, Taddeo. Be as angry as you want. Do it in my bed."

I grabbed his collar and pulled his mouth down onto mine.

It was not a kind kiss.

I bit his bottom lip, and he groaned and bit me back, and his hands went to my waist and lifted me against him.

My feet left the terrace.

He carried me three steps and set me down on the chaise longue, and my legs fell open on either side of his hips.

"Zipper," I said.

"Where?"

"Back. Find it."

He slid one hand behind me, found the zipper and drew it down my spine in one long pull.

I shrugged the dress off my shoulders and it fell to my waist.

I wore nothing under it but the panties he had moved aside in the hall.

He looked at my breasts in the light from the Boardwalk, and his hands stopped moving on my waist.

"You're staring," I said.

"I'm memorizing."

He bent and took my left nipple into his mouth.

I gasped and put my hand in his hair.

He sucked hard, and then softer, and rolled his tongue around it while his hand cupped the other breast and thumbed it.

My hips lifted off the chaise.

His mouth moved up my chest to my collarbone and then toward my neck.

I went stiff.

I felt it before I could stop it: a wet mouth on my neck, a hand under my skirt, a coat rack at my back.

Asher lifted his head at once.

"Taddeo."

"Keep going," I said.

"No."

"I mean it. I'm taking it back. Do it."

He looked at me, steady and brown-eyed, and I held his stare.

Then he put his mouth on the side of my neck, very gently, just under my ear.

He kissed it.

He kissed it again, lower, and then dragged his lips slowly down to my shoulder.

By the time he got there I had stopped shaking.

"Better?" he said against my skin.

"Lower," I said.

He smiled, and I felt it on my collarbone.

He kissed his way down my breastbone and my ribs and the soft part of my stomach.

He hooked his fingers in the dress and my panties together and drew them down my legs.

He dropped them on the terrace.

Then he knelt on the concrete between my knees, took both my thighs in his hands and opened them wide.

"Look at that," he said, quietly.

"Asher."

"Look at that," he said again, "and tell me what you want."

"Your mouth," I said. "Now."

He put his mouth on me.

The first long stroke of his tongue went from my entrance up to my clit, and I made a noise I could not have stopped.

He did it again, slower.

He licked me open with the flat of his tongue and then circled my clit with the tip until my thighs trembled against his shoulders.

I grabbed the arms of the chaise.

"Don't stop," I said.

"I wasn't going to."

He slid two fingers inside me and curled them against the front wall, and sucked my clit between his lips.

My back arched off the cushion.

The ocean was loud, and the Boardwalk lights were low and gold under me, and I could hear how wet I was.

He knew exactly where to press.

He found it and stayed there, with his fingers and his tongue working together, and I ground myself against his mouth without shame.

"Yes," I said. "There. God, there."

My legs locked.

I came with a cry that I did not bother to muffle, my hands in his hair, my hips rolling up into his face.

He held me through it.

He kept licking me, softly now, until the last of it drained out of me and I lay boneless on the chaise.

When he sat back on his heels, his mouth and chin were wet.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at me.

"That was one," he said.

"Get up here."

He stood.

I sat up and put my hands on his belt and unbuckled it, and he let me.

I unzipped him and drew him out, hot and heavy and so hard in my hand that he jerked at the first touch.

"It's been a long time for me," he said, roughly.

"How long?"

"I'd rather not say where you can count."

I laughed, and then I stroked him once, root to tip, and the laugh went out of both of us.

"Bed," he said. "I want you on a bed."

"Carry me, then."

He did.

He lifted me with an arm under my knees and one at my back.

He carried me through the terrace door into his dark bedroom and laid me down in the middle of a wide white bed.

He stripped fast.

He was lean and long and pale in the light from the window.

He had dark hair on his chest and a thin scar along his ribs.

I held out my arms.

He came down over me, and the heat of his whole body settled on mine, skin on skin.

His cock lay hard against my thigh.

"Look at me," he said.

"I'm looking."

"Tell me when."

"Now," I said. "Asher. Now."

He reached between us, guided himself to my entrance and pushed.

The head of his cock opened me, thick and hot, and I gasped.

He stopped, shaking with the effort of it.

"Go on," I said. "I've got the shot. I want all of you."

He pushed forward, slow and steady, and filled me inch by inch until he was buried to the root.

We both stopped breathing.

He was so deep that I felt it in my throat.

"You feel," he began, and could not finish.

"I know."

I hooked my heels behind his back.

He drew out and pushed in again, and I moaned his name.

He set a rhythm, deep and even, with his weight on his forearms and his forehead against mine.

Every stroke dragged along that place inside me, and every time he bottomed out my hips jumped.

"Harder," I said.

"You're sure?"

"Don't you dare be gentle with me. I've had ten years of being careful."

He made a rough sound and thrust harder.

The bed knocked against the wall.

I dug my nails into his back and pulled him down, and he drove into me until I was shouting at the ceiling.

"That's it," he said, in my ear. "That's what I want. Let them hear you on the Boardwalk."

His hand slid between us, and his thumb found my clit.

He rubbed it fast, in time with his hips.

I felt it gather again, tighter than before, low in my body.

"Asher, I'm going to."

"Come on my cock," he said.

I did.

I came so hard that I lost the whole room, and my body clamped down around him.

He swore and buried his face in my neck.

He fucked me through it, harder, faster, and then he went rigid.

He came with a groan against my skin, his cock pulsing deep inside me, hot and long.

We lay there, wrecked, with his weight on me and his heart pounding against my breastbone.

After a while he rolled us onto our sides without pulling out and tucked my head under his chin.

"I've wanted," he said into my hair, and stopped.

"What?"

"Nothing. Go to sleep, Taddeo."

I slept.

I woke near dawn with his cock hard against the small of my back and his arm heavy across my waist.

He was asleep.

I turned over slowly and looked at him, at the gray in his dark curls and the lines at the corners of his eyes.

Then I pushed him onto his back and swung a leg over him.

He woke with my hand wrapped around him.

"Taddeo," he said, thick and slow.

"Mine to start," I said.

I sank down on him in one long slide, and we both groaned.

I sat there a moment with him all the way inside me, feeling him throb.

Then I began to move.

I rode him slowly, with my hands flat on his chest and my knees in the sheets.

He put his hands on my hips and let me set the pace.

Every time I rolled down, his cock pressed deep against that spot, and every time I lifted, he looked at me with his lips parted.

"Watch you," he said hoarsely. "God, watch you."

I leaned over him until my breasts brushed his chest and kissed him, long and wet.

He thrust up to meet me.

We found it together, slow and deep, with no hurry in it.

I came with my forehead on his shoulder and his name in my mouth.

He followed me half a minute later, gripping my hips, spilling into me with a low broken sound.

When we were done I lay along his chest and listened to his heart slow down.

Neither of us said anything for a long time.

When the window was gray, someone knocked at the suite door.

He got up, pulled on his trousers and went to answer it.

He came back holding a cream envelope.

"The doorman brought it up," he said. "My mother sent it over by car."

He passed it to me.

The handwriting was round and fast, in blue ink.

Friday. Six o'clock. Bring the girl.

"She's heard you're here," Asher said.

"I'm the girl?"

"You're the girl," he said, and sat down on the edge of the bed and closed his hand around my ankle.

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