༇ CHAPTER FIVE

Oh.

My 

God!

This wasn't like any kiss I'd ever experienced. 

In fact calling this a kiss had to be some sort of crime because a kiss isn’t supposed to feel like fire and electricity pulsing through every nerve ending and making my body come alive.

Or was it?

What did I know?

His other hand found my waist pulling me closer as his mouth moved against mine with a hunger that stole my breath.

I forgot about the dare. Forgot about my friends watching. Forgot about everything except the feeling of his lips on mine and the way my entire body seemed to recognize something in him that I couldn't name.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, I remembered I was supposed to say something.

"It was a dare," I blurted out, my face heating. "My friends dared me to kiss the hottest guy in the club, and you—I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just—"

I started to step back, embarrassment flooding through me, but his hand tightened on my waist.

"Where do you think you're going?" he murmured, his voice low and rough in a way that made my knees weak.

Before I could answer, he pulled me back and claimed my mouth in another kiss that made the first one seem tame. This kiss was fierce, demanding, all-consuming. His tongue swept against mine as his hand slid into my hair, angling my head exactly where he wanted it.

I melted into him, my hands fisting in his shirt as he backed me up against the wall near the bar. The cold surface pressed against my back, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body as he caged me in.

"What's your name?" he asked against my lips, his voice rougher now.

"Lyra," I breathed.

"Lyra," he repeated, like he was testing how it felt in his mouth. His lips trailed from my mouth to my jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below my ear. "I'm Asher."

I barely heard him over the pounding of my heart. His mouth on my neck was doing things to me that should probably be illegal, and when his teeth grazed my skin, I couldn't stop the small sound that escaped my throat.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his gray eyes dark with desire. "Do you want to get out of here?"

The smart thing would be to say no. To thank him for the kiss and go back to my friends and chalk this up to a wild story.

But did I really want this to end? I’ve never felt this alive with Jaxon.

"Yes," I whispered.

His eyes flared with heat, and he took my hand, leading me through the crowd. I caught a glimpse of Maya and the girls watching from the VIP section, their expressions ranging from shocked to delighted. Maya gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Then we were in the elevator, and Asher was kissing me again, pressing me against the mirrored wall as the numbers climbed. His hands were everywhere—my waist, my hips, sliding up my ribcage in a way that made me arch into him.

"Which floor?" 

"Penthouse," he answered himself, pressing the button without looking.

The elevator dinged, doors sliding open to reveal a private hallway with only one door. He pulled me toward it, fumbling with a keycard while I pressed kisses to his neck, tasting salt and something uniquely him.

The door swung open, and we stumbled inside. I had a vague impression of floor-to-ceiling windows and modern furniture before Asher's mouth found mine again and I stopped caring about anything else.

He walked me backward until my legs hit something soft—a bed, I realized—and then we were falling together, his weight pressing me into expensive sheets that smelled like cedar and winter.

"Last chance to change your mind," he said, pulling back to look at me, his expression serious despite the desire burning in his eyes. "Tell me to stop and I will."

I looked up at him—this beautiful, dangerous stranger who'd appeared exactly when I needed him—and made my choice.

"Don't stop," I whispered.

And he didn't.

His mouth crashed down on mine as his hands found the zipper of my dress. I tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine, and when we finally made contact—bare chest to bare chest—I gasped at the electricity that sparked between us.

This was freedom. This was choice. This was taking back control of my own body, my own life, my own desires.

And as Asher's hands and mouth mapped every inch of my skin, as he whispered my name like a prayer, as pleasure built and built until I shattered in his arms—I felt more alive than I had in either of my lifetimes.

For the first time in three years—in two lifetimes—I wasn't living for anyone but myself.

And it felt incredible.