Read Online Anywhere by J. Meyers - Free Book Online Page B

We started walking back to the bridge, but by the time we got to the bottom of it, the skies opened up. We ran up the steps—oh my god, there were a lot more than I’d realized—and by the time we got to the top, I was drenched and out of breath.
    Instead of racing down the other side, Asher grabbed my hand and pulled me under the arch and out of the rain. There were a few others taking shelter there, and we moved off to one side by ourselves.
    My hair was stuck to my face, my clothes soaked through and clinging, and I was starting to shiver. Asher let go of my hand to reach up and brush the wet hair from my face.
    And I found it hard to breathe at the feel of him.
    I glanced up at his face and he searched my eyes. My heart was beating ridiculously fast now and I was so aware of the air between us, could feel every shift in the molecules against my wet skin. Asher’s hand paused and his thumb brushed softly across my cheek.
    If I thought it was hard to breathe before, that was nothing compared to now. My stomach was doing flips and my body pulsed with his every touch. I was pretty sure I might spontaneously combust.
    My mind thought he should not touch me like that and my body wanted him to never stop.
    “Asher.” I breathed his name like it was air.
    His eyes settled on my lips. He stared, mesmerized, for what felt like an eternity before he said, “Skye.” His voice was hoarse, soft. “May I…”
    “Yes,” I said, before my mind could stop me.
    Slowly, gently, he leaned toward me and I closed my eyes as his lips touched mine.
    Oh. My. God.
    Thrills flooded my body, coursed through my chest, and swirled all through me. He tasted like chocolate and everything that was good in this world. He nipped at my bottom lip then sucked on it so gently I gasped, pleasure swelling low in a slow, persistent throb.
    He deepened the kiss, his tongue outlining my lips, running over my teeth, his fingers sliding into my wet hair. I wove my arms around his waist, hooked my fingers into his belt loops and pulled him closer to me. I wanted to feel him against me. All of him.
    He moaned deliciously into my lips, then trailed a line of kisses along my jawline. A whisper of “Oh, Skye” escaped his lips and his breath in my ear shivered me. He sucked gently on my earlobe and the aching between my legs almost buckled my knees.
    I had never wanted anyone in my life as much as I wanted him in that moment.
    No one had ever kissed me like that, like I was being tasted and savored. Like I was being worshipped. The world was spinning—I’d never known it was actually possible to feel like that. I was intoxicated with his taste, his touch.
    My hands slid up under his shirt (I couldn’t stop them—I swear), over warm skin and smooth muscle. He gasped and then laughed at my touch.
    “Your hands are cold,” he said.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, and started to pull them away, but he stopped my arms and slid my hands back under his shirt.
    “No,” he said. “It’s okay. Let me warm them.”
    I wrapped my arms around him, relishing the feel of his skin, and leaned my head against his chest. He rested his chin on my forehead, his arms holding me close.
    I let myself have that moment, told myself that we were just keeping each other warm, that the kiss had been a mistake—an amazing one, perhaps the most incredible one of my life, but still a mistake—and that it didn’t matter. That it couldn’t matter. That we both knew it, given our circumstances.
    But I was totally lying to myself.

ten

    T he next morning we stood at the railing of a large boat, taking a tour of the bigger islands of Venice. The sky above was cloudless, leaving the sun to fill the land, sea, and air unchecked. Even so I had goosebumps thanks to the wind, and was wishing I’d worn jeans instead of shorts. I was contemplating finding a bathroom and changing when Asher handed me his hoodie again. I gratefully slipped it on.
    I had been so worried that things might be