Free Cinders by Asha King Page A

need.”
    Breathless seconds passed and his heart surged—he wanted her badly, to taste her, to comfort her, to protect her from everything that was wrong.
    “That sounds nice,” she managed softly.
    He wasn’t sure to what specifically so he opted for all of the above. Leaving her with the two extra towels, he rose and backtracked to the bathroom. It was white and pale blue, simple and elegant with a large Jacuzzi tub. He didn’t own bubble bath but didn’t think she’d mind; he slipped the stopper in and cranked the taps, warm water spilling out and splashing against the porcelain.
    The kettle whistled and he was on his feet again, dropping a bag of black tea in a mug and pouring a cup. Gina rose in his peripheral vision, clutching the towel around her shoulders, her movements less stiff now as she walked toward the bathroom. He gripped the mug and followed, reaching her swiftly and gently wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him and said nothing.
    He didn’t want to ask again—wanted to give her space to tell him at her pace—but still burned to know what the hell happened to her.
    In the small, cozy bathroom, he set the mug on the shelf by the bathtub to steep and stepped back to hang in the doorway, his lips parting to speak but words hesitating. She’d stopped shivering, at least, but gazed in silence for a moment at the water filling the tub, her profile to him.
    “Sit in the tub and get warmed up,” he offered. “I’ll find you something to wear and collect your clothes for the dryer.”
    Gina turned slowly and met his eyes. Stepped toward him, closing the distance between them, still gripping closed the towel over her shoulders with one hand and reaching out with the other. Her fingers touched his bare chest over his heart and he sucked in a breath at the contact, his pulse beating harder. She tilted her head back, eyes still locked on his, and he tried to push back against the desire rushing through his body, tried to remain neutral and careful with her, but all he wanted to do was pull her to him and keep her safe.
    “Gina,” he breathed out as she crept closer and then his hands were cupping her jaw, drawing her closer, their breaths mingling just a moment before their lips touched.
    She melted in to him, the towel from her shoulders dropping to the floor. Her hands crept over his broad chest, gliding smoothly and trailing heat everywhere she touched. He held, crushed her to him, kissing her deeply and enjoying every move of her lips against his, every sigh and moan that told him she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
    The water continued to roar from the tap, steam filling the room and coating their skin in slick heat. Her lips parted from his for a moment and he struggled to contain himself, breathing hard as her fingers trailed down his chest, over his abs, tentative but staying the course. Her thumb played at the low waistband of his pajama bottoms and he glanced down between them; his cock stiffened, pushed against the cotton.
    “Can I touch you?” she whispered, her big dark eyes searching his.
    He didn’t know what happened, what had changed—she was still cautious, still inexperienced, but bolder somehow, her fingers dragging back and forth along the waistband. His erection hardened and he wanted to drive it against her hands, her breasts, her pussy, and lose himself at last.
    “Yes,” he breathed out and she did, carefully moving her hand down, gliding over the cotton to wrap her fingers around his hardness. His breath hitched, tremors working over his skin, but he held still and waited, letting her set the pace.
    “You’ll tell me if I do something wrong?” Her hand slid up, beneath the waistband, and down again to grip his bare, needy flesh.
    “You couldn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart...” His voice trailed off, all thought leaving his head and there was just feeling—her soft touch, her lips finding his and kissing him boldly. She ran her hand up and