Excerpt!
“We waiting until we get back to eat?” I asked, overwhelmed with the scent of our dinner in the small cab.
“Fuck no. I’m starving,” he said, cranking up the air conditioning, which barely spewed tepid air, and turning the radio dial until it was on a classic rock station.
Author bio:
L.L. Ash is a Washington-born writer who has traveled and lived across the western coast of the US. Ash has been writing fiction since she was a pre-teen, and while her writing has improved since then, her love for literature has not changed.
Oftentimes you can find Ash reading an indie romance or enjoying a historical fiction. Dabbling in culinary arts and music, Ash has been an artist for decades but found her true love and passion in romances.
AC/DC burst into song when he settled on the station, and it made me smile. Dad always loved classic rock, and it was just another thing that Ashton did that felt like home.
“Gimme gimme,” he said, doing little grabby motions with his hands while he sat there impatiently.
“We’re going to make a mess,” I said with a laugh, looking for his butter chicken.
Once the styrofoam container was in his hands, he dug into the spiced rice and golden chicken gravy with a ragged moan.
“Fuck yeah…” His words were strained, and for half a second, I wondered if that was his orgasm voice.
“I’m a little worried with how intimate you’re getting with that chicken,” I teased, ripping into the naan before dipping it into his container.
“You’re riding one fine fucking line, stealing my food like that,” he told me, eyeing me like a predator.
“Chill, I’ll share mine,” I assured, taking another dip.
His hand shot out like a viper and gripped my wrist, holding it between us with the curry about to drip onto the upholstery.
Pulling a little, he moved my hand, still holding that naan, and brought it to his lips where he took a massive bite, making sure to include every bit of his butter curry.
His hand shot out like a viper and gripped my wrist, holding it between us with the curry about to drip onto the upholstery.
Pulling a little, he moved my hand, still holding that naan, and brought it to his lips where he took a massive bite, making sure to include every bit of his butter curry.
My breath hitched in my throat as his sharp eyes met mine.
“You need to stop provoking me, Frey,” he murmured, his tongue flicking out to get a tiny bit of the sauce off my fingertip before he dropped my arm completely and went back to his dinner like nothing happened.
My heart was stuttering, breath trapped in my lungs, feeling like they were about to burst as heat infused every cell in my body.
Finally, a jagged inhale of air finally filled me as he slurped up a rather big piece of chicken.
“Can I have the other naan?” he asked, as if he hadn’t just changed everything with the tip of his tongue.
I got it and handed it over, then brought my fingers to my lips, unable to stop myself from licking that same spot he’d put his mouth on.
He dipped his flatbread into the sauce, but looked up long enough to see that fingertip in my mouth, my insatiable self sucking on it like a savory lollipop that tasted oh so vaguely like…well, like him.
I saw the sharp inhale he took, but other than that he didn’t let anything show as he wrenched his eyes away from me and focused on his food. God, I just couldn’t tell anything with him. Did he want me, too? Even just the tiniest little bit? Oh, what I’d do just to have his hand slapping my ass again, or maybe even another smack to my vag. Hell, I didn’t even need that. I was already throbbing with need just from that tiny little lick of my finger.
To distract myself from my thoughts, I opened my own container and got hit with a punch of spicy cardamom and turmeric, and my mouth watered. Even still, he tasted better.
I managed a couple of bites before he reached over and dipped his own bread into my container.
“What the hell?” I barked as he stuffed it quickly into his mouth with a grin on his lips.
“Karma,” he said, licking his own fingers.
“The only karma I need in this life is my Goddamn mother,” I growled at him, staring at his fingers, coated in granules of salt and garlic from the naan.
He chuckled, and the smirk on his lips was infuriatingly sexy.
I thought about gripping his wrist the way he had mine, knowing he’d let me do it because revenge was fair to a guy like him…but I was too much of a coward.
We got through our meals without any more suggestive moments, then headed back to his place while I smashed all our trash back into one of the restaurant’s takeaway bags. After pulling up to his house, we stopped on the side of the street in the same place I had parked yesterday. He took the takeaway bags from my hand and clicked the button to open the garage door. Now, time to get back to working on that Firebird.
Ashton
One single moment changed everything. After receiving life-altering injuries on my last operation, I was forced to retire early. What was I if not a Raider and a Marine? When my brother in arms Tommy (Gun) Blair offered his home up to me to finish my recovery, I snatched up the opportunity with both hands because I had nowhere else to go. Amidst all my calculations, however, I realized that I’d missed one significant detail. Freya, Tommy’s daughter. She’d been a kid last time I’d seen her. She was definitely NOT a kid anymore. Living up to her namesake, the daughter of my best friend was beautiful, sweet, and deadly. If Tommy knew the kinds of things running through my head, he’d kill me in my sleep with a rusty spoon. Didn’t matter though. The woman was temptation embodied, and despite all my training, discipline and control, she was the one weakness that I just couldn’t give up.
Freya
I’d never met a man like him. Ashton was solid, confident, rigid, and bold. He also had the body of a god. No joke. But I was just the kid of his best friend. Seeing a man as powerful as him bow to the agony of injuries and PTSD…it broke my heart. It also proved that he wasn’t just a fighting machine. When he started working at Dad’s dealership with us, I started to get to know the man instead of the legend, and I loved what I found. Good with his hands, and loyal to a fault, I fell so deep in love with him it’s almost disgusting. Too bad he was my father’s best friend and would never love me back.
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L.L. Ash is a Washington-born writer who has traveled and lived across the western coast of the US. Ash has been writing fiction since she was a pre-teen, and while her writing has improved since then, her love for literature has not changed.
Oftentimes you can find Ash reading an indie romance or enjoying a historical fiction. Dabbling in culinary arts and music, Ash has been an artist for decades but found her true love and passion in romances.
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