Home > The Farthest Edge (Honey #2)(17)

The Farthest Edge (Honey #2)(17)
Author: Kristen Ashley

“Do you want that, Branch?”

With a goodly amount of effort, he held onto his control and opened his eyes. “Right now?”

Another small smile. “Not right now, baby. You haven’t earned a good fucking.”

“Too bad,” he muttered, dropping his gaze to her tits, which was a bad place to put it, so he closed his eyes again as she kept at his dick.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

She knew what she was doing, telling him what she was going to do … later.

Making him want a later.

And he had to keep his shit so he wouldn’t lose the strength to get his head together and end this.

He’d take tonight.

And that was it.

“You can settle back down, Branch,” she said, her hand drifting away, over his balls, through his ass, along his right cheek and over, down his other, and soothing the back of his thigh as he regained the agony of lying on his raging hard dick.

Then she slid off the bed.

He watched her walk to the bathroom—eyes trained on her ass in those pants—before he lost sight of her.

She came back with the lace shirt off and a wet washcloth in her hand.

She sat back on the bed and put the warm cloth to his back.

“Get this cleaned and get ointment on it,” she said quietly.

“You don’t need to—”

“Shut up, Branch.”

He shut up.

She cleaned the marks that he knew didn’t need it. He’d had worse. A lot worse. They weren’t deep or long. They wouldn’t heal great, but he didn’t give a shit.

When she’d done that, she went back to the bathroom and returned with a tube of ointment. She sat again beside him and carefully oozed it on, spreading it along his cuts.

He closed his eyes and tried to force his mind to a variety of things.

All he felt was her touch.

Not sexual.


Goddamn her.

And, likely because of the feel of it, something he hadn’t felt in a very long time, for the first time in years, he thought about Tara. His first real Mistress, and she would have been his last if he hadn’t fucked it up.

They fell into it so easy. The life and then their lives.

So he wasn’t equipped to handle it when it got hard.

And then she was just … gone.

He opened his eyes.

Evangeline finished, and without a word, slid off the bed.

He watched her walk away, focusing on her now, Evangeline.

His one-night-only, seriously talented Mistress.

He’d give himself this.

Come and gone.

He didn’t deserve it but fuck it.

Too many shit scenes with Whitney and the like of her. Aryas playing his games thinking Branch wouldn’t cotton on, every once in a while taking what they could give and getting the fuck gone.


Just like that.

He’d let himself have Evangeline.

One night only.

Then he’d get the fuck gone.

She came back and he blinked.

No leather pants or silk bustier.

No makeup.

She was in a dark-blue, satin nightie that barely covered her pubis.

His cock might have been calming down but it pulsed at the sight of her.

She went right to the nightstand and turned out the light.

The room blackened then opened up slightly when he became accustomed to the moonlight streaming through the windows in the ceiling.

He heard the nightstand drawer open and close and watched her shadow move into the bed on her knees.

She got between his legs.

He stiffened.

But he went solid when he felt her lips brush his ass cheek. The small of his back.


Along a scar.

Another one.


She kissed his shoulder.


Her lips slid along the side of his neck. Her thighs now pressed into his ass, he could smell her.

Her perfume was faint, but, damn, it was pretty.

Shit, she was unraveling him.

“You’re being so good, just a little fucking, baby,” she whispered in his ear. “Like before, slide your knees up a bit.”

Damn, she wasn’t unraveling him.

She was going to kill him.

And the shit of it was, he wanted to go at her hands.

He slid his knees up.

He felt the curls of her hair glide along his skin as she moved back down.

She took hold of his plug and with the other hand reached under and cupped his balls.

“Want this?” she asked.

Goddamn her.

“Branch, do you want this?”

“Yes,” he ground out.

And fuck him, he didn’t.

He needed it.

“Ask for it.”

Goddamn her.

“Fuck me, ma’am.”

“As you like it, baby,” she whispered, her hand moving to his dick, the plug gliding out, and Christ, beautiful, so goddamned sweet, she glided it back in.




She stroked his dick and she fucked him rhythmically, gentle but deep, doing it in an outstanding way Whitney couldn’t dream of offering, but she didn’t do it long.

Not nearly long enough.

She filled him, her hand left his dick and then he heard her vibrator turn on and felt her fingers curl into his still raw ass, her nails digging in.

She was making herself come between his legs so he could hear, he could sense, but he couldn’t see or feel.

“Stay in position, handsome, I want my jewel winking at me.”




He needed to thrust.

He needed her to take his ass.

He needed to drive his cock inside her—mouth, pussy, hole, he didn’t give a fuck. He needed to move, not lay there slightly up on his knees, listening to the hot noises she made as she took herself there, undoubtedly staring at the plug she’d planted up his ass.

And he was entirely, thoroughly, totally fucked because he needed something else more.

And she knew what that was.

She knew he got off on every fucking second of staying in position for her, helping her take herself there.


Christ, he was a moron.

Her nails scored through the sensitized flesh of his ass cheek when he listened to her slip over the edge and he had no fucking clue how he found the control not to roll over just to watch, it sounded that damned gorgeous.

She fell forward when she was done, her forehead to his back, side rib cage, her hair tumbling all around, obviously not giving a shit about the ointment in her curls. The vibrator went off but her hand slid around his hip, to his dick, and closed firm.

“Relax, baby,” she whispered against his skin, her low voice wispy, sexy.


He lowered his hips and she lazily stroked him against the mattress as he felt her breath even against his skin.

When she’d recovered, gently, she released him, moved. He felt her on all fours over him and he braced, waiting, even fucking hoping.

But all he heard was her putting her vibrator on the nightstand.

Then she shifted to his opposite side, the bed moving slightly with her, and she curled a thigh over the top of his ass, pressed herself against his side. He turned his head her way and looked down to see her arms up, neck bent, her face resting on her hands that were resting at his lat.

And he heard her mouth murmur, “Sleep now, Branch.”

Was she fucking kidding?


She hooked her calf around the side of his hip and rubbed her pussy against the other side. He could feel the wet silk of her panties and he almost didn’t swallow his groan.

“You didn’t think I’d let you come tonight, did you?”

Goddamn her.

He didn’t reply.

“Sleep, handsome,” she said on a leg squeeze of his hips.

With his cock that hard, his still-stinging ass full, his legs spread, aching balls hanging in the breeze, and her wrapped around him, she wanted him to sleep?

“Do you need covers?” she asked.

“That’d be good,” he grunted.

“Don’t move,” she ordered.


He learned his mistake when she did move, disengaging to get on her knees beside him.

She yanked the covers out from under him, this scoring through his dick like a hot poker traced along it, and once she’d freed them, she pulled them out from under her knees, settled in just as she was and flicked the covers high over both of them.

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