He squirted some lube into his hand, then set the bottle aside. Stepping closer, he gripped her hip, then slipped the lubed-up hand between her legs.

At the first touch of his fingers on her pussy, she shut her eyes and let out a low moan. The way he caressed her there was so fucking lovely. Gentle, but sure. He smoothed the lube over her folds, coating her with the gel to make sure she was wet and open. His fingers teased her entrance and she sighed, her breath hitching when he found her clit and stroked.

“Please,” she whispered, shaking her ass to hurry him along.

It worked. With a groan, he moved behind her and bent his knees. His thighs pressed against hers, and then the head of his cock prodded at her. Their eyes met in the mirror and she sucked in a breath. His handsome features were stark with the intensity of his concentration, and his dark gaze entranced her. This kind of single-minded focus—on her—was a turn-on like no other. Then he pushed forward, filling her, stretching her. Pleasure detonated her thoughts into stardust. The lube and her own readiness eased the way, but he still felt impossibly thick inside her.

And so fucking good.

He had to rock himself back and forth a bit to stretch her, but when he was fully sheathed, with his hips pressed against her ass, she dug her nails into the edge of the dresser and hissed out a breath.

Panting, he leaned over her back and braced his hands next to hers. “Okay?”

“Perfect.” She thrust her butt back against him, and it was like that one move broke his control. His arm snaked around her waist and he began to thrust, setting a fast, pounding pace that left her breathless. The power in those thighs, the passion in his gaze—he was consuming her from the inside out. And all she could do was hold on for the ride.

“Cójelo,” he growled in her ear, and she just sobbed “yes” over and over in response.

Her entire world narrowed to his cock shuttling in and out of her, his skin slapping against hers, his harsh pants and growls, his lips hot against her ear whispering Spanish dirty talk. His hands moved up and down her body—rolling her tight nipples, squeezing her madly bouncing breasts, rubbing circles over her clit. She was a mass of throbbing sensation, originating from where he hammered into her. Just like before, her pleasure was his sole focus.

She loved it. She couldn’t take it. She never wanted him to stop.

When her limbs threatened to give out, he gathered her close, letting her lean on him. He held her up with his hands on her breasts and between her legs, and with the force of his straining thighs and cock. Their sweat-dampened bodies slid together, generating heat and friction.

Through it all, they watched each other in the mirror. There were no barriers here, nothing but naked, hungry passion. She’d spent so long trying to get past his walls and now she was in. What she found there rocked her to the core. She hadn’t been prepared, and now, with her emotional defenses demolished by the waves of arousal coursing through her, she was perilously close to the abyss at the end of the Jasmine Scale.

When her eyes tried to drift shut, powerless against the ecstasy he was building in her, he thrust harder and murmured, “Mírame.”

Look at me.

Ashton’s gaze was blazing hot, demanding that she feel everything he had to give and more. So she did.

Electric spirals of bliss flashed through her, and her cries took on an urgent pitch. She was close to her breaking point. This much sensation, this much emotion, couldn’t sustain itself. It had to crest, or it would consume them.

She reached behind her and gripped his thigh with one hand, reveling in the unyielding muscles, in the strength behind his thrusts. And surrendered fully to the pleasure zinging through her.

“Querida,” Ashton breathed in her ear. “Come for me.”

How could she do otherwise?

Her body tensed, all her muscles contracting. And then she exploded from within. She shook in his arms, racked by the waves of sensation flooding her senses and overloading her nerve endings. Euphoria cleared her mind and left her senseless to anything that wasn’t the press of his skin on hers. She would have collapsed onto the carpet if it weren’t for him.

His arm tightened around her waist. He braced himself against the dresser with his free hand. And with his eyes still on hers in the mirror, he pumped into her until, with a grimace and a groan, his body stiffened and he followed her over the edge.

The silence in the room was deafening without the sounds of their pants and moans. She couldn’t have moved if she wanted to. Her mind was utterly blank, still focused on her body and taking stock of her limbs, her balance, and where they were still joined.

Then, a single thought came to her: Ashton Suarez had just fucked her brains out. And she’d loved it.

After a moment, Ashton slipped out of her. He kept his arm around her waist and shifted her to the bed. She sank onto it, boneless, as he stumbled drunkenly into the bathroom. Finally, she closed her eyes.

She thought she fell asleep, drifting in hazy bliss. Then Ashton stroked her arm. “Jasmine. Me voy.”

“Hmm?” Wait, he was leaving?

She sat up and saw he was already fully dressed.

“If I stay, neither of us will get any sleep. And I can see that you’re tired.” He pulled the bedsheet over her legs, then bent and kissed her lips, long and sweet. “Tomorrow?”

“I have to go to the Bronx.” Her thoughts were still a little scrambled and her voice was husky from the most amazing fucking orgasm she’d ever experienced in her entire life. “To see my grandparents. I’ll text you when I get back?”

“Okay. We still have to go over our lines. We got a little . . . distracted tonight.” His easy grin warmed her. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him to stay again, but he did look tired, and she was ready to curl up and pass out.

She was also worried that she’d only be asking to see if he said yes again. And she didn’t want to play those games with Ashton.

When she nodded, he cupped her face and kissed her again. “Dulces sueños, querida.”

She heard him leave, then flopped back on the bed with a giddy smile on her face. Sweet dreams, indeed.

Chapter 25

For the next week, Ashton spent every nonworking minute he could with Jasmine. Not that there were many, since the seventh episode required long days and multiple on-location shoots, but they managed to steal time here and there.

He knew he was asking for trouble, sneaking around in a hotel where some of the other actors and higher-up crew members were also staying, but he couldn’t stop.

They saw each other at work, of course, but it was different. They were careful not to do anything to arouse suspicion—no heated looks, no lingering glances—although Ofelia had remarked on their improved performances a few times, and Ashton worried the first AD was starting to suspect something was up.

However, they were most careful around Vera, who had an uncanny knack for tuning into their emotional states. Pretending that he wasn’t falling locamente enamorado with Jasmine was the most difficult role he’d ever tried to pull off. Even harder than the time he’d played his own evil clone.

After being on location all week, it was nice to be back at the ScreenFlix Studios lot on Friday, which was gradually feeling more familiar to him. Ashton was in between filming Victor’s daytime talk show performances when he ran into Jasmine chatting with Nino and Lily at craft services.