Part 25 Asha
My mind was a dirty, filthy, smutty pit. I felt tainted. I couldn't shake the dream—it clung to me for three days, refusing to fade like usual. Normally, I forgot my dreams within minutes, but this one lingered, looping endlessly in the corners of my mind.
Every time I remembered Liam's voice, a private shiver ran through me. "Say my name again," he had whispered, low and intimate. And then came the heat, the flush of my own response, words I could barely believe had come from me: "I want it in me."
But this one was the winner. "Fucking come for me, Asha. Come on my face." The needy, greedy sensation between my legs then returned, immediately dampening my panties.
Those illicit images from my dream kept popping into my mind like an uninvited guest who just wouldn't leave, fueling an infinite hunger that refused to take a hint. The more I tried to push it away, the stronger it became, as if it were determined to make itself comfortable on my mental couch. It didn't care that I was stuck in a meeting, nodding along while pretending to be engaged. My mind was clearly on a different wavelength, and it utterly gave no shit for the meeting agenda.
Sometimes, I had to squeeze my legs together desperately, trying to ease the growing ache that seemed to take on a life of its own. Each time someone around the table spoke, I fought to focus, but my thoughts kept wandering off like mischievous children on a playground. I shifted in my seat, feeling the heat rising to my cheeks. My colleagues were blissfully unaware of my relentless, depraved thoughts, completely absorbed in their own discussions. Little did they know that while they were mapping out our annual budget, my mind was off on a very different adventure—one that was clearly not suited for the boardroom.
More than once, while pretending to care about the spreadsheets in front of me, I found myself plotting a way to escape this mental mayhem—and find him.
Fortunately, Liam was out of town on a business trip for the past few days. How did I know this? He texted me to let me know he'd be away for three days and was quite detailed about it. He informed me when he arrived at the airport, when he boarded the plane, and when he landed safely. Then he let me know when he checked into the hotel. He even filled me in on the boring meetings, the dinners, and the party his business partner threw for him. Plus, he sent pictures. I saw him in a suit for the first time.
And let me tell you, the guy looked dapper in a suit.
His texts were like a play-by-play of his trip, complete with his usual charm. "Just came back to the hotel. Miss you. Still two days to go until I see you," he wrote in one message, followed by a picture of him from the waist up, wearing a white undershirt, lying on the bed in his hotel room, looking both suave and exhausted. I couldn't help but sigh at the sight.
Scorching hot, oh my God.
In another message, he wrote, "Meetings are boring, but at least the hotel has a killer view. Wish you were here to enjoy it with me." He sent a photo of the skyline that left me both envious and a little wistful because that skyline reminded me too much of that dream.
He asked me how I was doing, and I struggled to find the right answer. I didn't want to lie, but I certainly couldn't tell him I was preoccupied with a sex dream about him that kept nagging at me and giving me a slight pinch between my thighs. So, I stayed silent.
In another message, he sent a selfie with his hair slightly tousled and a playful pout on his lips. "I'm not feeling well. Missing you too much."
I decided it would be best to mute his messages and ignore them completely. It wasn't good for my sanity, especially since I shamelessly stared at his pictures far too many times to be healthy.
And today was the day he would be back at the office.
My nerves were frayed, and I anxiously dreaded seeing him. With my pent-up sexual frustration escalating, I worried I wouldn't be able to resist jumping into his arms the moment I saw him.
Standing in front of the elevator in the lobby, I was twitchy and fidgety, biting my nails as I stared at the glowing digital numbers above the doors, silently willing them to descend to the lobby faster. "Come on, faster, faster," I muttered to myself, as if I could command the machine to move at my pace. Every few seconds, I glanced over my shoulder, scanning the crowded lobby for any sign of him. But amid the rush of people, Liam was nowhere to be found.
Finally, with a soft ding, the elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside, my heart racing. I pressed the button for my floor, swallowing a mix of anticipation and anxiety. As the doors slid shut, I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself, feeling utterly ridiculous for being so wound up.
But then, just an inch before the elevator door closed, it opened again. And there he was—standing casually with his hands in his pockets, looking effortlessly as handsome as he was in that suit. My breath caught in my throat as he looked up, a surprised smile breaking across his face.
"Hey there," he said, his voice warm and delicious. Just like that, I scrambled to remember all my careful planning to avoid him at all costs. I instinctively took a step back, though I couldn't suppress the grin spreading across my face. And yes, I was blushing. I didn't know why I'd been so anxious moments before, because at the sight of him, I felt an overwhelming rush of happiness. I suddenly realized just how much I had missed him.
No, Asha. Get a grip. I whiffed off the stupid grin and plastered on a more serious expression. Clearing my throat as Liam stepped inside, I managed to croak, "Liam."
He stood beside me, clasping his hands in front of him. We both stared at our reflections in the elevator doors, stealing glances at each other. "Long time no see," he muttered, his eyes locked with mine in the reflection.
"Yeah. How was the trip?" I asked, trying to sound casual, though my mind was racing, replaying that damn dream in vivid detail. His presence beside me made it feel way too real. My heart pounded in my chest as I struggled to focus on his response, praying he couldn't see the heat rising to my face.
I was definitely not thinking about the dream where I was naked in front of him. Nope. And I was certainly not thinking about his bare chest... and his...
"If you'd read my texts, you'd know," he replied, cutting my frustrating inner conflict, a hint of disappointment in his voice. He must've noticed the one tick beside his messages, never turning into two, realizing I'd been ignoring them.
"I'm sorry," I said stiffly. "The pictures were... distracting."
"Oh, really?" His grin widened, clearly amused. "Which one?"
I cleared my throat again. "All of them."
"All those two you actually looked at?" he teased, eyes sparkling with amusement.
"Three, including the skyline."
"Hmm," he muttered, pinching his chin thoughtfully. "Then you haven't seen the last one I sent. That one was taken when I was getting really frustrated trying to get your attention."
This devil. He knew exactly what he was doing, playing on my curiosity. And, of course, he knew me well enough to know I wouldn't be able to resist checking it out.
Of course, I was going to check it out—I just needed to figure out how to open his message without that dreaded tick turning into two.
"You can see it now if you want," he suggested, and I knew he was dying to see the look on my face when I saw it.
"Maybe later," I replied, though my heart skipped a beat when he stepped closer, his arm brushing against mine.
"Come on, Asha. Open it," he whispered, his tone teasing, practically daring me.
"No time," I shot back, glancing at the floor numbers as they ticked up. "The elevator will be on our floor in five seconds." Then I mentally counted to five until the doors finally slid open, while Liam chuckled softly at my reaction. Without wasting a second, I stepped out in a rush, practically sprinting as I called over my shoulder, "Have a nice day!"
Once inside the office, I spotted Dennis already settled behind his desk. I hurried over and blurted, "How do I open a text message without the sender knowing I read it?"
Dennis blinked at me, confused. "Huh?"
"WhatsApp message. How do I open it without the sender seeing I've read it?" I repeated, feeling my patience thinning.
"I heard it can be done, but I have no clue how," he replied, looking a bit lost. "Why do you need it?"
I huffed, frustrated that he didn't have the answer. Dennis was supposed to be the tech-savvy one. "Never mind."
Stomping away to my office, I sat down behind my desk and stared at my phone, lying there so innocently. I stared and stared, until finally, curiosity got the best of me. I picked up the phone, my fingers hovering over the screen, before I finally pressed the app button. I scrolled through the messages, quickly finding his name among the clutter. Twelve unread messages stared back at me, but I impatiently scrolled directly to the last one, ignoring the rest.
As I read it, my heart pounded. There it was: a selfie of Liam, from his neck down to his thighs, lying on the bed. He was not wearing any clothes. Bare-chested, his muscles and tattoos were on full display, with a pillow strategically covering his most private part. My cheeks burned, and suddenly, the room felt suffocatingly hot. I couldn't tear my eyes away, unashamedly gorging on the visual feast in front of me. Was it even legal to look that good?
Okay, Asha, calm the fuck down.
Then my phone rang. I jumped, dropping it from my hand. It hit the desk with a loud thud. Liam was calling me. Oh, crap. My brain was still doing backflips over that selfie, and my hands shook as I picked it up again and fumbled with the phone. In my panic, I accidentally pressed the reject button.
Five seconds later, a text arrived.
"I bet you're blushing prettily right now ." From how fast he responded, I could picture him sitting there, phone in hand, waiting for the moment I'd open his message. "Can I come over and see you?"
I huffed, rolling my eyes. If there were a championship for stubbornness, Liam would win gold.
"I'm busy," I typed back. "I have a meeting in five minutes."
"I only need thirty seconds," he bargained. I couldn't help but smile—he was persistent and, annoyingly, adorable. And hot. My eyes drifted back to the picture, as if I still hadn't had my fill. So, so hot.
I fanned myself.
"Can't. Need to prepare for my presentation. Big meeting."
"Please?" He replied.
"Nope." I replied.
"Ashaaaaa..." He typed. "You're killing me."
I laughed. "Catch you later, big guy,"
I closed the app, still laughing, when my phone beeped again. I glanced at the name on the screen. Richard Malloy. My divorce attorney. His message said he had the draft ready and requested a meeting.
My heart gave a painful pinch. Suddenly, it all became too real. Twenty years with Aiden. Eighteen years of marriage. Two wonderful children together. We'd been through so much—navigating life's ups and downs, raising our kids while we were still students, building our careers, struggling and succeeding together. And now, it was all coming to an end.
The weight of it hit me hard, and for a moment, I just sat there, staring at the screen, feeling the finality of it all. This was it. Everything we had built—every shared laugh, every intimate moment, every milestone reached—was about to be reduced to legal paperwork and signatures. It felt surreal to think that years of our lives could be summed up in a few documents.
Memories flooded my mind: the day Aiden and I first met, the joy of bringing our children into the world, the countless family vacations and quiet evenings spent together. All those moments, once vibrant and full of life, now felt overshadowed by the harsh reality of what was to come—a reality I had never once considered would happen to me. I had always pictured our life together, growing old side by side, but now that vision was broken, leaving only remnants of what we had and a dream of a future that would never be.
And I couldn't shake the heavy feeling of loss in my chest, wondering all over again if I really had the strength to do this.