Chapter 18 Ashton
ASHTON
“Where are we going? ”she asks, looking up as I speed down the dark road, splashes of light from the moon reflecting off the damp trees. It must have rained a little earlier when we were at the gala. One of those brief summer showers.
“My favorite place,” I answer.
She returns her head to lean against the window as I pull into the sandy parking lot. I run around and open the door for her, and when I do, she blinks up at me, her mascara still streaked against her pink cheeks. I offer her my hand, and she takes it.
“I look like a train wreck,” she murmurs.
“You don’t,” I answer simply. I don’t know what possesses me, but I lick my thumb and apply it to her cheeks, wiping the blackness away. Her mouth is wide open by the time I’m done, but she doesn’t say anything.
We walk to the edge of the lot and down the path that leads to the beach.
Driscoll’s Beach is the one place in the county where students from Emberfield High and Baybridge Prep come together in relative peace.
Everywhere else, the rivalry stands. Playing fields, restaurants, hiking paths, private homes.
But neither school was willing to give up this perfect spot, and no one wanted to risk losing it in an all-out war, so it became a neutral area.
Of course, there were still fights. Some guy from Baybridge flirting with someone’s girl from Emberfield, so on and so forth.
For the most part, we just came out here to get a break from all the pressure.
We would build bonfires, drink whatever we could get our hands on, smoke weed, and forget.
Allie didn’t go to either school. From what I’ve heard, the kids from Rocky Falls would go to a lake closer to their town for all of their teenage debauchery.
As we walk closer to the shore, I see several fires already going.
Plastic solo cups dance in the night, liquid sloshing over the sides as bodies sway to the music pouring out of a speaker that’s made to resemble a vintage radio.
Some people are sitting on the ground. Some are sitting in folding chairs or on rocks.
“Stay here,” I tell Allie as I approach a guy smoking a joint at the edge of one of the fires.
He’s standing by a pile of wood. I ask him if I can grab some, and he looks from me to the woman standing off to the side, clearly waiting for me.
He chuckles. “For sure, man.” He gives me a knowing look as he hooks me up with some wood and kindling.
“Have fun!” he calls as I carry it over toward Allie.
We walk further down the beach, find a secluded area far from the other people, and I get to work building the fire.
I dig a hole in the sand with my hands and place the kindling in the center, stacking the wood around it.
I step back and admire my work, but then it hits me. I forgot to ask that guy for a lighter.
I hear a click and look up to see Allie holding a pink lighter.
I didn’t know she smoked.
“I don’t smoke.” She shrugs. “You never know when you might need one.”
My lips spread wide. Why do the littlest things this girl does make my stomach flip?
I take it from her and light the fire. Then I take off my jacket and set it on the ground for her to sit on, while I sit directly on the sand.
I rest my arms over my knees as I take in the scent of wood fire and salty air, looking out at the moonlit water.
That’s when I hear it. The muffled cries.
Her eyes are shining, tears dripping down to her chin.
“Ashton, it hurts,” she whimpers.
The ding from my phone pulls me from my memories.
I rub the ache from my eyes and take a sip of my fourth cup of coffee.
Forty-seven minutes. That’s how much sleep I got last night, according to the ring my parents gifted me and my siblings this past Christmas.
It’s one of those smart rings that measures biometric data, including sleep.
Every year, they give us all the same gift.
They don’t put any thought into it. In fact, I’m sure they have one of their assistants pick something out.
Even if they did put the effort in, they wouldn’t know where to start.
They barely know anything about any of us.
They know Tray is good with numbers and hitting the bottom line, but they don’t know he’s been practicing judo for the past couple of years and just made it to black belt.
That the practice has taught him to rely less on devices and more on his spiritual instincts.
They care that Cassie did what she was told and got married and knocked up before she could even go to college.
But they have no idea that she takes in strays from the pound and works tirelessly to find them good homes.
Or that she despises new technology to the point that she has a flip phone.
And me? All they know is that I’m a disappointment. The second son. The middle child. A joke. Their impersonal present did come in handy last night, though. It told me exactly how many minutes I wasn’t thinking about what happened with Allie.
Forty-seven.
I’ve been vacillating between thinking about last night and that night at the beach.
We held hands until she got antsy and declared her aftercare commitment to be fulfilled, but she did let me walk her to her car.
Craig wasn’t hiding in the shadows. He was probably home icing his balls…
and his ego. I still haven’t decided what to do about him.
Pepper spray and a knee to the groin are not a walk in the park, but it’s also not enough of a punishment for attempting to sexually assault someone.
He deserves worse. Not to mention, he may not have taken my threat seriously.
He still might try to come after Allie, and I’m not going to let that happen.
That’s not what kept me up, though. I’ve known men like Craig Holder all my life.
He doesn’t scare me. What scares me to death is the five-foot-something blue-eyed woman who literally brought me to my knees.
It wasn’t the first time I was on my knees for her, but it was different.
Submitting to Allie, being degraded by her, made me feel alive in a way I can barely describe.
I used to enjoy sex. Back in high school and college.
For me, it was about the thrill of the chase.
It all started with Skylar, who I thought I had feelings for.
I didn’t lie to Allie. We never slept together, but we kissed once, and that was enough to make us both realize that we were meant to be friends.
After that, I went about my business as a typical red-blooded teenager.
I was never interested in the girls who propositioned me, though.
I wanted the ones who didn’t know I existed—or at least pretended not to.
It was usually a game, and I knew it, but I played along anyway.
It was fun until it wasn’t. When I got serious with a girl in my sophomore year of college, everything started happening way too fast.
My parents adored her because she came from a wealthy family, and she was all too happy to humor them when they talked of marriage and starting a family.
It scared the shit out of me, and when she told me she was going to stop taking birth control and “if it happens, it happens,” I ended it then and there.
My mom was pissed, my dad called me selfish, and I proceeded to have very protected sex with half of the varsity cheerleading team and at least one entire sorority over the next two years.
That’s when I stopped enjoying it. It was meaningless and robotic.
I would get off, but I felt nothing. Like when your cheek is numb from the dentist and you run your finger over it.
You know what it’s supposed to feel like, but it’s blunted.
So eventually, I gave up. After college, I’d sleep with women here and there when the opportunity presented itself, but it was transactional.
I didn’t even care about the chase anymore.
Until Allie.
That night I saw her from across the bar, something clicked.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy, and I knew that it would only make me want her more.
That night I finally got to touch her, we didn’t even have sex, and I felt more than all of my previous hook-ups combined.
I didn’t need to come. Watching her fall apart on my hand was like getting the feeling back in all of the numbed parts of me at once.
When I went down on her at her house that day after the inn, it wasn’t just to prove a point, but I made her feel that way.
I was angry when she showed back up in my life acting like she was the one who was wronged, but I never wanted her to feel the same way I did when I woke up alone in the sand that night.
Then there was last night…I’ve never done that with anyone.
Never submitted to anyone. Honestly, I’ve never given much thought to what I like in bed.
I always just went along with what the moment called for.
A woman wanted my hands around her throat?
I’d do it. Rough? Gentle? Slow? Hard? Talk to me.
Don’t talk. From behind. I want to see your face.
I did whatever women wanted. Maybe I have been submissive this whole time.
Or passive. I think that’s the better term.
But what Allie and I did? It was on a whole other level.
She made degrading me feel like an art form.
The beauty was in the smallest details, like making me keep my underwear on around my thighs because all she cared about was having easy access to me.