Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Asher Montgomery
With a soft click, Theo shut down the camera and eased himself onto the bed beside us, the mattress sinking under his weight as he sat at the edge. “I didn’t exactly plan for things to go this way when I orchestrated your little encounter today,” he confessed, his voice low.
Beckett’s eyes met mine, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Earlier, Theo had winced dramatically, claiming he’d pulled something while moving boxes and insisting we finish filming without him.
Now I wondered if that had been a calculated move.
Theo usually prided himself on brutal honesty, but when it came to getting what he wanted, his principles sometimes bent like a reed in the wind.
Part of me wanted to be pissed at Theo’s little scheme, but I couldn’t deny the results.
For months I’d imagined Beckett beneath me, that perfect mouth of his finally silent except for moans.
When I’d said I wanted to bend him over and fuck the attitude out of him earlier, it wasn’t just anger talking—beneath all our bickering had always been this current, this heat I couldn’t explain away.
“I wasn’t injured,” Theo admitted calmly.
Beckett watched closely, blinking a few times.
“I wanted to bring you two together. I want my turn, believe me, but this thing growing between all of us needed to come full circle. I didn’t know Asher was so pissed at you over something stupid.
” He shot me a patronizing glare. “Or else I wouldn’t have done that. ”
I took a deep breath. “It was messed up. You didn’t even know if Beckett wanted to bottom, but you sent him my way.
” My voice was steady despite the storm of emotions—anger at being played, gratitude for where it had led us, confusion about what came next.
Theo’s little scheme had somehow broken through months of tension in ways talking never could.
I was trying to decide if Theo’s decision was careless or brilliant, or a mix of both.
If he hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t have literally fucked our way through our issues.
Sometimes sex brought people together in inexplicable ways.
“I had a theory, and Beckett proved it. You didn’t have to fuck him; he wanted to.
But I am sorry, and to make it up to you, I’m here to help provide aftercare.
Then, you’re going to teach us how to cook a meal, and we’re going to hangout and relax.
Especially after that beating from a monster cock that Beckett’s ass took.
” Theo gave Beckett a gentle elbow to his arm, drawing a soft laugh from him. “I know what that feels like.”
I felt like an asshole for sulking in my anger and not jumping to care for Beckett after.
That wasn’t like me. As a top, it was my job to take care of my partner after, especially in someone like Beckett’s case.
It was his first time, and I had been rough, and I wasn’t small by any means.
Wasn’t even average, but instead well above.
My size was something Theo practically worshipped, while Beckett had only recently begun contemplating the idea of bottoming—if his curiosity had even started that long ago.
I caught Theo’s wrist before he could stand.
“Let me,” I said, my voice coming out softer than intended.
The words hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning I wasn’t ready to analyze.
Something had shifted during those moments with Beckett—something that made it impossible to maintain the careful distance I’d cultivated for months.
I couldn’t walk away from this responsibility.
Taking care of him afterward wasn’t optional—it was part of the unspoken contract between us.
My chest tightened at the thought of what might happen if I let myself cross that line between hate and something deeper.
Something that couldn’t be dismissed as just physical.
That kind of vulnerability would destroy everything we’d built.
Still, beneath all my justifications, I recognized myself. I’d never been the type to leave someone hanging after intimacy. We shared this apartment, this need for tuition money. Despite our history, Beckett was my equal now—flesh and blood with the same human needs as anyone else.
I went to the bathroom and started running water for a bath, testing it with my wrist until it felt just right before plugging the drain and adding a capful of bubble solution.
Beckett needed more than a quick wipe-down.
What we’d done had left traces of both of us deep in the most intimate parts of him.
The memory made me groan. I had marked him, and he had begged for it.
I headed back to the room, finding Beckett hadn’t moved from his spot on the edge of the bed next to Theo.
I stood before him, my hand drawn to his face like a magnet.
My thumb traced the flush still lingering on his cheekbone.
“Look at you,” I murmured, taking in his disheveled hair and the soft vulnerability in his eyes.
“I’ve never seen anything more gorgeous than you right now.
” The bath was waiting. “Come on. Water’s perfect. ”
I guided Beckett up from the bed, our fingers interlaced as we made our way to the bathroom with Theo following close behind.
The water embraced Beckett as I lowered him into the tub, steam rising around his shoulders.
I twisted the faucet off while Theo perched on the closed toilet lid, watching us with undisguised amusement as I worked circles of foam across Beckett’s skin. He sank deeper, eyes drifting closed.
“God, this would be perfect with some candles,” Beckett murmured, “dim lighting, maybe something playing in the background.”
The bath wouldn’t last much longer, but I filed away his preferences for another time—because now I knew there would be one.
If we had more time, I’d wash his hair. Give him a good scalp massage.
These gestures might speak what my mouth couldn’t form into sentences.
Later, when everything unraveled between us, I’d want him to recall these moments—the careful attention, the gentleness—as evidence of who I really was beneath all my sharp edges.
“What are you going to teach us to make for dinner?” Theo asked, even though the idea came from him.
I thought back to what we had in the kitchen. Theo had mastered how to make boxed macaroni, but Beckett would probably burn toast if given the opportunity. I wasn’t the accomplished chef they made me out to be, but to them, someone being able to make a bowl of cereal was impressive.
I learned to cook out of necessity when I was a kid.
Even on days when my dad’s fists had left fresh bruises, I’d still prepare his dinner.
The kitchen became my sanctuary—a place where I could sometimes prevent the storm I saw brewing in his eyes.
On rare occasions, the smell of a home-cooked meal would soften his expression, like the alcohol hadn’t quite burned away every last human part of him.
Those were the good days—when he’d eat silently instead of reminding me how worthless I was, or when he’d pass out before he could do any damage.
“Let’s do something super simple. We’ll air fry fish and make loaded mashed potatoes out of the packaged ones we have in the fridge. Cooking doesn’t have to be a big, fancy meal,” I answered.
I wasn’t sure what Beckett ate. I imagined he ate the most expensive, high-quality fish and meats, with sides like grilled asparagus and Brussels sprouts.
Meanwhile, Theo had practically licked the plate clean last time I’d made a simple salmon.
For someone who grew up with money, his tastes ran surprisingly basic.
“One of my parent’s cooks used to make the best twice-baked mashed potatoes,” Beckett said, surprising me. His fingers traced the edge of the tub. “It was a staple meal for me in middle school. She’d make this really expensive cut of steak, but I’d just go for the potatoes.” His smile faded.
I had never really thought about it before, but the question crept in quietly and refused to leave: how many of his childhood memories were filled with hired help instead of his own parents?
Nannies hovering at a distance, tutors filling the silence, drivers waiting by the curb while important people rushed past him without noticing.
I wondered how often his brothers had stepped into those empty spaces, and what their lives had looked like alongside his.
Were they protectors, rivals, strangers sharing the same last name?
Or were they just as alone in that sprawling house, each of them orbiting the others without ever quite colliding?
While I had been running wild outside, scraping my knees on pavement, riding my bike until the streetlights flickered on, he had been somewhere else entirely.
Maybe indoors, maybe dressed too neatly, maybe being told to sit still and behave like someone far older than he was.
While I was racing toward the park, what was he doing?
Sitting at a long table in a quiet dining room?
Walking through echoing hallways with no one to talk to?
Waiting for someone who never really came?
The thought sat heavy in my chest, because childhood was supposed to be loud and messy and full of people who loved you without needing to be paid for it.
Not that I knew much about that either.
I watched Beckett’s expression tighten as my fingers moved between his legs, gently washing away the evidence of what we’d done. His eyes met mine briefly—vulnerable, almost shy—before looking away. When I finished, I rinsed my hands in the cooling bathwater.
The drain gurgled as Beckett pulled the plug. I unfolded a fresh towel, holding it open like wings while he rose from the tub, water streaming down his body. He stepped carefully onto the bath mat, wrapping himself in the soft cotton I offered.