Chapter 18 #2
I bottom out and hold there, my forehead pressed to hers, breathing hard through my nose while her body adjusts around me.
“Ash,” she whispers, the word a broken exhale.
I pull back until only the tip remains inside her, then slide back in just as slow, deep and deliberate, feeling every inch of her wrapped around me, every flutter of muscle trying to pull me deeper. I set a rhythm that has nothing to do with fucking and everything to do with possession.
Mine.
My tongue strokes hers, matching the drag of my cock inside her.
Her hands flex in my grip.
I release her wrists, her arms locking around me, nails digging into my shoulder blades as I rock into her, slow and unrelenting. The headboard knocks the wall with each thrust, the wet slide of our bodies the only other sound, and I grip the top of it to hold my rhythm.
Her legs wrap around my waist, heels pressing into my lower back, pulling me deeper. I groan into her mouth and she swallows it, kissing me harder. She fists my hair, holding me to her like she’s afraid I’ll pull away.
I grind, hitting an angle that makes her gasp against my lips. Her body arches, chest pressing against mine, nipples dragging across my skin. I shift just enough to get my hand between us, thumb finding her clit and circling.
She breaks the kiss on a moan, head tipping back into the pillow, and I bury my face in her neck, sucking at the skin there.
Nails scrape down my back.
I hiss, a second away from snapping.
“Don’t stop,” she pants, desperate.
I wasn’t planning on it.
I keep moving, keep kissing her neck, her jaw, back to her mouth where she kisses me hungry and half-broken. My thumb presses harder against her clit, circling faster now while my cock drags through her in long strokes that make her thighs tremble around me.
She clenches so tight I almost lose it, but I keep moving through her orgasm. Every thrust feels like I’m trying to fuck my way back through time to the moment before I lost her.
She falls apart under me, thighs shaking against my hips, her pussy gripping my cock in waves that almost take me with her.
I need to go slower before I rip us both apart.
Her hands cup my jaw, and she kisses me like she knows. Like she can taste the desperation on my tongue.
I pour everything I can’t say into the slide of my mouth against hers. Every lie, every truth, the year I spent in hell learning how to hate her and failing at it.
Whimpers scatter over my lips, and I feel it everywhere, in my chest, my spine, the ache of my cock still buried inside her.
Shifting the angle, I ride her deeper, growling into her skin.
“I can’t, Asher…” Her pleads are broken. Like me.
I kiss her harder, fuck her slower. Like if I just keep going… it’ll fix us.
Every stroke makes her flinch and arch at the same time, thighs clamping then loosening then clamping again, like she wants to push away. I don’t give her the choice, just keep moving, keep kissing her, keep drowning in the only thing that’s ever felt real.
I come with her name caught in my throat, buried deep, hips stuttering as I empty inside her.
My arms give out, my chest dropping to hers as I press my face into the side of her neck and drag air into burning lungs.
Still trembling beneath me, she slides a shaking hand up my back and pulls me closer instead of away.
A few seconds pass, maybe ten, maybe a fucking lifetime, before she curls into me fully, one leg hooked over mine.
Her breathing evens out against my chest, her face tucked into my collarbone where every warm exhale hits my skin. I stay awake and listen to her sleep. Afraid if I stop, she’ll disappear.
I watch her longer than I should. From the dark sweep of her lashes, to the faint twitch of her mouth. It's like she’s trying to tell me everything I’ve been waiting to hear.
I need to fucking stop this shit.
Before I can talk myself into ruining more shit, my phone lights up on the nightstand. I stay still for a second, listening. Three full breaths, then I ease my arm out from under her neck, careful not to wake her.
She shifts, murmuring something that doesn’t involve any buffed-up Marvel character but still makes my eyes narrow, then buries her face deeper into the pillow.
I grab the phone and tap the message open.
Come to my room. Now.
Camille has some fucking nerve.
I stare at the screen until it goes dark, my thumb hovering over the letter F.
Ivy’s leg twitches against mine, and I look at her one more time. Then I slip out from beneath the sheets and grab my sweats, pulling them on without looking back, because if I do, I won’t fucking leave.
The house is quiet as I take the stairs to the third floor.
I stuck Camille at the far end of the hall, way the fuck away from me, next to the guest wing Ivy thought was my bedroom.
Good thing she was fucking wrong, since I would have for real committed first-degree murder if those fuckers were in my bed with her.
Light spills through the cracked door of Camille’s room, and I knuckle it further open.
Camille chuckles from near the window, silk robe falling down her body and a wine glass hanging from her fingers. She looks at me over her shoulder as I kick the door shut.
“I hope you’ve had fun with your little toy.” She lowers her glass onto the table without looking away. “Because everything’s about to change.”
I cross my arms to keep my hands busy, because I don’t trust that I won’t kill her if she says some dumb shit about Ivy. “I don’t have time for your shit, Camille, so spit it out so I can go back to fucking my wife.”
Her features tighten around the hurt before relaxing into a sneer. I don’t know what passes through that messed up head of hers, but whatever it is settles her enough to sit on the bench below the window. She crosses her leg, moving the silk to show more skin.
I don’t look.
Clearing her throat, she pulls the robe back over herself, no doubt offended at my lack of interest. Not sure why. I’ve never hidden it from her.
“The first thing you’re going to do is get rid of her.”
My mouth opens, ready to cuss her all the way the fuck out, but she lifts her finger, cutting me off. “I’m not done.”
She shifts backward. “You’re going to tell her that your marriage isn’t real, and that it was all a trick, and that you’re in love with me.”
My lip curls. “Is that so?”
“Really.” She lifts her chin.
I glare at her.
“The second thing you’re going to do is...” She leans forward, lowering her voice. “That thing you do that ensures she stays busy.”
Everything in me goes still. There’s no fucking way. But I don’t have time to figure out her wordplay, and if I don’t say something, she’ll take it as confirmation.
I take a slow step deeper into her space. “You should know better than to think you sit at any kind of power, Camille.”
She laughs, piercing through every sound barrier known to man, and lands right on my patience. “Oh, but I do. At least with this, and you know it.”
“Get the fuck out,” I snap.
She stands and has the audacity to close the distance between us like it isn’t the only thing keeping her alive. “Oh, honey...” Her finger drags over my scar. “You know this is fate.”
I whack her away. “That ain’t fucking happening.” My hand lands on her throat and I shove her up against the wall. “And if you had half a brain, you wouldn’t fucking touch me again.”
Tilting my head, I let my gaze drag over her face until she quivers under my palm.
“What I would give to end it here. To snap your frail little neck and call it a fucking day, but as you know…” I lower my lips to her ear and goosebumps spread over her skin. “I fucking can’t.”
I ram her against the wall and step away. “Yet.”
Before I change my mind, I turn back towards the door and slam it closed, leaning against it for a second to remind myself she isn’t worth the shit show killing her would create.
“You ok?” My head snaps toward the end of the hall. Khloe. Fuck. I forgot she was on this side of the house.
I flash a smile at her, a genuine one. “Yeah.” It’s the one I only use for her, Ivy, my mom, and fans. For everyone except everyone. “It’s gonna be.”