Chapter 22
twenty-two
ASHER
Francie falls asleep about two minutes after I make her come, muttering about needing to feel me inside of her. Her hand is resting on my chest, her cheek pressed against my shoulder like I’m her favorite pillow. Her hair is tickling my skin but I don’t give a shit.
She looks peaceful. Spent. Beautiful.
I brush a strand of hair off her face, letting my fingers linger at her temple. Her skin is warm, flushed from the orgasm. The soft flutter of her breath is rhythmic against my ribs, like the aftershock of a storm.
I should leave. I should never have come.
Fuck, I should never have watched her come every night for a week on the cameras for me. And I absolutely should never have done this.
And yet I can’t bring myself to feel sorry about it.
She lets out a sigh against my skin, and it makes my cock swell. Her skin is still coated with me. The perfect mix of innocence and dirtiness does things to me that nobody else can.
I stare up at the ceiling, feeling the darkness coming. It always does, in the end. Memories press against my brain like an unhealed wound.
The stifling dark. The splintered wood. My father’s screams echoing off the walls as I cowered inside that fucking closet. The way they merged with my own.
I swore I’d never let anybody hurt me again. Yet right now I feel more fucking vulnerable than that kid ever did, letting this woman burrow under my skin like she belongs there.
Like she couldn’t break me apart if she wanted to.
I pull back from the edge of those memories, grounding myself in the softness of Francie’s breath.
The sound of my phone buzzing in the pocket of my pants on the floor is a welcome relief from the dark thoughts in my head. I lean over carefully, grabbing it without disturbing her.
The screen is lit up with Hudson’s name.
Shit.
I don’t answer. Even I can’t pull off an easy conversation with my brother while in bed with my sister’s best friend. And I’m not in the mood for a Fitzgerald family interrogation.
A moment later, a message pops up.
Why are you back on Liberty? And why are you at the lighthouse? – Hudson
Of course he’s tracking me. We all do it. From the first time we got smart phones we could follow each other. We protect each other. Take care of our own.
But now it feels like an intrusion.
I thumb out a quick reply.
Was heading back to work on the security system. Francie hurt her head. I’m keeping an eye on her in case of a concussion. – Asher
It’s not even a lie. Not really.
Francie shifts against me with a soft sigh, stretching out like a cat. Her hand drifts lower, brushing my stomach, sending sparks through my nerves.
She blinks sleepily, her cheek still resting against my shoulder. “Was that your phone?”
I nod, glancing down at the screen as it lights up again. This time it’s not a message – it’s a FaceTime call. From Skyler. “For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, pressing decline. “Why don’t they know when to stop?”
My phone buzzes again. I look over at Francie and she’s trying hard not to laugh. I roll my eyes at her. The last thing I need is to FaceTime with my sister-in-law, while I’m naked in bed.
In Francie’s bed.
I love Skyler to death, but the woman has no off button. The whole village would know in less than an hour.
Skyler says pick up. She wants to know if Francie is okay. – Hudson
I mutter a dark oath under my breath and Francie lifts a brow. “What’s going on?” she asks, leaning over to read the message.
“Hudson wanted to know why I’m at the lighthouse,” I tell her.
Francie’s eyes widen. “How does he know you’re here?”
“We can track each other.” I shrug. “Anyway, I told them about you hurting your head and now they want proof of life, apparently.”
Francie’s phone starts to ring. She lifts it from the nightstand and starts to giggle, showing it to me.
Skyler. At least this time it’s a call not FaceTime, thank fuck.
“I’m going to answer it,” Francie tells me. “Before they send out a search party and find us like this.”
I nod and she swipes it to answer.
“Hey, Skye.”
I hear Skyler’s voice immediately. Clipped and concerned. “Are you okay? Hudson said you hit your head. Why didn’t you call me? Should I come over?”
Francie mouths help.
Welcome to my world, baby.
“I’m fine,” she says, brushing her hair behind her ear. “It was just a bump.”
“You sure?” Skyler presses. “Hudson said Asher’s staying the night to keep an eye on you.”
Francie shoots me a look that’s one part panic and two parts amusement.
“Go with it,” I mouth at her.
“Yeah,” she says smoothly. “He was already on the island, and Autumn’s not here, so it made sense.”
“Mhmm.” Skyler says, clearly not convinced but also not wanting to pick a fight with an injured woman. “Well okay. I’ll stop by tomorrow to check on you. I’ll bring you a coffee and croissant from Mylene’s.”
“You really don’t have to,” Francie says quickly.
“Too late,” Skyler cuts in. “And tell Asher I said thank you. Be good.”
She ends the call. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks me as she puts her phone down. “She just told me to be good.”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. Trying to understand Skyler is a fool’s game.
“Well, we have less than twelve hours before your sister-in-law turns up with coffee and questions.”
“I like coffee,” I murmur, dragging my fingers along her thigh. Because a lot can happen in twelve hours.
And I intend to make it count. Turning in bed, the phone calls forgotten, I catch her mouth with mine. But the rumble that comes from deep inside her has nothing to do with the delicious way our tongues tangle.
And everything to do with hunger of the food variety.
She starts to laugh against my lips, the sound warm but shaky. “I’m sorry. Apparently orgasms aren’t a sustainable food group.”
I grin, brushing her hair from her face. “Your body went through a workout. You need to eat.”
“I can wait,” she whispers, dragging her fingers down my chest. Her thigh shifts over mine, warm and insistent. “Please don’t make me wait. I need you.”
Fuck.
My entire body tightens. She doesn’t know what she’s asking. Or maybe she does. Either way, I’m seconds from giving in.
But I can’t. Not yet.
I cup her face, kissing her gently. “If I take you now, it won’t be slow, Francie. I’ve been holding back for longer than you can imagine. And you need food, not just me.”
She groans, dropping her forehead to my shoulder like I just canceled Christmas. “This is torture.”
“I’m trying to take care of you,” I murmur against her hair. “You almost passed out earlier. Your head took a hit. And I promised myself that the first time I’m inside of you, you’ll feel everything. No distractions. No weakness. Just us.”
She lifts her head and glares at me, all flushed and glowing and gloriously naked. “You’re lucky you’re hot,” she mutters.
I chuckle, rolling out of bed and reaching for my pants. “You have no idea how lucky you are that I’m being noble right now.”
She props herself on her elbow, watching me with narrowed eyes. “This better be the fastest meal in history.”
I glance over my shoulder, letting my gaze roam over her naked, still-glowing body. “It will be,” I promise. “And after,” I tell her, dragging my eyes across every inch of her flushed, satisfied skin, “I’m going to fuck you until you know exactly who you belong to.”
FRANCIE
In the time it takes me to drag myself up and out of bed, Asher is already showered, dressed, and banging around in the kitchen like he’s auditioning for Hot Chefs of Liberty Island.
His collar is damp from his hair, his jaw shadowed because he obviously forgot – or couldn’t be bothered – to shave this morning, and his biceps flex every time he lifts a pan. He looks annoyingly put together.
Meanwhile, I look like I just crawled out of bed after being thoroughly debauched. Which, to be fair, I was.
I need to shower. But right now, I’m standing in the hallway, eyeing the bathroom like it might attack me at any minute.
I don’t want a repeat of earlier. Getting caught naked and shrieking on the floor isn’t exactly part of my seduction playbook.
If I had one, that is.
“You need backup?” Asher asks, amusement in his voice. He’s standing in the kitchen doorway watching me. “You know I’m fully trained in spider relocation and post-trauma naked recovery.”
Stupid smirky handsome guy. “You’re not helping.”
He lifts a brow. “That’s not what you said earlier.”
I stick my tongue out at him, because apparently I’m five years old, then push the bathroom door open like I’m storming a castle.
But of course, there’s no spider there. He’s long gone, freed by Asher the Magnificent. And now, of course, I’m thinking about the way he made me come. I definitely need a cold shower.
I clean myself faster than the speed of light, managing to wash my hair, body, and shave myself everywhere. When I’m dry, I dress in shorts and a soft tank top, finally feeling human again.
When I pad into the kitchen, Asher’s at the stove, flipping what looks suspiciously like chocolate pancakes. My stomach growls in betrayal.
He looks over his shoulder, his gaze heated as he takes me in. “Took you long enough. I was about to send in a SWAT team.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Why is it that I believe you would?”
He chuckles softly. God, I like this side of him. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him look so… relaxed. Maybe when we were younger, I don’t know. All I do know is that I like it. Way too much.
“Where did you find the pancake mix?” I ask. I can’t remember seeing a box in the cupboard.
“In the egg carton, flour jar, and milk jug.” He shakes his head.
“Oh, you’re one of those people who think pre-made mixes are the devil.” I lean over and grab one of the pancakes he’s already stacked.
His head whips around. “You did not just steal my pancake,” he growls.
I deliberately lift it to my mouth, my eyes on his as I take a ginormous bite. The adult equivalent of licking a stolen cookie. I let out a low groan. Damn, the man can cook.