Chapter 34
T he orgasms don’t come—pun intended—the way he promised.
Instead, I’m met with a houseful of people.
I open the door to the apartment after having to fight my way through reporters getting into the garage, and Fallon is here, rushing across Asher’s penthouse to hug me.
With her arms wide and her raven hair flying, she slams into me, and that’s that.
His people are here.
They’re like your great-uncle whatever-his-name-is who shows up uninvited on Sunday afternoons and stays way past his welcome because you never quite know how to get him to leave.
At least that’s them right now, because I’m exhausted.
Mentally, physically, just cooked. And I liked the idea of Asher raining orgasms on me.
Like a lot.
Now those are on hold for the foreseeable future. Still, I love that he has his people. That they rally around him in his time of need.
Only no one told Asher they’d be here because when he walks in the door, he’s already stripping out of his suit, his shirt half-unbuttoned, and yelling out, “My queen, where is your pretty body? It better be naked for me to ravage.”
I blush about ten thousand shades of red and then offer his friends, who aren’t even bothering to hide their smirks, a what can you do shrug.
Asher starts on his pants only to freeze when he enters the great room and sees all his friends sitting here, eating, drinking, and hanging out.
“Uh, what in the actual fuck are you doing here other than cockblocking me?”
Zax gives him an unimpressed look. “You invited us, dickhead. Remember?”
Asher shakes his head. “No, I didn’t—”
“Last night when we were on the phone, you told us to come over for our usual postgame stuff,” Callan supplies, tossing a chip loaded with guacamole into his mouth.
“Oh.” Asher grunts. “I might have done that.”
“And we brought food, so the sex will have to wait,” Callan continues through a mouthful. “Sorry, dude, but I’m eating, and I have no plans to stop right now.”
“Same,” Grey agrees as he munches down on a chicken wing. These people and their food spreads are no joke. My stomach growls accordingly because I haven’t had anything to eat since this morning, and everything smells really good.
Plus, let’s be honest here, I could seriously use a drink after the day I had.
Asher rakes a hand through his hair and glances at me as he openly debates kicking his friends out. That is until something catches his eye, and it’s all over. “Is that spinach dip?”
“Yes,” Aurelia tells him. “I made it with Greek yogurt and extra fresh garlic, the way you like it.
He groans, his head falling back. “That’s my favorite dip.”
She puffs out a breath. “I know. Why do you think I made it?” Her blue eyes roll, and then she dives forward, covering the dish with her hands when he makes a move for it. “Uh-uh. You get no dip until you put your shirt back on. Man boobs are not appetizing.”
“Man boobs?!” he chokes and then smacks his chest like Tarzan. “These are pecs, not boobs .” His nose scrunches, his voice full of disdain.
I hold in my snort, as do his friends.
“Come on, doll,” he pleads, going for the dip again only to be denied. “You love me shirtless.”
“Um. No. Not so much.” Layla jumps in from her position on the floor, her mouth twisting in disgust. She’s sort of confiscated the cheese board along with Fallon.
It might be a cage fight to get some of the goat cheese I’m eyeing.
“In fact, it’s definitely ruining my appetite, which I never would have thought possible. I’m that chick who can always eat.”
They continue going back and forth, ribbing Asher, which is always amusing to watch. Lenox chuckles, and it draws my attention over to him. Rising up off the sofa, I walk over to him as he stands alone by the balcony door, just doing his own thing.
“Hi,” I say sweetly.
He blinks at me and then grins but doesn’t say anything in return.
“Thank you for digging into Joe’s… stuff, I guess you’d call it. I don’t know what you do, or how you do it, and frankly, I don’t want to know. I’m grateful though. For me and for Asher.”
He gives me a firm nod and that’s about it. For how much Asher—and even Greyson—talk, Lenox is the total opposite. Asher said he’s always been this way, but after he lost his sister, it’s been worse. He also seems like a bit of a loner but clearly loves his people with an undeniable ferocity.
I reach up and give him a hug, which he returns—albeit a bit awkwardly—and then I go back for the cheese, ready to fight my way in if necessary while Asher digs into a plate of spinach dip with pita and veggies since he now has his shirt back on.
Greyson turns on the television to put the evening games on, but even though another team is playing, Asher is all anyone is talking about.
“Oh my God!” I cry when they do a replay of me and Asher on the sidelines. “I look like a crazy woman.” Layla and Aurelia giggle lightly at my outrage.
“It’s not so bad,” Fallon attests, lying through her teeth.
“Uh, no. That’s tragic girl hair right there. My hair is legit all over the place. Why didn’t you tell me?” I throw Asher a scathing glare, but all he does is shrug it off.
“I thought you looked beautiful, and honestly, I didn’t notice the hair.”
I cast a hand in the direction of the television that’s displaying the madness in like eighty inches of high definition. “It’s a ball of electrified frizz. Remind me next time it’s shitty New England weather to wear it up.”
“I hate to break it to you, but your face is going to be everywhere now,” Aurelia tells me. “I didn’t expect it when I got together with Zax, but yeah, it happened, and it wasn’t all that fun.”
“Reils, your face was already everywhere. You’re a model. Or were.”
She waves Greyson away. “That was different. It was like I was dating a Beatle or”—she snickers—“a member of Central Square.”
“Same,” Fallon commiserates. “It was madness for me and Grey. We had press posted outside the warehouse we live in for weeks. Then Grey proposed, and it started all over again.” She points at the television.
“Oh look, they’re showing you standing on the podium holding up your gold medal. You look so cute.”
It goes from that to my freaking medical school graduation, like some warped this is your life video montage. I groan and collapse on the floor, splayed out like a starfish. “I take it back, Asher. We’re breaking up. Officially. You can visit Mason whenever you want, as long as I’m not there.”
“Oh, come on,” he drawls, sipping his water to wash down his food. “Don’t be such a wimp. You had your chance to run—not that I would have let that happen—but now it’s too late. In for a pint, in for a pound. Besides, it’ll blow over in like a week. And Fallon is right, you did look cute.”
“They’re practically reporting my final score in the Olympics and my GPA in college!” I half-yell. “Next thing you know, they’ll learn you knocked me up in the bathroom of a club. It’s a lot. I haven’t been on television since the Olympics, and this is different. So, so different.”
“Here, sweetheart. Sit up. I’ll get you some wine because I think you could use a drink, and it’ll make you more willing to do the naughty stuff later. Oh, and there’s goat cheese. Have some goat cheese. You’ll feel better.”
Asher jogs into the kitchen and returns with a glass and a bottle of wine—like I’m going to drink the whole thing—and pours me a mammoth glass. I take a sip and then a gulp as he makes me a cheese plate and even adds on the fig spread I like with a bounty of crackers beside it.
“There. Better now?” he checks.
“Marginally. Today sucked.”
He agrees. So does everyone else, since they all seem to know about what Joe did.
I’m going to have to tell Limbick. That’s not something that can be ignored, whether it becomes public knowledge or not.
I can’t imagine he’ll be too pleased, but he saw the MRI just the same as I did, and if it had been him instead of me, he would have opened up Asher’s shoulder too.
That’s what’s sitting with me the hardest. The manipulation. The lies. The deceit. I have a half-brother I never knew anything about, and he just so happens to be Asher’s teammate. His rival, I guess. What will that be like?
Asher smacks a kiss on my lips, and then we just settle into a groove of watching football—still not my favorite sport—and eating good food and laughing with his friends, who are starting to feel like they’re my people too.
It’s nice.
I’m not sure I’ve ever had people before, so I like the notion of a girl squad.
I like the feeling of being home . It’s not one I’ve had for as long as I can remember.
After Joe left, that all sort of fell apart, and then I was traveling nonstop for skating, and then after that, it was college, med school, residency… it didn’t stop.
But being here with Asher, our son, his people… it’s home. He’s my home.
Something I tell him after everyone has left and it’s just us, snuggled up on the couch together finally not watching football.
We had my mom and dad bring Mason home to us and we snuck him through the back way.
After the day we had, I wanted him home with us and his friends set up a perfect distraction for the press out front when they left.
In a flash, Asher tugs me by the thigh until I’m supine on the couch, and then he climbs over me, staring down at me from above, straight into my eyes. “It’s been an intense few months.”
I snort. “That’s putting it mildly.”
“No,” he says softly, his eyes dancing about my face as a smile curls up the corner of his lips. “What I mean is, I think we’re going to hit an even patch.”
I groan. “You did not just jinx us like that, did you? Next thing you know, we’ll have some weird celebrity obsession thing and you’ll be kidnapped, and then Mason and I will have to hire… well, I guess Lenox in this case, to find you.”
He’s thoroughly amused. “Celebrity kidnapping?”
I shrug up a shoulder. “You have a lot of obsessed fans.”
“Funny considering the only person I want to be obsessed with me is you.”
I roll my eyes. “Never gonna happen, player.”
He drops his body weight down on me and then grinds up until I’m forced to feel every hard inch of him. “I bet I can change your mind, ice queen.”
“You have your work cut out for you. Most women would not be so forgiving.”
“True,” he acknowledges, as if he’s genuinely giving this some consideration.
“In fact,” I tell him, doing my best to hide my grin. “I don’t think I forgive you after all. I think I’m still mad.”
He grinds into me again, stealing the breath from my lungs. “How mad?”
“Furious,” I exclaim on a pant. “I might hate you again.”
Brimstone burns in his eyes turning them to a smoldering charcoal. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” I squint at him tauntingly. “Player.”
He gives me that devilish crooked smirk. “Hmmm.” In one swift movement, he rips my shirt up and over my head. He tosses it away and then plants his hands on either side of my head. “Let me see what I can do to change that.”
Yanking down the cup of my bra, his tongue swirls around my nipple, making me arch into him. My hands grip his hair, my fingers ripping at his strands. I do forgive him, but that doesn’t stop the part of me that’s still miffed by his action. Besides, a little punishment never hurt anyone.
His hand dives into my pants and underwear, pressing down on the top of my mound with his palm while swirling a finger around my opening.
“Fucking soaked,” he hisses and then plunges two fingers inside me. He starts to pump in and out of me. “Still hate me now?”
“More than ever.” I moan, my eyes closing as the pleasure intensifies when his fingertips find that magic spot inside me.
He nips at my jaw. “That’s what I thought.” His fingers continue their delicious pounding, the pace so fast and delirious I can’t do anything other than feel what he’s doing to me. His mouth dips by my ear. “This is going to be one of many. The next one will be on my cock. How close are you?”
“So close,” I manage, my body swirling higher as he rubs the base of his palm on my needy clit.
“I know, my queen. I can feel it. Your pussy is gripping my fingers the same way it’ll grip my cock the second you come. So how about you be a good girl and do that for me now?”
Mother. Fuck. That should not have any impact on my body, but it does. It totally does. I come, just as he tells me to. And the second I start to wind down from that high, my pants are off, and he’s hiking my knee up and over his good shoulder, and then he’s slamming straight into me.
“Jesus! Asher!”
“Shhh. Mason is sleeping.”
I smile as he starts to take me, knowing this is exactly how we’re going to do it for the rest of our lives. Hot. Dirty. Playful. Experimental. Risky. And all of it filled with so much love.
Two separate entities so perfectly and thoroughly intertwined, there’s no telling where he starts and I end. It’s him. A football player of all people. The last man I ever intended to fall for is, without a doubt, the one I never stood a chance of resisting. And I wouldn’t change a thing about it.