6. Ashlyn
CHAPTER 6
Ashlyn
The music pulses through me like a second heartbeat. It’s Primal Pulse. Even here, even now, I can’t escape them. Todd’s raspy voice wraps around me, intimate and unrelenting, his lyrics dripping with heartbreak and loss. It’s like they were written for me, exposing every raw nerve I thought I’d buried.
The bass line thrums deep in my chest, the drums pushing the tempo until it crescendos into something more. And then, West’s voice cuts through, smooth and rough, melding with Todd’s in a way that sends a shiver racing down my spine. The two of them together are intoxicating—hauntingly familiar and achingly real.
And after today, almost too much of a reminder of everything.
Around me, the dance floor surges with the beat, a sea of bodies moving as one. The lights dim, strobes casting flashes of silver over the cages suspended above. Lilah twirls in Rafe’s arms, her laugh a bright contrast to the dark mood simmering beneath my skin.
I ache for what they have. For something simple. Easy. Real.
As if summoned by my longing, strong arms wrap around my waist. Long, ringed fingers grip me tight, pulling me flush against a solid chest. The scent of whiskey mingles with my strawberry perfume, the heat of his body burning into mine. A low, guttural growl rumbles against my neck, and warmth pools low in my belly in response.
Alpha .
Panic and desire collide, the realization hitting like a bolt of lightning. I haven’t reacted to an alpha like this since?—
“Ash, you still smell as sweet as ever.”
West.
His voice slices through the music, rich and dark, a perfect match for the way his grip tightens on my waist. His words pour over me like molten honey, their weight inescapable.
My breath catches, a shiver racing through me as his hand splays wide just below my t-shirt, searing into my skin. His touch tells me he’s really here, yet it still feels like a dream.
“West,” I manage, barely a whisper, but he hears it. His fingers curl against me, possessive, branding me as his other hand rises to encircle my throat. Not tight—just enough to make me hyper-aware of his power.
My eyes flutter shut as a traitorous purr rises in my chest, answering his growl.
He groans, the sound vibrating through me, and his lips brush the sensitive curve of my neck. “Purring for me, Ash? After all this time?” His breath is hot against my skin, his voice laced with sin. “I bet you’re wet too.”
My cheeks burn. He’s not wrong. Slick gathers between my thighs, betraying me, as if I’m not already painfully aware of how my body reacts to him. My heart races, hammering against my ribs, every instinct screaming at me to stay still, to not give him more than he’s already taken.
West chuckles, low and sinful, right at the shell of my ear. A shiver runs down my spine as his breath ghosts over me, carrying his words like both a promise and a threat. “I can feel your heart pounding. I like it. Will you scream for me when I sink into you and knot you?”
His words strike like a match tossed into dry kindling, igniting a flame within me before my mind can even protest. God, yes.
“Interesting,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing my neck as if tasting my fear and desire. “I don’t remember you being a cheater. What would your boyfriend think of you rubbing yourself all over me?”
His words land like a slap, cold water dousing the heat coursing through me. “What?” I jerk away, twisting from his grasp and stumbling back.
“Oh, now you remember him,” West says, his gaze laced with cruel satisfaction. He steps closer, his fingers tilting my chin upward so I meet his dark, unrelenting eyes. “At least I know I’m not special. You don’t just fuck and forget me—you do it to everyone who loves you.”
I suck in a ragged breath but refuse to pull away. A fierce mix of fury and desire sears through me; I need to prove him wrong. If I retreat, if I shut down, he’ll take it as confirmation.
“I never forgot you,” I confess, the words tearing themselves out of me as if wrenched from my chest.
He lifts his lip in a half snarl, anger deepening his eyes. “Don’t lie.”
I press against him, my hands trailing up his chest to his broad shoulders, questioning silently what I’m doing. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Another lie,” he spits.
The air between us crackles, charged with an electric tension as our bodies seem to dance around each other. His grip on my chin tightens, and my lips part as his eyes slide to my mouth and then return to mine.
“But if you can pretend, so can I,” he mutters, and his lips capture mine in a fierce, desperate kiss.
It burns me from the inside out—a wildfire consuming every inch of me. This is a bad idea. And yet, I’m the queen of bad ideas, because even as reason screams at me, desire wins.
I melt against him, surrendering to everything he silently demands—with his mouth, his tongue, his fingers threading through my hair. I give him all of me, and in that moment, the dance floor and the swirling bodies around us fade into nothingness. Every little detail—the time we spent apart, the distance between us—vanishes. All that exists now is our connection.
He groans, deepening the kiss as he pulls me even closer, as if he could draw me inside him and merge our very souls. His fingers trail down to my hips, digging in as he effortlessly lifts me into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. I feel the undeniable evidence of his need, his hard length pressing insistently against me.
Another purr vibrates from deep within me, and he answers with a rumbling growl that vibrates with raw desire. Our kiss breaks for a moment, and he looks at me with a face etched in pure hunger. Without missing a beat, he moves—carrying me away from the pulsating chaos of the dance floor. He guides us down a darkened hallway toward the bathrooms, before pushing into the unisex room and locking the door behind us.
He drops my legs and slowly walks me backward to the sink, his every movement exuding that predatory, alpha magnetism that sets my heart racing. Excitement, desire, lust, and a lingering spark of anger mixes inside me as he grips my chin once more, tilting my face upward to meet his dark, intense gaze.
Am I really doing this?
Fuck—I think I am.
When he captures my lips again, a low whimper escapes my throat, as if all the times I’ve fantasized about this moment are finally converging into one explosive reality. I’ve dreamed of moments like this—maybe not in a bathroom at a club, but of stumbling into one of them and surrendering to the irresistible pull between us. Of it still being there.
And it is. There is no denying it.
“I’m going to fuck you.”
I shiver. Slick gathers between my legs. And I’m going to let him. My heart pounds inside of my chest. My breaths coming in short pants.
His fingers go to my jeans when I don’t protest, releasing the button and zipper in record time. His pupils are blown wide as his eyes trace the skin he reveals. Then he is undoing his own jeans, shoving them down just enough to free himself.
He lifts me onto the smooth counter. Then he drops one of my heels to the floor and tugs my leg out of my jeans. The hyper-focus he has on me as he spreads my legs and steps between them makes my stomach dip. When he rubs the tip of his head through my slick, I’m sure I’m going to black out with pleasure.
Then he thrusts in, one smooth press of his hips, and my head falls back, bumping the mirror. Oh shit.
“Look at me,” he demands, the command of a bark in his words.
I move my gaze to his, and he cups the back of my neck, pulling me closer.
My body grips him with each stroke, as if it doesn’t want to let him go, but he only teases me with his knot. Never fully locking into me. Making me ride the edge of orgasm as he chases his.
“You’re so tight. You want my knot, don’t you, Ash? Tell me.”
“God yes!” My head drops back again as I arch into him, attempting to lock us together on my own.
“Alpha,” he grunts. “Call me Alpha.”
“Alpha,” I repeat on a moan.
“Beg.”
“Please, I need your knot.”
He chuckles low, his pace never stopping, as he nips at my neck. “No. I don’t give my knot to cheaters. I’ve seen the magazine covers of you two.”
He’s wrong, but I don’t even have the time to open my mouth and say that.
He pulls out and steps back, his seed spilling onto the tile and barely missing me. He doesn’t bother cleaning up; he simply tucks himself back into his jeans, his eyes locked on mine. Anger radiates from him—not only in the lingering musk but also in the fierce glint in his eyes.
My legs tremble as they support me, my body still charged from the unfulfilled hunger of desire. I’m left speechless as he turns away, unlocks the door, and slips out without even a backward glance.
I quickly pull my jeans back onto my bare leg and pull them up, then lock the door as a torrent of conflicting emotions washes over me. I’m not going to crumble—I know I’ve made a colossal mistake, and I’ll have to face him in the morning. What was I thinking? Clearly, I wasn’t.
Using a paper towel, I clean up the undeniable evidence of our encounter from the floor and toss it into the trash. When I catch my reflection—lips still swollen from his kisses, eyes shining with unshed tears—a sob breaks free, echoing with regret.
I’ve checked my reflection a million times, each glance confirming what I already know—there isn’t a single hair out of place. My makeup is flawless, just like the polished image I’ve spent years perfecting for the world. But still, I flip down the visor one last time, inspecting my lip gloss. A heavy breath escapes me as I snap it back up and push out of the car.
Every bit of my body seems to vibrate with apprehension. What am I going to walk into? It feels like it will be a firing squad with how raw last night left me.
The heels of my black boots click against the pavement as I cross the street to their studio. I swipe my clammy palms over my jeans, the fabric cool beneath my touch as I try to steady myself. The door looms ahead, and I hesitate, fingers brushing against the handle.
The sweater I chose this morning suddenly feels too warm as I step inside, the warmth of the interior wrapping around me like a shroud.
It’s just like yesterday. Same studio. Same walls. Same faint hum of music.
But I’m alone this time. And I let West fuck me in a bathroom last night. Because that’s what it was, fucking. I got some enjoyment from it even if I didn’t get what I really craved, and he finished…so—yeah.
Nothing about this feels the same.
The door closes behind me with a soft thud, announcing my presence to anyone around. My heels click against the polished floor, each step pulling me closer to the sound spilling through the walls. Closer to them.
I round the corner and stop short, catching sight of them through the sound booth window.
Xayden sits behind his drum kit, his movements precise and fluid, the rhythm driving the song forward. Jake stands off to the side, his bass strapped across his chest, his fingers gliding over the strings as he adds a deep, steady pulse. Todd grips the mic stand, his voice raw and unfiltered as he belts out lyrics filled with heartbreak and venom.
West leans into his guitar, his fingers dancing over the frets, each note weaving through the others to create a melody that’s both haunting and alive. Then his voice joins Todd’s, smooth and rough, blending in perfect harmony.
The music is intoxicating, pulling me into its current. For a moment, I’m frozen, watching them in their element, the way they’ve always been when they’re together. It’s seamless, effortless—except for the way West’s jaw tightens as his eyes flick toward the glass and land on me.
My stomach drops. He might be fully clothed right now, but all I can see is him stepping back from me, his seed hitting the floor, the anger. Would it have been different if he believed me about not having a boyfriend? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.
The music stumbles, falters, and dies. Todd’s voice cuts off mid-verse as his head snaps toward West. He follows West’s gaze to the glass and freezes. Then his eyes lock on me.
Jake’s bass hums for a heartbeat longer before fading into silence. His dark eyes meet mine, while Xayden’s drumming falters entirely. He sits back, sticks poised mid-air, his expression unreadable as his gaze zeroes in on me.
The silence that follows is deafening. Their collective attention bears down on me, a weight pressing against my chest, suffocating.
Forcing a calm expression onto my face, I take a slow breath, refusing to let my nerves show. The door to the booth creaks open, and one by one, they file out.
Todd is the first to approach, his movements precise, deliberate, each step a testament to the control he refuses to relinquish. His gaze is cold, guarded, but beneath the frost, I catch a flicker of something raw, something that cuts deeper than his words ever could. West trails behind him, slower, his face a mask of neutrality that doesn’t quite hide the shadows darkening his eyes. Jake and Xayden linger near the door, their postures tense, watchful, like predators sizing up a threat.
“What are you doing here?” Todd’s voice slices through the silence, the authority in it scraping against my already frayed nerves.
I quickly glance toward West, hoping for a hint of what he might be feeling. His face is calm, his eyes steady behind that unreadable mask. His scent—a subtle blend of smoky whiskey and almonds with vanilla—lingers around him, offering no clues to his inner state. I wonder if he’s as detached as he appears, if last night was just a calculated move on his part. The thought leaves me feeling a little off-balance.
I can’t handle it a second longer and pull my gaze away from him and back to Todd.
Todd’s fingers curl into fists at his sides at my continued silence. His words hang in the air between us as his musk seeps out of him. It reaches for me, warm amber and golden honey wrapping around me, soft and unyielding. Beneath the sweetness, sandalwood lingers, grounding and familiar, like the unshakable presence he used to be. It’s a scent that feels like home, one I’ve missed and mourned, even as his words try to remind me that the door has been locked.
I lift my chin, forcing myself to meet his glare. My voice doesn’t waver, even though everything inside me threatens to. “We have a meeting. You agreed to it yesterday—to discuss the collaboration for the show. You know, work?”
Todd lets out a humorless snort, his lips curling into a sneer. “Work? Is that what you were doing last night? With him?” He nods toward West, the bitterness in his tone slicing through the room like a blade.
Heat flushes my neck, but I refuse to look away. I guess that’s my answer. But I have nothing to be ashamed of. “Last night was a mistake. I don’t mix my private life with work.”
West steps closer, his movements deliberate, his presence magnetic. The air thickens as his whiskey-and-almond scent sweeps over me, heavy and intoxicating, dragging me back to the club and the choices I made. His voice, low and edged with a growl, cuts through the charged silence. “A mistake,” he repeats, his tone laced with mockery. “That’s what you’re calling it? Because I call it cheating. Guess you’re not as perfect as you pretend to be.”
I force myself to straighten, my spine stiff despite his heavy gaze. “It won’t happen again,” I say, each word carefully measured. Why bother correcting him? He’s already judged me and apparently decided my sentence.
The corner of his mouth twitches into a bitter smirk. “Good. Wouldn’t want to distract you from… whatever this is.” He waves a hand dismissively, the sarcasm in his tone worse than any insult.
“Enough,” Jake interjects, his voice calm but firm as he steps between us. His scent finds me the moment he does, soft and steady, like it’s always been. And it pulls at the memories I’ve tried so hard to bury. Crisp sage, an herbal sharpness that reminds me of late-night conversations and truths I didn’t want to hear. Then comes the faint thread of green tea, soothing and fresh, like the quiet comfort of his touch when words failed. He might be a beta, but even with his soft musk, he draws me in.
I stand frozen, his presence pulling at something fragile inside me. His gaze flicks from me to West, his expression calm but his words cold and biting. “If we’re doing this, let’s do it. Otherwise, say the word, and we’ll walk. But this passive-aggressive bullshit? It’s not helping anyone.”
Xayden, leaning lazily against the doorframe, spins a drumstick between his fingers before tapping it against the edge of the booth. “Jake’s right. Let’s just get this over with.”
Their words should sting, should unravel me fully, but all I feel is a hollow ache. My body moves on autopilot, following as they lead me toward the meeting room where this all began.
The air inside is heavy with tension, thick enough to choke on. My boots tap against the floor, the sound unnervingly loud in the silence.
They take their places—Todd leaning against the far wall, arms crossed; Jake perched on the edge of a table, his gaze assessing; Xayden lounging in a chair, his drumsticks still in hand; and West, who paces near the window, his restlessness palpable.
“Well?” Todd finally says, breaking the silence. His arms are crossed, his stance rigid. “What’s the plan, Ashlyn?”
I inhale deeply, pushing aside the tension tightening my chest. “We’ll start with the basics,” I say, pulling out my notes and steadying my voice. “I’ve drafted some ideas to integrate your music into the next season—something that highlights your sound, draws in your fans, and ties it seamlessly to the show’s themes. For the first episode, we’ll focus on transformations. The models will see how subtle changes—like the makeovers we’ll give each of you—can amplify a message or redefine a presence.”
The moment the word "makeovers" leaves my lips, I feel the shift in the room.
West makes a noise that’s somewhere between a scoff and a groan. Todd’s chair creaks as he leans back, arms crossing over his chest. Jake exhales sharply, shaking his head, and Xayden—of course—just stares at me, unimpressed.
“Makeovers?” Todd repeats, like the word physically pains him.
West lets out a low laugh, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “Yeah, that’s gonna be a hard no.”
Jake gestures between them. “We’re a rock band, Ashlyn, not some boy band with synchronized outfits and—whatever the hell you’re planning.”
I lift a brow, unfazed. “And what exactly did you think a show about model makeovers would entail?”
West gestures toward himself. “I don’t know, maybe something that doesn’t involve us getting primped and styled like Ken dolls?”
“Oh, please,” I say, rolling my eyes. “No one’s turning you into Ken dolls. But image matters, and this is a fashion-centric show. It’s about evolution, reinvention—things you already do with your music. This just happens to involve, you know, haircuts.”
Xayden shifts, jaw tight. “Not happening.”
I take a slow breath, resisting the urge to roll my eyes again. This is going to be a long meeting.
I exhale slowly, reining in my patience. They were never going to be easy.
“Look,” I continue, keeping my tone even, determined not to let them steamroll me. “This isn’t about changing who you are. It’s about showing different sides of you—refining, not erasing. Your fans already love your music. This is a chance to expand that reach, to introduce you to a broader audience. And whether you like it or not, visuals matter. Perception matters.”
West exhales sharply but says nothing. Xayden spins his drumstick between his fingers, still watching me, but not shutting me out completely.
I press on, walking them through the concept with as much professionalism as I can muster. I outline the logistics, the creative vision, the marketing potential—how a fresh take on their image could elevate both the show and their band without compromising their identity.
The resistance doesn’t break all at once, but I feel it bend.
Todd’s skeptical glare softens slightly, his brows furrowing like he’s actually considering what I’m saying. Jake nods along, his expression measured but intrigued, tapping a rhythm against his knee. Xayden’s twirling slows, his attention lingering on me longer. Even West stops leaning against the window, standing straighter, though his eyes remain unreadable.
I let a small pause settle between us, giving them space to process. Then, with a smirk, I add, “Besides, I hate to break it to you, but I’ve seen your early band photos. This won’t be your worst look.”
Todd lets out a sharp breath—almost a laugh. Jake actually grins. West shakes his head, muttering something under his breath. Even Xayden’s lips twitch like he’s fighting a smirk.
The tension isn’t gone, but something shifts. They’re listening now.
As I finish, Todd straightens, his lips pressing into a firm line. “We’ll think about it,” he says finally, the edge in his tone making it clear the battle isn’t over.
They start to file out, one by one. Jake gives me a curt nod; Xayden doesn’t look back. Todd’s stride is brisk, his focus already shifting.
But West lingers. He pauses in the doorway, turning just enough to catch my gaze. His expression is unreadable, but his words land like a blow. “Did you tell your boyfriend about me, Ash?” he murmurs, his voice low, accusing, and cutting. “About the way you melted in my arms?”
Before I can respond, he turns and walks away, leaving me rooted in place, the echo of his words reverberating in the silence.
I sink into the nearest chair, the strength I’d held onto during the meeting slipping away. I exhale shakily, my hands trembling as I set my notes down.
It’s not like it would matter if he knew I didn’t have a boyfriend. West’s words weren’t about my ex—they were a weapon aimed straight at me, and they hit their mark.