Chapter Fifty
Raine
I read the same paragraph twice without absorbing a word. My thoughts keep drifting back to earlier tonight. To the way Asher and I sat angled toward one another, close enough for our knees to touch, and I told him what I need to do tomorrow.
He listened.
Not the way most people listen. He let me sort through the information out loud, circle back to the same point again and again until I could find my way through, and didn’t try to fix anything.
When he finally broke his silence, it wasn’t to correct me. Or rein me in. Or tell me it was all too much.
It was to ask the one question that made the next step obvious. He filled the gap I hadn’t been able to put my finger on. Because Asher understands me and what I need from him.
I’ve never met a man—or anyone—who would stand beside me, shoulder to shoulder, and just…be. I don’t have to soften my edges or simplify my logic for him. He trusts me so thoroughly, I don’t have to spend hours explaining why I’m right.
Asher sees me for who I am and doesn’t ask me to be anything or anyone else. He leaves the lamp on without being asked. Makes sure it’s never silent. Cooks meals that don’t trigger me and never complains that they’re boring.
My eyes stray from the page. Asher is on his side next to me, propped on one elbow, reading.
His t-shirt has ridden up, exposing a line of skin at his hip.
Ink peeks out from under his sleeve, and I follow the curve of the black line with my gaze.
I want to touch him. Not for comfort or grounding or to prove that I’m here, but just for me.
An ache starts in my core. It’s deep, like an old wound. Not pain. Need.
I touch my lips, suddenly unable to remember the last time we kissed. Yesterday?
Setting my book on the nightstand, I turn to him. He clocks the way the mattress shifts, looks up immediately, but doesn’t move closer.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I want…to touch you.” Saying it out loud steadies me, and the ache turns into something deeper. The room feels alive in a way I’ve never experienced before.
Asher’s throat works around a swallow, and his eyes soften. “I’m right here.”
I slide my hand over his hip, warm through the thin pants he wears to bed. Muscles shift under my palm, and he lets out a long, slow breath.
My body responds with heat of its own, and when I slide my fingers under the hem of his t-shirt, that heat turns molten.
Smooth skin, a slight tremor as I trace the faint lines of his abs, and when I reach his chest, goosebumps meet my touch.
“Take your shirt off.”
Asher sits up slightly, reaches behind him, and, in one smooth motion, tugs the dark blue t-shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor. He settles back against the headboard, his gaze pinned to mine.
I scoot closer. With one hand, I trace the ink along his arm, following each line, while the other rests over his heart. The solid beat beneath my palm quickens, and my own pulse kicks up at the same time.
Under the blanket, I think…he’s aroused. It’s bulky in a way it wasn’t moments ago.
“I’m not good at this part,” I whisper.
“What part?”
“Wanting.” Heat pools deep in my core, urgent in a way I’ve never felt with anyone. I lean in and seal my mouth to his.
He lets me lead. Waits for my tongue to tease his lips.
But as soon as I do, he opens. It’s soft at first. Gentle.
But after a moment, he deepens the kiss.
The room blurs around me, but not from fear.
From so many things I’ve never let myself name.
Want. Desire. The fragile but fierce certainty that I’m choosing this—choosing him—and he’s choosing me right back.
The heat between my thighs builds, unexpected, but mine.
When I pull back, he’s breathing harder, and now, there’s no mistaking the bulge under the blanket.
“Oh.” The single word—the only word I have for being wanted—escapes on a sigh. I ground myself even more in the beat of his heart, in how our breathing aligns. I can’t tear my gaze away from the blanket. “You’re…”
“Yes.” The answer comes without hesitation. “But only if you’re ready. If you’re doing this because you want to.”
“I want to.” Then, because my body has betrayed me so often since they took me, I add, “I want to try. I might have to stop.”
“Then we stop.” He cups my cheek, his fingertips barely grazing the curve of my jaw, leans in, but lets me close the last of the space between us for a tender kiss. “Give me a minute?” he asks.
I nod, releasing him, and he moves to the sleek, black dresser in the corner and pulls open the top drawer. When he turns back, he has a condom clutched in his hand.
His steps aren’t steady, the pajama pants straining over his need.
I pull back the blankets, and he settles next to me. Placing the condom on the pillow, he waits. His breathing is quicker now. His muscles tight, like holding himself still is work.
“I want you to touch me. I want to feel you. All of you.” The words are easier now, each one unlocking something in me I didn’t know existed. “But I need you to tell me what you’re doing. And when.”
“Always.” The care in his voice does more than any kiss, though I might be able to kiss him for an hour and still want more.
His hand hovers an inch from my waist. “Here?”
“Yes.” He’s seen me naked. Cataloged my injuries. Mapped them. He avoids every bruise as he guides me closer.
“Can I help you out of your nightshirt?” His lips trail down the shell of my ear. I shiver, then angle my head so he can kiss the curve of my neck, just above the spot the hood ties rubbed raw.
“Carefully,” I manage. “My shoulder is still…sore.”
Easing back, he gathers the soft material in his hands and lifts. “Over your face for a second.”
His warning gives me time to breathe. When my heart wants to beat out of my chest as the light fades away, he murmurs, “I’ve got you, Raine.” And I believe him.
The room rushes back in, light and heat and Asher all at once.
My skin prickles, my nipples tightening to hard, aching nubs. Asher’s hands still a breath away from my hips, giving me the chance to say no. To redirect. To stop or pause or move forward however I need.
I nod, and he curls them around my waist. The contact sends a slow, molten pulse of desire down the center of my body.
Leaning in, his forehead touching mine, he takes a halting breath. “I want you, Raine. Not just your body.” His thumb traces a small arc over my hip. “You. The way you think. The way you see patterns where everyone else sees noise. The way you fight when giving up would be so much easier.”
His voice roughens, something more than arousal in his tone now. “Here…this is where I’m supposed to be. This has always been where I’m supposed to be.”
Something tight in my chest loosens. I let my fingers skim his cheek, the stubble rough and grounding. “You don’t ask me to be anyone other than…me.”
The next kiss is slower. Deeper. Filled with all the things I don’t know how to say.
I’ve never understood desire. Not truly. Sex is physical. Predictable. My body doing what bodies are supposed to do when certain conditions are met. This…is different.
This is gravity turning me inside out. My pulse hammers against my temples. My skin is almost burning. I file those sensations away like all the others—his lips on mine, the way he’s still tracing the curve of my hip, the little zings as his stubble catches my chin.
Asher doesn’t ask me to smooth my rough edges. I don’t manage myself around him. I simply…exist the way I’m supposed to be.
It cracks something open deep inside me—something raw and unguarded. Permission, maybe. To want this. To want him. On my terms.
I pull back just enough to look at him. Really look. The way his pupils have blown wide, the way his chest stutters with each breath—a little uneven but still controlled, like he’s holding on just for me.
My pulse is loud in my ears, but the wanting underneath is so very clear, it cuts through everything else.
“Take off your pants.” My voice breaks, but I don’t regret the words. “I want to see you. All of you.”
For a split second, what might be disbelief flickers across his face. Just as quickly, it’s replaced by heat, and something dangerously close to reverence.
He nods, but then pauses with his fingers curled around his waistband, and looks at me. Checking. Making sure I haven’t changed my mind.
“I’m sure.”
His pants and black briefs hit the floor.
Seeing him like this…the spark of awareness is so sharp, it’s almost overwhelming. The sensations flooding me don’t line up with anything I’ve ever felt before. The desire and excitement building are tempered by a thread of fear.
If I have to stop, will that fracture whatever this is between us?
Asher notices. He always notices.
He pulls the blankets up to cover himself, even turns away just enough that he can’t see my face. But he’s still here. Still close enough for me to reach out and touch.
“We don’t have to do this tonight,” he says softly.
I press my thumb and index finger together so hard, the tips turn white. Then my heels to the mattress. Four counts in. Hold. Six out.
I don’t want to stop.
I reach for him, my hand wrapping around his bicep. “No. Touch me. Please.”
He turns back slowly. “Where?”
I guide his hand to my breast. He holds there, and the stillness is almost too much for me. I want more. After what feels like forever, he skates his thumb over my nipple.
A tiny whimper escapes my throat, the sensations stacking on top of one another so quickly, they’re dizzying. My thoughts scatter, and his face starts to blur.
“Wait.”
He stills.
“I need…”
Words. I need words. But they won’t come. So I give up on searching, and lay my fingers against the pulse of his neck. The beat is real. Strong. Exactly what I need to remind myself I’m allowed to want.
He centers me in a way nothing and no one ever has before. The heat of his skin, his scent. The way his muscles shift as he leans closer.