Chapter 21 #2
I shrug, adjusting my grip on the clothes. My eyes slide to Asher, and I let every ounce of indifference I can muster settle into my expression. “Awkward? For what?”
Asher stares back. His fingers tighten around the mug.
“For it to be awkward,” I continue, voice light, conversational, “people would have to mean something.”
The air goes still.
Atlas whistles low under his breath. “Shit.”
Punk finally glances up, eyebrows raised.
Asher sets the mug down on the counter. The sound echoes. “That so?”
“That's so.”
Camille looks between us, confusion flickering across her face before she masks it with irritation. “What are you two even talking about?”
“Nothing,” I say, still holding Asher's gaze. “Just clearing up any potential misunderstandings.”
His jaw works. “Yeah. Wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea.”
“Exactly.”
Camille's hand slips from his arm. “Asher—”
“Give us a minute,” he says, not looking at her.
Her mouth opens. Closes. She glances at me, then back at him, and I see the moment she decides this isn't a battle worth fighting right now. “Fine. I'll be in the pool house.”
She turns on her heel and stalks toward the doors in the living room, heels clicking against marble. The sound fades as she leaves, and then it's just the four of us.
Atlas shifts on the couch. “I'm gonna—”
“Stay,” Asher says.
Atlas freezes mid-rise. “Dude.”
“Stay,” Asher repeats.
“Yeah,” I say, head tilting but focused on Asher. “Stay Atlas. We might need a witness.”
He drops back down, exchanging a glance with Punk, who's now fully invested in whatever's about to unfold.
Asher steps around the island, closing the distance between us. “You want to run that by me again?”
I tilt my head, keeping my expression neutral. “Run what by you?”
“The part where I don't mean anything.”
“Did I say that?” I ask, agitation trailing my tone.
He continues. “You implied it.”
“Sounds like a personal interpretation.”
His eyes narrow. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“What?” I shift the clothes in my arms again, using the movement to create space between us. “I'm just standing here. You're the one making it a thing.”
His brows jerk. “I'm making it a thing?”
“Yeah.” I take a step back. “You are.”
He follows. “Bullshit.”
“Asher.” Atlas's voice cuts in, tentative. “Maybe not—”
“Shut up, Atlas—”Asher snaps without looking away from me.
I raise an eyebrow. “Wow. Touchy.”
“Yeah?” he smirks, all sarcasm and hunger. “Well you're infuriating.”
“And you're engaged.” The words stumble out before I can stop them. Damnit. Again. Fucking motherfucker.
His hand is behind my neck in a flash, forcing me into his chest. “And you're fucking married, Venom, so shut the fuck up and stop being jealous. As much as I find it cute…” his nose skims mine.
“I'll have no problem fucking you until you can't breathe just to prove that she doesn't mean shit to me.”
I want to yell. To argue. To be all the ugly things that I feel whenever she has her hands on him, but deep down, I know I can't. It makes me a hypocrite. It makes me all the things I never wanted.
“—honey were home!” Jord yells, kicking the door closed behind him and Luce, but it does nothing to separate Asher and I.
He sashays past us, lowering his glasses with a finger and looking between Asher and I. “Oh, baby boy, as much as I'd love to see you both go at it, my money's on Ivy.”
Asher releases me, and I place the basket down onto the sofa, finding Punk staring at me. She quickly smiles, before going back to her phone, scrolling through whatever it is she's doing.
Everyone exits the room except Asher, and I turn, eyes landing on him again.
“Ivy.”
I look away, and he steps close, fingers around my chin and forcing me back on him.
My heart feels heavy and lazy, the room small.
His thumb swipes my lip. “You of all people understand the complexities of fucking relationships that you don't wanna be in, so quit it with the fucking tantrums.”
My mouth snaps closed before I say something I regret. He's right. Of course he is. But—but what? I'm being ridiculous.
His mouth crashes into mine before I can form a coherent thought. The kiss is brutal, claiming, designed to shut me up and make a point simultaneously.
It works.
My hands find his shirt without permission, fisting the fabric like I'm trying to anchor myself. His tongue sweeps against mine, possessive and demanding, and I respond with equal ferocity because I'm done pretending I don't want this.
When he pulls back, it's only far enough to speak. His breath ghosts over my lips, and I can taste coffee and something darker.
“I meant every fucking thing I said last night.” His voice drops low, rough. “Every. Thing.”
My chest heaves against his. “Asher—”
“And it was your idea,” he continues, thumb pressing into my jaw, “to let this play out. So either you're in, or you're not. But don't stand here acting wounded when you're the one who set the rules.”
The words hit like a slap and a caress at once. He's right. I did this. I told him we couldn't be more. I pushed for the boundaries we're now obliterating.
“I'm in,” I whisper.
His eyes search mine, looking for the lie. He won't find one. Not about this.
“Good.” His arm slides around my waist, fingers splaying across my lower back. “Then quit acting like Camille matters.”
She doesn't. She shouldn't. But watching her touch him makes me want to commit felonies.
I nod, swallowing the jealousy that tastes like battery acid. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah.” I force the word out. “Okay.”
He studies me for another beat before seeming satisfied. His grip on my waist tightens, and he steers me toward the kitchen. I let him guide me like this is normal. Like we haven't just negotiated the terms of our mutual destruction.
Atlas is already at the fridge, pulling out ingredients with the kind of focus that suggests he's been waiting for us to finish our drama. Punk perches on the counter beside him, phone abandoned, watching us with an expression I can't quite read.
“Finally,” Atlas says without turning around. “Thought you two were gonna fuck right there on the couch.”
Asher scoffs. “Pshh. You fucking wish.” He pulls out a stool, and I go to take one too but he forces me up onto his lap instead.
I settle onto his lap, my ass fitting against his thighs like we've done this a thousand times. How the hell did this man just dismantle my tantrum and make me complicit. Like a toddler.
His hand lands on my knee, forcing me closer into his lap.
Atlas turns, eggs in one hand, vegetables in the other. His grin wide and entirely too knowing. “So, tonight.”
“What about tonight?” I ask, grateful for the distraction since Asher's dick is pressed against my tail bone and all I can think is what it feels like inside me.
“I've got a plan.” Atlas sets the ingredients on the counter and leans back against it, crossing his arms. “And you're both coming.”
Asher's hand slides up my thigh. Slow. “To where?” I try to focus on Atlas instead of the heat pooling low in my belly. Instead of the way my thighs want to part for him.
I fight a groan, coughing and leaning forward. I thought it'd give me distance from him, but all it does is give Asher a better vantage point of me being bent over.
“The fun kind.” Atlas's eyes gleam. “The kind that may get us arrested.”
Asher's fingers tighten against my leg. “Don't know… kind of thinking I wanna stay in…” his playful tone tugs at the corner of my mouth.
Atlas catches it, eyes narrowing before dipping around me and landing on his brother. “You both wanna stop humping all over each other and focus for a second?
I burst out a laugh, turning while making sure I put extra pressure on his crotch before sliding off.
Asher glares at me as I move through to the dining table where Luce and Jord have been watching.
Asher finally answers his brother. “Who's 'us'?”
“Me, you two, Luce, Jord.” Atlas ticks off names on his fingers. “Maybe Punk if she's feeling it. Keep it small…and Camille.”
Punk snorts from where she's sitting. “I'm feeling it.”
“See?” Atlas grins. “It's like one big happy family.”
“Now there's a thought,” Jord mutters under his breath.
I could fucking kill Atlas.
Of course he makes sure to bring Camille tonight, despite the fact that he knows I don't want her here.
My phone vibrates against my thigh, and I reach inside to grab it out, pausing when I see Parker's name flash over the screen.
I grind my teeth. If I make it obvious that something has pissed me off, it'll end up with Camille trying to fake her way into fixing it, or Ivy forcing the answers out of me with me even realizing.
Bold. Even for you.
My lip twitches as my thumb flies over the screen. Nah. I prefer creative.
I shut my screen off and shove my phone back in my pocket, shooting back my whiskey.
“Okay, wait!” Punk yells over the loud music. “Are you telling me that you have mommy issues?”
I pause, drink short from my mouth.
Atlas forces a smile on his mouth. “Now how the fuck did you get that?”
Punk's sarcasm dies in her throat. She pats Atlas cheek like a well-behaved pet and I almost choke on my drink. “Well, because Asher—”
Atlas kisses her. How many fucking drinks has she had? Pretty sure I counted the same amount as Luce and Ivy and I don't see them being all fucking sloppy.
Camille's hand lands on my thigh and I tense, jaw going tight. “Shall we go?”
“You can,” I say, forcing her hand off my thigh.
She rolls her eyes, turning to Ivy opposite us when she notices her watching. I see it. I know what's coming and I can't do shit to shut her up.
Camille's grip on her glass tightens, her eyes narrowed when she notices Ivy's perfect art of pretending to not give a fuck.
“Jeez,” Camille flicks her hair over her shoulder. “Anyone would think he'd let it go already!”
Music isn't loud enough to drown out Camille's bullshit.
“Let what go?” Jord asks, not realizing he's stepping in dog shit.