23. Ash
23
ASH
T he taxi bumps along the quiet streets, early morning light creeping in through the windows.
Rowan and Jake wanted to sleep in, but I had shit to do—meet with my supervisor, pretend to be a functioning adult, and Grace had a doctor’s appointment.
She’s sitting next to me, leaning against the window, hair still messy from last night, wearing Jake’s hoodie. It looks good on her. Too good.
She turns her head slightly, eyes finding mine. “So...” she draws out the word, smirking, “how are you holding up after your first harem sex experience?”
I scoff, running a hand through my hair. “Jesus, Grace.”
“What?” She nudges my leg with hers. “It’s a valid question.”
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “You don’t ease into things, do you?”
“Not really.” She’s grinning now, but there’s something softer beneath it. She’s not just teasing—she’s checking in.
I don’t know how to answer. I don’t even know how I fucking feel. Last night was... a lot. Good, yeah. Insanely good. But also, it cracked something open in me that I’ve been trying to keep locked down.
I clear my throat, staring out the window. “It was... different.”
“Different how?”
I exhale slowly. “I haven’t—” I stop myself, press my lips together, shake my head.
Grace shifts closer, her knee pressing into mine, her hand settling on my arm. Warm. Steady. “Talk to me, Ash.”
Fuck.
I drag a hand down my face, keeping my gaze on the passing buildings. “I was bonded before.”
The words land heavy between us. I don’t look at her.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away. Just waits.
“Her name was Mia,” I say, quieter this time. “She was... bright. Smart. Loved the ocean like I did. We used to talk for hours about shit no one else cared about. Tidal shifts, coral bleaching, deep-sea vents. It made sense. We made sense.”
Grace stays quiet, her fingers tracing small circles on my arm.
I swallow hard, force the words out.
“She got sick. Cancer. By the time they caught it, it was too late. She was gone before we even had a chance to really live. And after that...”
I shake my head, jaw tight. “I buried myself in my work for years. And then I moved out here. I told myself it was for research, but really, I just—” I exhale sharply. “I didn’t want to be around people who looked at me like I was broken.”
Grace remains silent for a long moment. Then, she laces her fingers through mine.
I finally look at her. Her expression is soft, open. No pity. Just... understanding.
She squeezes my hand. “I get it,” she says.
Something in my chest twists. “Yeah?”
She nods. “I grew up with parents who didn’t believe in staying in one place. We lived out of a camper van, selling handmade stuff in small towns. They were free spirits—hippies, I guess. But they loved me. They taught me how to bake over a campfire, how to read the stars. I was happy.”
A small smile ghosts over her lips, but it fades as she continues. “When I was ten, we were driving through a storm. Some truck driver lost control on a slick road. They died instantly.”
Her voice is steady, but I hear the edge of something deeper beneath it.
“I went into the system after that. Bounced from house to house. Some were okay, some weren’t. But I never stayed anywhere long enough to matter.”
I squeeze her hand. She doesn’t look at me, just stares out the window.
“When I turned eighteen, I left. Worked a shit ton of jobs, saved every penny, and came back here. I’d visited this place once with my parents, and I guess... I just wanted something that still felt like them. Like home.”
She lets out a small breath.
“Books, flowers, history—that’s my thing. The little things that remind me of them. That remind me I’m still here.”
My throat is tight. I don’t know what to say. So, I do the only thing I can.
I pull her in and kiss her.
She exhales against my lips, her hands curling into my shirt, pulling me closer.
“Thank you,” I murmur against her mouth.
“For what?” she whispers.
I rest my forehead against hers. “For trusting me with that.”
She tilts her head, brushing her lips over mine again, softer this time. “You trusted me first.”
And fuck, maybe I did. Maybe last night wasn’t just different because it was something new. Maybe it was different because, for the first time in years, I had let someone in.
The taxi pulls up in front of Grace’s place, and I pull out my wallet before the driver even says the fare. I shove some cash into his hand. “Keep it.”
Grace gives me a look as she pushes open the door. “Big spender.”
I smirk. “Efficient.”
She steps onto the curb, stretching slightly. The hoodie hangs loose on her, her hair still messy from the night before, and something about it hits me square in the chest.
She turns, catching me staring. “What time’s your meeting?”
I glance at my watch. “Half an hour.”
She hums, rocking on her heels. “That’s just enough time.”
I raise a brow. “For what?”
She steps closer, tilting her chin up. “My shower pressure’s not great,” she says, voice light, teasing. “But I’d still like the company.”
My body tightens instantly. “You sure?”
She nods. “Very.”
That’s all I need.
I grab her hand, pushing open the door, and the second we’re inside, I spin her, pressing her back against it. Her breath hitches, eyes darkening, and then my mouth crashes into hers.
She tastes like tequila and heat, like last night still lingers on her lips—and fuck, I want more.
Her hands grip my shirt, pulling me closer.
“Not sore?” I murmur against her jaw, kissing down her neck.
She shakes her head, breathless. “No. Please.”
That little plea undoes me.
I lift her in one smooth motion, hands gripping her thighs as she locks around me, and I carry her straight to the bedroom. Clothes hit the floor in a blur—her hoodie, my shirt, her underwear, everything.
Then it’s just skin and heat.
I lower her onto the bed, covering her with my body, and the second our mouths meet again, she’s gasping, arching, fingers digging into my back.
The way she moves, the way she gasps my name, the way she takes me like she needs this just as badly as I do.
It’s not just sex—it’s something else, something deeper, something that twists inside me and refuses to let go.
And fuck, it’s perfect.
She comes undone beneath me, body trembling, and I follow, groaning her name against her skin.
For a second, we just lie there, tangled and breathing hard, her fingers still dragging lazy circles along my spine.
Then she exhales, voice rough. “Okay.”
I press a kiss to her shoulder. “Yeah?”
She huffs a breathless laugh. “That was… wow.”
I grin against her skin. “Amazing?”
“Yeah,” she says, stretching beneath me. “That.”
I press another kiss to her jaw before pushing up on my elbows. “Shower? Still want company?”
She tilts her head back, considering. “Absolutely.”
I pull her up, and we stumble toward the tiny bathroom, still tangled together. The second the water’s on, she steps under the weak stream, sighing as the warm droplets hit her skin.
I lean against the sink, watching her.
“Indeed, the water pressure sucks,” I note, amused.
“Told you,” she says, smirking. Then, a challenge. “Make it up to me.”
I do.
I step in, hands skimming down her waist, fingers teasing against slick, wet skin. She shivers under my touch—not from the cold, but from me.
I turn her, pressing her against the cool tiles, my mouth trailing along her neck, her shoulder, the curve of her back. She gasps as I grip her hips, pressing closer.
And like the universe knows how much I want her, It’s happening all over again.
Slow. Deep. Intense. The water is lukewarm at best, but none of it matters. It’s just us, bodies moving together, fingers digging in, breaths turning ragged.
She’s gasping my name, clenching around me, and I lose it, pressing my mouth to her skin, groaning against her as we both fall apart.
And when it’s over, I stay there, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, keeping her against me.
She lets out a soft laugh, breathless. “I needed that.”
I exhale, pressing my lips to her wet hair. “Yeah. Me too.”
And fuck, I really did.