Chapter 34
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
ASHER
I'm in a conference room with six other people when my phone vibrates on the table. I glance down at the screen and see a text from Devon.
At your dad's house. Now.
Not a question. Not a request. A statement. A command. I stare at the message for three seconds while someone drones on about quarterly projections. My pulse is through the roof.
She's not asking permission. She's telling me where she is and what she expects. I stand abruptly. Six pairs of eyes turn toward me.
"I need to go," I say, already moving toward the door. "Family emergency. We'll pick this up tomorrow."
No one argues. I'm out of the room before anyone can ask questions. The drive to my father's house is torture. Every red light is an annoyance. Every slow driver makes me want to lay on the horn.
I think about yesterday. About Julie sitting in Amanda Reeves’ office. I never told Julie that I know Amanda, which makes it even sweeter. I think about Devon playing her role perfectly—vulnerable, honest, just hurt enough to be sympathetic.
It was beautiful to witness Amanda systematically dismantling Julie's world. It worked exactly the way I planned it. Julie is trying to hide it, but she’s struggling. This morning she left for work before I woke up. I bet she's destroyed. Demoralized. Exactly where I need her to be.
Devon knows I’m done with Julie. That's why she texted me like that. Not tentative or uncertain. Confident. That therapy session proved I'm all in and made it clear I'm not in love with my wife.
What I want now is Devon. So much so that I’m hard as fuck as I pull into the circular driveway at the mansion and park next to her car. The house is massive and silent. My father's been dead for almost nine months. I use my key to let myself in. The alarm beeps and I punch in the code.
"Devon?"
"Upstairs."
Her voice echoes down from the second floor. I take the stairs two at a time. My heart is pounding. My cock is straining against my pants. I find her in my father's bedroom. Weird. But not a turnoff. How fucked up is that?
She's sitting on the edge of the bed wearing a white silk nightgown that barely reaches the top of her thighs. No bra. I can see her nipples through the fabric. Her hair is down and loose around her shoulders. She looks up when I walk in and her expression is pure sin.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey."
"I've been thinking about you," she says. She reaches out and puts her hand on my chest. I can feel the heat of her palm through my shirt.
"Good," I answer, my voice gruff.
She slides her hand down my chest. Over my stomach. Lower. When she cups me through my pants, I stop breathing.
"See?" she whispers. "You're always hard for me now."
I am. God help me, I am.
"I fuck my little pussy thinking about you every night while you're down the hall sleeping," she whispers.
"I did it last night, after we ruined Julie's day.
I was so fucking wet and I kept thinking about how badly I want to ride your cock.
It's all I can think of sometimes. I came so hard, Asher. I almost screamed your name."
Fuckkkkk. I'd have burned the house down around us all to hear that. I grab her and pull her to me. She gasps. I kiss her hard, my hand sliding into her hair, gripping tight. She opens her mouth and I taste her. She tastes like vanilla and sex.
Her hands go to my belt. She unbuckles it with practiced ease and unzips my pants. When she slides her hand inside my boxers and wraps her fingers around my cock, I groan into her mouth. "Fuck," I breathe.
"I want to taste you," she says. And then she drops to her knees.
I should stop this. I should pull her up and tell her we can't do this. This is dangerous given the current circumstances. But I don't. Because I want this more than anything else.
I watch her pull my cock out and stroke it slowly. She looks up at me with those wide, innocent eyes and smiles. "You're perfect.”
"All for you, baby girl."
She licks her lips. "Good, because I want it all." Then she takes me in her mouth.
The sensation is overwhelming. Hot and wet and perfect. She works me with her tongue, her hand stroking what she can't fit in her mouth. I thread my fingers through her hair and guide her rhythm. "Jesus Christ," I mutter.
She hums around me and the vibration nearly makes me come right there. I pull her off before I finish. She looks up at me, confused. "Not yet," I say.
I pull her to her feet and kiss her again. My hands go to the hem of her nightgown. I pull it over her head. Her tits are fucking perfect. I cup them, thumbing her nipples until they're hard. She moans into my mouth.
"Get on the bed," I tell her. She climbs onto my father's bed and lies back. Her legs fall open. She's already wet. I can see it. Fuck. A wet eighteen year old. The devil on my shoulder wants to fuck. If the angel on my shoulder has a word to say, I'm not listening.
I strip off my shirt and pants and climb on top of her. I kiss her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. I take one nipple in my mouth and suck, running my tongue over it as she arches into me.
"Asher," she breathes.
I kiss my way down her stomach. When I settle between her thighs, she's trembling. "I can't fuck you," I say. "Not yet."
"Why not?"
"I’m not crossing that line in the middle of the day when I need to go home after. You deserve better."
"But we can do other things?”
“Yes, baby. We can do so many other things.”
I don't wait for her to say anything. Instead, I lower my mouth to her pussy and taste her. She cries out, her hands flying to my hair. I work her with my tongue, finding her clit and circling it until she's writhing beneath me.
"Oh my god," she gasps. "Oh my god, Asher?—"
I slide two fingers inside her and she comes almost immediately, her thighs clamping around my head, her whole body shaking.
I keep going, fucking her with my tongue and fingers, devouring her like I'm starving.
Because for her, I am. That vanilla sweetness I've been dreaming about is everything I hoped it would be.
She comes two more times, drenching my tongue and fingers as she moans and gasps. When she finally goes limp, I pull back and wipe my mouth. "Holy shit," she breathes.
I climb back up her body and kiss her. She can taste herself on my lips.
"Your turn," she says.
She pushes me onto my back and straddles me. She kisses down my chest, my stomach, and takes my cock in her mouth again. I'm not gentle and she doesn't ask me to be. She chokes on my cock, the sexiest fucking noise I've ever heard. I fuck her face harder, loving that she figures out how to take it.
"I'm going to fucking cum," I growl. "And you're going to swallow like a good little girl."
She makes a noise in her throat as she nods, and it's so fucking good I see stars. I cum hard, yelling her name, my hands fisted in her hair. She swallows and looks up at me with a satisfied smile.
"Good?" she asks.
"Fuck yes."
We lie there for a while, catching our breath. The room smells like sex and her vanilla perfume. Maybe I should feel guilty. Maybe I should be thinking about Julie waiting at home. But I'm not.
All I can think about is how good that felt. And how much I want to do it again.
We spend the next three hours in that bed.
By the time we stop, it's almost six. I'm annoyed because I know Julie will be wondering where I am which means I have to go home, when what I really want to do is keep cumming. I want to put Devon on her knees and fuck her tight little pussy, but I have to go home. Annoyed doesn’t cover it.
I quickly shower and redress while Devon watches from the bed. She's still naked, sprawled out on the sheets like she owns the place. Someday soon, she may just be the lady of the house. I grin, imagining being able to touch and fuck her whenever I want to.
"When can we do this again?" she asks.
"Thursday."
"What time?"
"Two."
"I'll be here."
I lean down and kiss her one more time. "This stays between us."
"Obviously."
I leave her there and drive home. The whole way back, I'm thinking about her mouth on me.
Her taste. The sounds she made when she came.
I don't think about my wife even once. Not until I pull into the garage and see her Audi.
Inside, I find her in the kitchen. Standing at the counter, staring out at the lake, but it's like she's seeing nothing.
She looks over at me when I clear my throat.
"Hey," I say.
"Hey." Her voice is flat.
Good.
"How was work?" I ask.
"Fine, but I’m beat so I’m going to go to bed.”
I know I need to feign concern. “Babe, it’s just after seven. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but I have another headache. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”
She walks past me without another word. I hear her footsteps on the stairs. The bedroom door closes. She’s obviously unhappy and doesn’t want to spend time with me. I stand in silence and watch her go. I feel nothing. No guilt. No regret. No sympathy.
Just satisfaction that things are unfolding the way they need to. It has to be this way so we can end it.
I needed her when we met. She doesn't know that, but I did. My father gave me until I was thirty get married or lose everything. Not just the money. The company, the legacy, the only thing that ever mattered to him. He didn't think I could do it. Didn't think I'd find someone he'd approve of.
I proved him wrong.
And though he'd conditionally approved her, based on the deep background check I had run the day after I met her, the dinner at Canlis brought it all home.
She met his cruelty with grace and his tests with honesty.
He treated her like shit, like he treated everyone, including me, but by the end of the night, something had shifted.
The following week, he told me I was marrying up, and I laughed. Reminded him I was worth more than a thousand Julies. He laughed in my face. Told me the money was his, not mine. That Julie had morals and character and I'd never shown either. That she was worth more than me on my best day.
It stung. But then he said he was proud of me. For the first time in my entire life, my father was proud of me. I would have done anything to keep that feeling. Anything.
Two days before the wedding, he called me into his office. Told me I'd passed the test. Found the right woman. But there was one more condition. Five years. Lock in. Be a goddamn good husband. Keep Julie happy. Do that, and he'd give me thirty percent of Ancre stock. Free and clear.
I thought it would be easy. I was high on his approval, drunk on the idea that I'd finally done something right. I think I even convinced myself I loved her. I don't know.
But then he died. And Devon told me the truth. Realizing that Julie was the reason my dad got married in the first place changed everything. Almost immediately, all the feelings I had for Julie evaporated.
We aren't compatible. She's apple pies and sunshine and I never wanted that. I can’t stand her anymore. I know that isn’t her fault.
I get it. But it doesn't make it less true.
I don't want to be the monster in her story, mostly because I don’t want the bad press.
I just want her to view me as the guy who choked when his dad died and became an unreliable partner.
She can leave with dignity and I can move on to something that really does make me happy. So I've built this carefully. Strategically. Every move has been calculated. Every piece in place. And it's working.
I pour myself a drink and sit down at the kitchen table. Everything is happening as it needs to. I lived a dream with Devon today. It was perfect. And full freedom is so close I can almost touch it.
I raise my glass to the empty room. “Fuck you, dad.”
And then I drink.