Chapter 42
CHAPTER
FORTY-TWO
ASHER
I check Julie's location one more time before I set my phone down on the kitchen counter. The little blue dot sits exactly where it should be: San Juan Island. Perfect. I exhale and feel the tension release from my shoulders.
The house feels different without her in it. Lighter. Like I can finally breathe without that constant weight of her presence, her anxiety, her questions, her fucking neediness, pressing down on everything. I pour myself a scotch and take a long drink. The burn feels right. Celebratory.
The permanent tension that's been living in my jaw for months has finally eased. And tonight, I’m doing something for myself. I finish the scotch and set the glass in the sink. Then I walk back to the counter and look at my wedding ring sitting there next to my keys.
I took it off yesterday. Just slipped it off my finger and set it down, and it felt like shedding a skin I’d been in for too long. I look at it for a long moment. Then I pick up my keys and leave the ring exactly where it is.
I'm taking Devon to Canlis. The same restaurant where my father took Julie and me for that excruciating dinner where he vetted her like she was applying for a job.
I'm going to sit where my father sat, with Devon across from me where Julie sat, and I'm going to do exactly what he wouldn't approve of.
It's perfect. It's a fuck-you to his manipulation and to every decision he made for me. He created this situation by making me feel like I had to prove myself worthy of his empire by marrying the right kind of woman.
I jumped through his hoops, did the work, and married the perfect girl. I did everything he asked. And now that he’s dead and gone, I’m going to do what I want.
I knock on Devon's door. "Hey. You almost ready?"
"Come in," she calls.
I open the door and stop. Devon is standing in front of her full-length mirror, adjusting a black dress that hugs every perfect line of her body.
But that's not what makes me stare. She's wearing Julie's shoes. The black Louboutin’s.
The ones with the red soles that Julie wore to our disastrous anniversary dinner.
Now Devon is wearing them. They fit her perfectly and look sexy as fuck.
"What do you think?" Devon asks, turning to face me. She's also wearing one of Julie's jackets—a cropped black blazer that I recognize as one of Julie’s signature pieces. On Devon, it looks completely different than it ever did on my wife. Sharper. Sexier.
"You're wearing her clothes," I say, and my voice comes out rougher than I intended.
Devon smiles. "Just the shoes and the jacket. I would've worn more, but Julie's bigger than me so nothing else fits."
Julie is bigger than Devon—taller and curvier. It's not an insult, objectively. Julie is gorgeous. But the way Devon says it, with that little smile playing at her lips, makes it one. And I fucking love it.
I cross the room and pull her against me, my hands sliding down to grip her ass through the thin fabric of her dress. "You look incredible."
"Yeah?" She tilts her head back, her eyes dark and knowing. "You like seeing me in her things?"
"I like the subtle fuck you to Julie. But mostly, I like looking at you in anything." I kiss her neck, just below her ear. "Or nothing at all.”
She laughs, low and breathy. "We have a reservation. You're the one who wanted to take me out."
"I know." I force myself to step back, even though what I really want is to strip that dress off her right now and fuck her on her bed. "Come on. Let's go."
The drive to Canlis takes twenty minutes. I can feel Devon watching me as I drive.
"Where are we going?" she asks.
"You'll see."
"Mysterious." She reaches over and rests her hand on my thigh, her fingers tracing small circles that make it hard to focus on the road. "I like it."
I cover her hand with mine, pressing it harder against my leg. "Patience, baby."
When we pull up to the restaurant, Devon's eyes widen. "Canlis? Asher, this place is?—"
"I know." I hand my keys to the valet and come around to open her door. "Only the best for you."
She takes my hand and steps out, and I watch the way she moves in Julie's shoes. Confident. Graceful. Like she was born to wear expensive things and be looked at. Inside, the ma?tre d' greets us with professional warmth. "Mr. Stevens. Your private dining room is ready."
"Thank you."
I smile when he opens the door and we follow him into the room where I brought Julie for my father’s approval. Devon walks in and turns in a slow circle, taking it all in. "This is beautiful."
"It is." I pull out her chair, the chair Julie sat in, and wait for her to sit. Then I take my seat across from her. My father's seat. The symmetry is perfect.
"Have you been here before?" Devon asks, running her fingers along the edge of the table.
"Several times. The last time, I was with Julie to introduce her to my father.”
Her eyes sharpen with interest. "Really?"
“He had me bring her here after we got engaged. To approve her." I pick up the wine list, not really looking at it. "He sat where I'm sitting now. She sat where you are."
Devon leans back in her chair, a slow smile spreading across her face. "And what did he think of her that night? Was he already thinking she invented the wheel?"
I bark out a laugh. “Not that night, no. He called her acceptable." I set the wine list down and meet her eyes. "He said she was reasonable. Appropriate. The kind of woman who wouldn't embarrass the family."
"How romantic."
"It wasn't meant to be." I reach across the table and take her hand. "He controlled everything about that dinner. About our wedding. About our entire fucking relationship. He made all the decisions and I just went along with it because I had to.”
Devon's fingers tighten around mine. "And now?"
"Now I'm making my own decisions." I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles. "Starting with bringing you here."
The waiter arrives with perfect timing, and I order an eight hundred dollar bottle of wine. He’s smart enough not to ask for Devon’s ID. Money buys silence and discretion, and I enjoy both.
After he pours and leaves, I raise my glass. "To freedom," I say.
Devon clinks her glass against mine. "To freedom."
The wine is excellent. I drink more than I should, refilling my glass twice before we even order food. Devon watches me with amusement. "Celebrating something?" she asks.
"Maybe." I lean back in my chair, feeling the alcohol warm my blood. "Julie's gone for a few more days. The house is ours. And I'm sitting here with you, in this room, doing exactly what my father would've hated."
"You think he would've hated this?"
"I know he would've." I take another drink. "He would've called it inappropriate. Reckless. He would've said I was throwing away my marriage and ruining my reputation– his reputation– for something that could never work."
"And what do you say?"
I set my glass down and look at her. Really look at her. The way the candlelight catches in her blonde hair. The way her dress dips low enough to show the curve of her tits. The way she's looking at me like I'm the only person in the world who matters. “I say he was wrong about a lot of things."
We order dinner—wagyu beef for me, halibut for her, sides we'll share. The food is incredible, but I barely taste it. I'm too focused on Devon, on the way she eats, the way she laughs at something I say, the way her foot slides up my calf under the table.
I keep drinking. Another glass of wine. Then another. The edges of the room start to soften, and the constant voice in my head, the one that sounds like my father, telling me what I should do, who I should be, finally shuts the fuck up. "I'm done waiting," I say suddenly.
Devon looks up from her plate. "What?"
“You’re mine. Tonight.”
Her eyes darken. "Asher?—"
"I know what I said before. About being careful.
About waiting until everything with Julie is settled.
But fuck that." The wine has loosened something in me, some last restraint I was holding onto. “We’re already doing everything else and sleeping with you, naked, at night in your room has been incredible. But we can do better.”
Devon's breathing has quickened. I can see her pulse jumping in her throat. "What do you mean?”
"I'm saying when we get home tonight, I'm not stopping. I'm not pulling back." I lean forward, my voice dropping. "I'm going to take you to my bed and I'm going to fuck you the way I've been wanting to for months."
She inhales sharply. "Your bed? The one you share with?—"
"The one that's mine." I cut her off. "Julie doesn't get to claim anything in that house anymore. Not the bed. Not me. Nothing."
For a moment, Devon just stares at me. Then she stands up, smoothing her dress. "I need to use the restroom."
She walks away, and I watch her go, my heart pounding. Maybe I said too much. Maybe I pushed too hard. Maybe?—
My phone buzzes. A text from Devon with a photo attached of her bare, glistening pussy: I wasn't wearing panties under this dress and I'm wet as hell thinking of you fucking me in your bed
I nearly choke on my wine. I signal the waiter and ask for the check.
He brings it discreetly, and I hand him my black card without looking at the total.
I don't care what it costs. I just need to get out of here.
Devon returns just as the waiter comes back with my card.
She's reapplied her lipstick and there's a flush high on her cheeks.
"Ready?" I ask, standing.
"More than ready."
The drive home is torture. I’m dimly aware that I’ve had a lot to drink and probably shouldn’t be driving, but needs must and right now I need to fuck.
Devon keeps her hand on my thigh the entire time, her fingers creeping higher and higher until I have to grab her wrist to stop her.
"If you keep doing that, I'm going to pull over and fuck you in this car," I say through gritted teeth.
"Maybe I want you to."
"We're five minutes from home. You can wait five minutes."
She laughs, low and teasing. "Can you?"
Barely. I'm so hard it hurts, and every time she shifts in her seat, every time I catch a glimpse of her legs in those shoes—Julie's shoes—I have to fight the urge to do exactly what I threatened.
When we finally pull into the garage, I'm out of the car in a blink.
I come around to her side and pull her out, pressing her against the door and kissing her hard.
She gasps into my mouth, her hands fisting in my shirt. "Asher?—"
"Inside. Now."
We stumble through the door into the kitchen.
I'm vaguely aware that I should arm the system and turn off the lights, but it’s low priority at this point.
All I care about is getting Devon to the bedroom.
I grab her hand and pull her toward the stairs.
She follows, laughing breathlessly, and the sound of her heels—Julie's heels—clicking on the hardwood is the most erotic thing I've ever heard.
We make it to the bedroom. My bedroom. The one I've shared with Julie for two years, the one where we used to fuck but then stopped.
The one where I've lain awake so many nights wishing I was anywhere else.
It's mine now. And I'm taking it back. I push Devon against the door as soon as it closes, my hands already reaching for the zipper of her dress.
She arches into me, her head falling back as I kiss down her neck.
"You meant it," she breathes. "About not stopping."
"I meant it." I pull the zipper down and the dress falls away, pooling at her feet. She wasn't lying. She's completely naked underneath except for the shoes. "Jesus Christ."
"You like it?"
"I fucking love it." I drop to my knees in front of her, my hands gripping her hips. "I'm going to fuck you while you wear her shoes."
We make it to the bed. Julie's side of the bed, specifically. I lay Devon down there, in the exact spot where my wife sleeps, and I don't feel a single shred of guilt. I feel powerful. Free. Like I'm finally doing what I was always meant to do.
Devon pulls me down on top of her, her legs wrapping around my waist. "I want you inside me, like we talked about. Bare. I'm on birth control and I want your cum inside of me."
"I know." I kiss her, deep and slow. "I want that too."
"Then do it." Her hands slide down to my belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease. "Stop holding back. Stop waiting. Just do it."
So I do. I push inside her slowly, watching her face as she takes me. Her eyes flutter closed and her mouth falls open and she makes this sound—half gasp, half moan—that goes straight to my head. "Fuck," I breathe. "Baby?—"
"Don't stop." Her nails dig into my shoulders as she wraps her legs around my waist. "Don't be gentle. Fuck me, Asher."
I fuck her slowly at first, then harder, then harder still, until the bed is shaking and she's crying out and I'm so far gone I can't think about anything except how good this feels, how right this is, how this is what I've been missing.
This is what I should've had all along. She screams, clenching so hard on my cock I almost pass the fuck out.
My eighteen year old, wet as fuck stepsister is taking me like a champ.
I flip her onto her knees, slamming into her, listening to her keening cries as I bottom out again and again.
When I cum, it's with her name on my lips and my hands fisted in the sheets—the sheets Julie picked out that smell like her fucking lavender detergent.
Not anymore. Now they smell like Devon's pussy and my cum.
I collapse next to Devon, breathing hard, and pull her against me. She curls into my side, her head on my chest, and I can feel her smiling.
"That was—" she starts.
"I know."
"Are you okay?"
I look up at the ceiling. At the bedroom I've hated for months. At the life I've been trapped in. "Baby, I'm perfect," I say.
And I mean it. There's no going back now.
I want this. I want Devon. I want the freedom to do what I want without guilt or obligation or the constant weight of Julie's disappointment.
I'm done being the husband my father forced me to be.
I'm done being the son my father wanted me to be.
I'm just going to be exactly who I am and make myself happy.
If that makes me the villain in someone else's story, I don't give a fuck.