Chapter 5
Ashley
The kiss starts careful, tentative, like he's still giving me a chance to pull away.
I don't.
I grip the front of his shirt and pull him closer, and that's all it takes for his control to slip.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, thumb resting under my ear, and he kisses me deeper. Hungrier. Like he's been holding back since the moment he pulled me over on that mountain road.
Maybe he has been.
I know I have.
When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard.
"Ashley," he says, voice rough. "We should—I should—"
"Don't," I interrupt. "Don't talk yourself out of this."
His eyes search mine. "I don't want to take advantage."
"You're not." I cup his face, feeling the rasp of stubble under my palms. "I want this. I want you."
He's quiet for a long moment, and I can see him weighing it. Professional boundaries. The timing. Everything that says this is too fast.
"Are you sure?" he asks finally.
"I've never been surer of anything."
Something in his expression shifts, resolve settling into place.
"Okay," he says. Then, quieter, "Okay."
He kisses me again, and this time there's no hesitation. His hands move to my waist, then slide under the hem of my sweater.
He pauses. "Still sure?"
I answer by pulling the sweater over my head myself.
His gaze drops, slow and appreciative, like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"Amazing," he murmurs. "Fucking amazing."
Heat floods my cheeks at the compliment.
His hands move to the clasp of my bra, and when it releases, he lets it fall away. He takes his time looking at me, and under his gaze I feel desired in a way I haven't in years. Maybe ever.
"You have no idea how much I want you," he says, voice low and rough.
He lowers his mouth to my collarbone, and I tilt my head back with a moan.
His lips trail lower, across my chest, and when his mouth closes over my nipple, I arch into him with a gasp. His hands cup my breasts, and the sensation sends heat straight between my legs.
"Ross," I breathe.
"I've got you," he says against my skin.
His hands slide down my sides, thumbs hooking into the waistband of my jeans. He looks up at me, waiting.
I lift my hips in answer.
He pulls my jeans and underwear down in one smooth motion, leaving me bare before him.
Ross sits back on his heels, gaze roaming over my body with an intensity that makes me feel both vulnerable and worshipped.
"Lie back," he says.
I do, heart pounding.
He spreads my thighs gently, and the look on his face—hungry, focused, reverent—makes my breath stutter.
"I want to taste you first," he says.
I nod, unable to form words.
His mouth descends, and the first touch of his tongue makes me cry out. He's not tentative. He's deliberate, thorough, discovering exactly what makes me shake.
My hands fist in the bedspread, hips lifting toward him.
"That's it," he murmurs between strokes of his tongue. "Let me hear you."
The pressure builds impossibly fast. His tongue circles, flicks, sucks, and I'm falling apart, thighs trembling around his head.
"Ross, I'm—"
"I know," he says. "Let go."
The command sends me over the edge. Pleasure crashes through me in waves, and I'm gasping his name, body arching off the bed.
He doesn't stop until I'm boneless and trembling.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark with satisfaction.
"You taste incredible," he says.
I can't even respond. My brain is somewhere in the clouds.
Ross stands and starts unbuttoning his uniform shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the defined muscles of his stomach. When he unbuckles his belt and pushes his pants down, I see just how affected he is.
He's big. Thick and hard, and the sight of him makes my mouth go dry.
He catches my stare and smirks slightly. "Still okay?"
"Very okay," I manage.
He reaches for his wallet, pulling out a condom, and tears it open with his teeth.
He rolls it on, then climbs onto the bed, settling between my thighs. The weight of him is perfect, grounding.
He braces himself on his forearms, hovering just enough to keep from crushing me, eyes locked on mine.
"Tell me if anything hurts," he says.
"I want you," I whisper.
Then he notches himself at my entrance and pushes in slowly.
The stretch is intense. I gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders.
Ross stills immediately. "You okay?"
"Yes," I breathe. "Don't stop."
He sinks deeper, inch by inch, giving me time to adjust. When he's fully seated, we both groan.
"Fuck," he mutters. "You feel incredible."
He starts to move, slow and steady, each thrust deliberate. His eyes never leave my face, like he's memorizing every reaction, every gasp, every tremble.
I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him deeper.
"Harder," I whisper.
Ross's control fractures. His pace quickens, hips driving into mine with more force. The bed creaks beneath us, but neither of us cares.
He lifts my legs onto his shoulders, angling me so he hits even deeper. I cry out, overwhelmed by the sensation of being taken so thoroughly.
"That's it," he says against my neck. "Let go."
I'm climbing again, impossibly fast.
"Ross, I'm going to—"
"I've got you," he says. "Come for me."
The pressure crests, and I shatter, clenching around him, body shaking with the force of it.
Ross groans, thrusts turning erratic. "Ashley… fuuuuuck."
He buries himself deep and goes rigid, a low, guttural sound tearing from his throat as he comes.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
Then Ross shifts carefully, pulling out and disposing of the condom. He returns to the bed and pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me.
My heartbeat is loud in my ears.
He presses a kiss to my forehead, then another to my temple.
"You okay?" he asks, voice softer now.
I nod against his chest. "More than okay."
His arms tighten around me, and I feel the tension finally leave my body. Not just from the sex, but from everything. The fear. The running. The constant looking over my shoulder.
For the first time in months, I feel safe.
Ross shifts so he can look at me. His eyes are steady, the same ones that met mine through my car window.
"I meant what I said earlier," he tells me. "I'm going to handle this. Whatever you're running from."
My throat tightens. "Ross..."
He brushes his thumb over my lower lip, gaze intense.
"I'm an all-in kind of guy," he says. "With my job. With everything." He pauses. "With you."
I should tell him this is moving too fast. That we barely know each other. That I'm in no position to start something new.
Instead, I reach for him and pull him into another kiss.
Because right now, wrapped in his arms, I don't want to think about tomorrow. I don't want to think about Brandon or what comes next.
I just want this. Him. Us.
And for the first time since I left, I stop thinking about running.