Chapter 22 #2
I don’t know. I don’t know what he’s up to, who he’s out with. But he sat next to me, asked me about my degree. Treated me like I was a person and not a possession. I can’t repay that by fucking his teammate. “I’m not, and that’s what matters.”
Asher doesn’t argue. He resettles himself on the bed, wincing slightly. He’s hard, unmistakably, through his jeans.
“Sorry.” I nod toward his lap.
“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “I’ll take care of it later.”
I get a flash: Asher in bed, hand around his cock as he takes care of himself. Twin spots of heat flush my cheeks.
It must be obvious what I’m thinking, because Asher smirks. “Won’t exactly be the first time I’ve done that thinking about you.”
“Asher…” I breathe.
“Yeah, it involves you saying my name just like that.”
My arm comes up—to reach for him, to stop him, I’m not sure—and the towel falls away. I’m wearing a bra and necklace, but that’s it. My underwear had gotten wet in the cleanup, so I took them off.
Asher makes a noise when he realizes, a word that comes out half a growl. One second, I’m standing on my bedroom floor and the next I’m sprawled backward on my bed, his hands tracing their way up my ribs, his body levered over mine.
“Take that off,” he orders, and I go to undo my bra when he shakes his head and reaches for the necklace instead, fingers stumbling on the clasp as he undoes it.
“Right now, I don’t want you to think about him.
Right now, I want you to forget you even know his name.
” He yanks open a nightstand drawer and I think he’s going to shove the necklace inside and slam it.
Instead, he drops the pendant with a thump and then draws something else out. My vibrator. One of them. He toggles through various settings activating and silencing the main shaft of it and the part that goes right against my clit. “When was the last time you used this?” he asks.
I swallow nervously, face flaming with heat. “Yesterday.” An orgasm that had felt fine—good even—right before I went to bed, palm across my mouth so I wouldn’t disturb Brayden in the next room.
“What’d you think about when you were touching yourself?” he asks.
“You, here, asking me that question.”
He laughs at that. “Take your bra off.” I sit up and unhook the band of my bra, tossing it onto my bedroom floor.
One of my tits is a little larger than the other.
Something past boyfriends have mentioned, as if I should have been grateful for their attention at all. I wait for him to say something.
“Fuck,” he whispers, low and rough. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.
” He leans over me, the tip of his nose against my neck, his breath against my shoulder.
His hand tilts my jaw up. This time he doesn’t stop, just presses his lips to mine.
At our wedding, Brayden kissed me like he wanted me to be his.
Asher kisses like he wants to be mine, mouth firm, lips parting until I can stroke my tongue against his.
My hands find their way to his hair—longer than Brayden’s and glossy against my fingers—then to his shoulders. His tattoo is a dark swirl like a spill of ink. But underneath it, his skin is rough like the tattoo is being used to cover up a scar.
Asher startles for a second. He moves my hand to his back, lowering his face, kissing my throat and shoulder and collarbone. Then he pauses and sucks a mark right on my chest, unmistakable.
“Brayden—” I gasp. It feels traitorous to even mention him. “He’ll see.” He might, or he might not, but either way that mark is a reminder—that we were here. That we did this. That the number of secrets I’m keeping just multiplied by two.
“You’re still thinking about him,” Asher says.
“Can’t have that.” Slowly, he drops his thigh between mine, then grasps the vibrator and runs the buzzing shaft of it up and down the inside of my knee, higher and higher until it’s sitting flush with my heat, vibrations sending tendrils of pleasure through me that trace down my thighs, up my back. “Can you hold that in place?” he asks.
I nod. My hair has come loose on the pillow. I wiggle around until the vibrator is sending random bursts of sensations through me, as Asher sits up on his knees, watching me.
He thumbs open the button of his jeans, pushes them down without any hesitation, and kicks them off to the floor.
He’s in dark green boxer briefs that are still light enough to reveal the wet spot right over the head of his cock.
He spits on his hand, reaches for himself, stops when I shake my head.
“I thought you said we weren’t—” He pauses like the technicality of not sleeping together will erase the fact that we are.
“In that case…” He grips the back of my knees, dragging me toward him as he widens my legs, then positions the vibrator mercilessly at my clit.
“When was the last time someone”—he spits someone as if he means Brayden—“made you come so hard you blacked out?”
“Um.” My face flushes for an entirely different reason.
Because I’ve never done that, not with another person involved.
Not with someone who didn’t fuck me until he was done, then roll over and leave me to finish by myself.
Someone who had no idea of if I was faking it or who did know but really didn’t care.
“It’s been a while.” Because never is included in a while.
“Rich boys,” Asher says with a sneer, “always so afraid to put in a little work.” He presses a kiss to my mouth, firm, my jaw cupped in his hand.
Another, soft and sweet. Another delivered so quickly my body surges up to meet his.
He kisses down my chest, pausing at my breasts to suck each one, to pinch my nipples until they’re hard and aching, to reach for his own cock and give it a tug like he needs the relief.
He continues down, lower, hands unhesitant on the soft folds of my stomach, fingers tracing over my body as if he’s memorizing it, until he settles himself between my legs. “Put your thigh on my shoulder,” he says.
“Are you sure—” I start, because I’ve been told my legs are heavy all my life. I stop when he shoots me a dark look.
“Next time, I’m going to fuck you against your front door to prove a point.”
Next time. As if that’s a guaranteed thing.
I don’t have time to think about that when he draws my leg up, pushes the shaft of the vibrator right against my pussy, then kisses me—once, slow, on the interior of my thigh where I can feel wetness leaking down, then again on the other side, almost where I need him.
“Oh,” I say, falling into old habits—not faking, but definitely exaggerating, “that feels good.”
Asher looks up at me skeptically, then snorts like he doesn’t believe me. He kisses another pattern on my thigh, fingers edging closer to my pussy before he draws them back.
I squirm, trying to reposition the vibrator, telling myself that I can always get myself off later if I need to. A disappointment, but not a surprise. “Keep going like that.”
He glances up at me. “I know what you’re trying to do.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re telling me something you think I want to hear instead of the truth.” He mutters something under his breath that sounds vaguely like wonder where you learned that.
Then he seals his mouth against my clit, tongue working, a blaze going through me, something hot and winding and entirely different from the few sad licks previous boyfriends have managed before mumbling, Did you come yet?
My hands grip the bedspread as he keeps eating me out, like if I let go, I might float off into space, untethered from the Earth. Brayden could come home at any moment. And yet I can’t bring myself to care.
Asher draws back, leaving me panting. “When I saw you in that car,” he says, “sitting prim as a princess, this is what I wanted to do.”
“Torture me?” I gasp.
“Spoil you.”
He grabs the vibrator—other men have viewed it as, if not competition, at least a distraction—but he pumps it against my entrance until I’m open, aching, practically begging. “Please,” I whine.
He shakes his head. “You can ask better than that.”
If that’s what he wants, two people can play that game. ”You think you’re good enough to fuck me?” I ask, tone as haughty as I’ve ever managed.
He grins up at me, a real smile that lights up his entire face. I see why he doesn’t smile like that more often. Now that I’ve seen it, I can never not know it’s there, buried under his intense expression. “That’s it, princess.” He taps the vibrator at my pussy again, licks me a few more times.
I’m on the edge, feet tense, sweat gathering under my tits and along my spine. Close, close, but not enough. “Asher…”
Finally, he pushes the vibrator inside me, stretching me, filling my walls. “Tomorrow, when you wake up in his house,” he growls, “remember who made you come like this.”
And he clicks something on the vibrator, until it’s nothing but a whir, until my entire body seizes—toes curled, hands locked to the comforter, cunt pulsing as my orgasm radiates through me bright and hot, a gush that descends down my thighs, my brain going from a blinked white to nothing at all.
From between my legs, Asher clenches his eyes shut and grinds himself against the bed, and follows right behind me, my name on his lips as he comes.
And just before the world goes dark, I hear a noise—something vague that sounds like it’s coming from a universe away, even if it’s just from the floor below, the front door opening and slamming shut. Brayden. Fuck.