Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Asher
The words hang there for a long moment. Brayden’s looking down at me, body sprawled on mine, cock hard at my hip.
“You sure?” I ask, even if his cock feels sure and the way he has my wrists pinned feels doubly sure. That doesn’t mean the rest of him agrees.
“Are you suddenly getting morals, Adler?” he asks.
“Don’t fucking call me that.” I roll him off me, sit up. Savannah is still sprawled out on the couch, watching us with interest. “Your decision, princess.”
She does a little shimmy. Her nipples are peaked inside her bra, her cheeks flushed from having come all over Brayden’s face, a taste that coated my tongue while he and I were kissing. One that just made me want more. “Only seems fair,” she says, “since you did get that preview of us this morning.”
I drag myself up, sit on the couch beside her. After a moment, I pull her onto my lap, facing outward, legs sprawling over mine. I don’t wait, just dip my hand down to her bare pussy, still wet from her husband’s mouth. “You knew I was listening,” I say.
Savannah’s hair brushes my mouth as she nods.
“I tried to block it out,” I say. “At first.”
She tips her head back. Smiles up at me knowingly.
In the lighting of my apartment—because I’d set the lamps and the music and stocked the fridge with drinks, because I’d do anything to have her pressed against me—her eyes are neither green nor brown, a color I can’t quite name, but want to etch into my memory.
She rolls her body again, lush against my cock. “You liked what you heard?” she asks.
“Did I like the sound of you getting fucked?” I drop a kiss to her neck, another, another. “You know the answer to that one.” I suck a mark, overlapping with the one Brayden left earlier, a bruise that tells the world that we’re hers. “But I like the feel of it better.”
It doesn’t take much positioning, just Savannah getting up on her knees, her holding my cock at the base as she eases me inside. We slot together, fit together, and I know she can feel it from the way she’s moaning around me as she rides me, pussy snug on my cock, hair soft against my mouth.
Brayden’s watching us from the floor. His eyes catch mine, and he shucks off the last of his clothes. He goes to spit on his hand, then stops, crawls over to where Savannah and I are joined together. Studies us for a moment like he’s deciding what to do.
“He giving you almost enough?” he asks, slightly skeptically, and Savannah gasps a yes. Brayden uses that to slide his index finger in her mouth, pumping it a few times and then withdrawing it. “You’re taking him so well. But I think you could take a little more.”
He angles his hand, slowly pushes his finger inside her. I can feel him, stretching her pussy, pushing her right to her limit, using her slickness to make us both groan.
“Did I say you could stop?” he asks me, and I thrust my hips, just as he presses down on Sav’s shoulder, driving us all deeper.
Tears form at the edges of her eyes, and I almost want to ask her if this is too much when she winks an eye open, fixes Brayden with that commanding look of hers, the one that would make me grab every star from the sky if that’s what she wanted. “Is that all?” she asks, voice haughty.
Brayden laughs and shakes his head and presses a second finger inside her, stroking my cock as he does. “Give her everything,” he orders me.
I have no choice but to listen, thrusting, losing myself inside her.
I come, hot, bright, a blink of white between my eyes, pouring myself out, her pussy perfect around me.
My hands drift over her—the rise of her breasts, the soft swell of her stomach, the strength in her thighs. Fuck, how can I ever get enough of her?
I’m barely done, spent, chest heaving, when Brayden withdraws his fingers, replaces them with his mouth. His tongue trips over her clit, fast enough I can feel her flutter around me, her orgasm building until she wrenches another one from me too, until I’m gasping and empty.
Brayden pulls her off me, my cock twitching at the sudden change. “Savannah,” he says, voice playfully serious, a side of him that I didn’t know existed until now, “have you been fucking my teammate behind my back?”
She laughs. “Maybe.” But her laugh turns to a moan when he starts to finger her, pushing my come deeper inside her.
“I should punish you,” he says. “Fuck you until you forget about everyone’s cock but mine.”
“I don’t know”—she rolls her hips against his hand—“that doesn’t sound much like punishment.”
He picks her up from the couch, turns her, bends her over until her hands are on either side of my shoulders, ass in the air, face near mine. “Tell him exactly whose wife you are,” he says.
He thrusts into her hard, her pendant bouncing, her voice reduced to half-bitten-off syllables that could be either of our names.
Her eyes lock with mine and I stroke her face, her neck, the pretty tops of her shoulders, the beautiful curve of her arms. She says my name.
Asher. A whisper. The one I’ve wanted to hear ever since I met her.
The one I want to carry with me the way she does that pendant around her neck.
“Huh,” I say, mostly to rile Brayden.
His hips stutter. “What’s that?”
“Doesn’t seem like she’s forgotten about me.” I smirk up at him, an expression guaranteed to make him fuck her harder, which he does.
Savannah’s eyes clench shut, her nipples screw into hard little buds, her body starts trembling like it did in that bathroom, when I wanted nothing more than to take her into my arms and make her my own. She isn’t, and she isn’t his either.
I cup her face, run my thumb through the tear tracks by her eyes, evidence of her pleasure. She doesn’t need my permission but it’s possible she wants an invitation. “Go ahead, princess,” I say. “Let him know.”
“Let him know what?” Her voice is rough, her body already beginning to shake.
“That you’re ours.” I lean up, kiss her lips softly. “And we’re yours.”
She comes then, tipping forward, body pressed to mine as I hold her through it, as Brayden grunts and buries himself deep inside her, thrusting like he’s never going to stop.
He regains himself quickly, pulling out, cupping her pussy where she’s beginning to drip. “You’re not done,” he says to me, then points to the floor.
“You gonna put me in my place?” I ask.
“Maybe.”
“And where’s that?”
He grins. “Wherever I tell you it is.”
And what if that’s with you both? I can’t say it. Can’t even think it. Just slide myself down. Savannah’s still leaning over the couch, arms locked against the top of the cushions, legs splayed.
I settle between them, widening her hips and burying my face in her warm wet cunt. I can taste her—and him and myself—all mixed together, and I moan as I lap up our combined release.
Distantly, I can hear Brayden spit, then he grasps my cock as it tries to thicken again. He gives me a few experimental pumps that seem like he’s searching for a rhythm. “However you do that for yourself,” I rasp out.
For a moment, I think he’s going to bristle at being told what to do, the way he does in fielding practice. Then he spits, slows his grip, jerks me hard and certain and a little punishing.
It doesn’t take much. I come again from her taste and her sounds and the praise of her fingers in my hair.
From knowing he’s touching me the way he wants to be touched himself, an orgasm I can feel in my balls and the base of my spine and in the few last spurts of come left in me that find their way onto Brayden’s wrist. Savannah’s thighs lock around my head and for a moment, I’m held there, suspended, wrapped up in both of them.
After, Savannah’s shaking doesn’t stop, the same sudden slip into half-consciousness she’d had the first time she and I were together, then again, more intensely when we were in that bathroom.
“Hey, whoa, don’t fall.” I scramble up to catch her, motioning to Brayden to do the same. “She’s going to—”
Brayden's eyes flash with momentary terror as we help her collapse against the couch.
Shouldn’t you know she does that? I want to ask him. He should. He should know every whorl of her fingerprints and every freckle on her skin, every piece of her he’s lucky enough to have and I only get to taste briefly.
Still, we all find our way to the couch, Brayden and I on opposite ends with Savannah lying down, her head on Brayden’s shoulder, her legs draped over mine. “Some view,” she says, finally, tiredly, nodding out the window toward the city that, somehow, has kept going around us.
“I got this place for the view.” I lean to kiss her. “It’s better now.”
She huffs a laugh at that. “You need to work on your game.”
“I don’t know.” I lean over at where Brayden is lounging against my couch cushions, looking entirely smug. “I did get you and your husband into bed.”
I’m about to kiss him too when a look comes over Brayden, his entire expression shuttering.
Fuck.
Brayden scrambles off the couch, then begins circling the living room, picking up his clothes. He pulls them on out of order: shirt, then one sock, then underwear, then finally his pants, buttoning, zipping, redoing his belt, motions frantic like he’s just now realizing who he’s with.
What we’ve just done.
What he’s just done. And who he’s done it with. A man. Me.
“I’m—” He cuts himself off.
“Bray, are you…” Savannah doesn’t finish the sentence. He’s obviously not okay. She looks at me as if I know what to do other than to simply let him pretend that he didn’t want this just as she and I did.
He’s not the first guy I’ve been with who was supposedly straight any time his hand wasn’t on my dick. Usually, they wait until they leave and just send a cowardly text from their Uber ride home. Maybe I should be grateful he’s doing this to my face.
He opens and closes his mouth a few times like he’s trying to say something other than I got what I came for and now we’re gonna leave. “We shouldn’t do this—”
I don’t wait for him to finish. We can’t. Of course we can’t. That much is obvious. We’re on the same team. They’re married. None of this would even begin to work. I’ll always be outside their lives, looking in.
Anger surges inside of me, the kind I keep carefully contained. Therapy, meditation apps, none of that’s doing anything right now. My hand curls before I force my fingers to relax. You knew how this was going to be. Yet I did it anyway. “Fine,” I snap. “You both go ahead.”
“You’re not coming back to the hotel?” Savannah is still in her bra. Now she picks up her dress from the carpet, clutches it in front of her protectively.
“I’ll sleep here.” Even if my bed probably has two months’ worth of dust on it. It’s fine. I can sleep on the couch. Hell, I can sleep on the floor.
I get dressed—shirt, pants, whatever—as they pull on their clothes. Savannah goes to the bathroom for a few minutes and comes back with water dampening her hair. My hands twitch to brush it from her forehead. I keep them at my side.
She comes over to where I’m standing by the door, kisses my cheek and whispers a goodbye. My hand cups her back, briefly, the kind of touch I’ve wanted to do for months. As if she could be mine the way I’m already hers. “I’ll talk to him,” she says.
“He’s…” I shake my head. “He’s right.”
Her forehead wrinkles, as if this was a puzzle we can solve if we just keep trying different options. “I wish it wasn’t like this,” she says finally.
But it is. I’ve been told all my life that, even though I was good at baseball, I was probably the wrong fit. I didn’t let it hurt. I just made myself better until no one could deny me. Except I’m the one denying myself now. “It’s fine.” Even if she can tell it’s not.
She presses another kiss to my cheek, then slips out my front door.
Brayden comes over. He’s hastily dressed, disheveled in a way I shouldn’t find charming. He reaches out a hand toward me, and I smack his palm away. “Go to hell,” I say.
“Yeah.” He casts a look down at his shoes that are only loosely tied like he can’t wait to get out of here. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
And he leaves before I can say something back, something like I’m sorry too.