Chapter 14 Valentina #2
He doesn’t look away from me as he hooks his thumbs into the fabric and peels it down, his knuckles brushing against the hypersensitive skin of my hips and thighs.
The air of the empty gym is cool against my exposed skin, a shocking contrast to the fire he’s stoking inside me.
He pushes the leggings down just past my knees, and the vulnerability is dizzying.
He lowers himself, between my legs and the sight is so unexpectedly submissive and yet so utterly commanding that I have to brace a hand against the weight rack. His hands smooth up my bare thighs, spreading them slightly.
“So fucking beautiful,” he breathes, the words a hot caress against my inner thigh. He nips at the tender skin there, and I jump. Then he soothes it with his tongue, a long, slow lick that has me trembling.
His mouth finds my center, and my knees absolutely give out. A choked cry rips from my throat as his hands clamp on my hips, holding me steady against the rack. His tongue. Oh god, his tongue is flat and hot and perfect, laving over me with a focused intensity that steals the oxygen from the room.
He doesn’t just taste me; he devours me.
One hand slides around to my front, his thumb finding my clit, circling it with a relentless, perfect pressure while his tongue delves deep inside me.
My hips buck against his face, my fingers clawing at his hair, holding on for dear life as he pushes me higher and higher.
Pleasure, sharp and bright, coils tightly in my belly.
“Please… Asher… I’m…” I’m babbling, lost in the sensation.
He growls against me, the vibration tipping me over the edge. My orgasm crashes through me, a silent, shocking wave that whites out my vision and seizes every muscle in my body. I shudder against him, my cries muffled by my own arm.
He gentles his touch, kissing my inner thighs as I come down, my entire body humming.
But he’s not done. He rises, his own need etched into the fierce lines of his face.
He pushes his shorts and briefs down in one swift motion, and my mouth goes dry.
He’s thick and hard and beautifully erect, and the sight of him, glistening at the tip, makes my stomach flip.
He grips himself, stroking slowly as he looks at me, sprawled and panting against the weights. “You ready for me, Valentina?”
Before I can form a thought, he’s on me. He flips me over onto my hands and knees, turning me to face the mirrored wall, my back pressed against his chest. One arm bands around my waist, holding me secure, while the other hand guides himself to my entrance.
“Watch,” he commands, his voice rough in my ear. “Watch me take you.”
My eyes, heavy-lidded and drunk with pleasure, focus on our reflection. I see the flush on my skin, the dazed look in my eyes. I see him, powerful and dominant behind me, his expression one of raw hunger.
He pushes inside me in one slow, inexorable thrust that steals the air from my lungs. I am full, stretched, consumed by him. A ragged moan tears from my throat, echoed by his own guttural groan.
“Fuck… you’re so tight.”
He begins to move, a slow, deep rhythm that’s utterly devastating.
Each thrust is a claim, each withdrawal a sweet agony.
His hand slides down from my waist, his fingers finding my clit again, rubbing tight, frantic circles that have a second, tighter orgasm already building, coiling deep within me.
He pins me with his body, his pace quickening, becoming harder, more frantic. The sound of our bodies meeting, skin slapping against skin, is obscenely loud in the quiet gym. His breath is hot and ragged against my neck, his curses a filthy, beautiful prayer.
“Come for me again,” he grunts, his thrusts becoming punishing, hitting a spot inside me that makes me see stars. “Now, Valentina.”
The command, the sensation, the sight of us in the mirror—it’s too much. I shatter. My body convulses around him, milking him, pulling a deep, guttural roar from his chest as he follows me over, pulsing deep inside me with a final, shuddering thrust.
We stay like that for a long moment, panting, laying on our backs against the mat, slick skin glued together. The air is thick with the scent of sex and sweat. He nuzzles into my neck, pressing a soft, almost tender kiss there.
Zay steps inside, saying something as he looks down at his phone, tone light. “Ash I need you to—”
He stops. Looks up.
Takes in the scene: my hair, Asher’s bare chest, the arrangement of limbs, the way Asher’s hand is still on my stomach.
His mouth curves into a slow, indecently pleased smile. “Finally.”
I push myself up on my elbows, glaring. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m starting,” he says, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms. “Do you know how annoying it’s been, listening to both of you pretend you’re not stupid for each other while I have to sit on all the evidence?”
Asher scrubs a hand over his face. “Zay—”
“Relax,” Zay says. “I’m not going to write it on the wall. I’m just thrilled you stopped playing chicken with your own feelings long enough to jump each other in a room with no locks.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, unexpected and a little hysterical. It breaks some of the tension I didn’t realize was still coiled in my shoulders.
“We’re not talking about this,” Asher says as he pulls his shirt back on.
“We are definitely talking about this later,” Zay corrects. “But not now. You two look like you need water, a shower, and maybe a priest.”
I throw a rolled-up hand wrap at him. He catches it easily, still smirking.
“We should… go upstairs,” Asher says.
“Good plan,” Zay says. “People will start looking for their fearless leaders soon.”
Asher’s eyes flick to me. Something soft passes through them, then hardens into resolve again. “I’m going to wake Talia. Make sure she eats.”
I nod, heart giving an uneasy little twist at her name. “Okay.”
He squeezes my hand once, then lets go and heads toward the stairs.
Zay and I follow more slowly, the gym door swinging shut behind us.
In the kitchen, the house feels nearly normal again. A couple of guys linger over late plates, arguing lazily about something on the muted TV in the corner. Sunlight slants across the table, catching dust motes in the air.
My legs still feel a little unsteady, but grounded. My skin hums with residual heat. There’s a stretch of satisfaction in my chest I refuse to apologize for.
Zay hops up to sit on the edge of the island, watching me with that hooded, too-knowing look. “You good?” he asks.
I run my fingers through my hair, trying to tame it. “Define good.”
“Not panicking, not blaming yourself, not planning to jump off a metaphorical cliff in the name of martyrdom,” he says. “So… above average.”
“I’m… okay,” I say honestly. “It feels like something that was already happening just… stopped pretending.”
He nods, something like approval in his eyes. “Good.”
He reaches out, catching my wrist as I step past him, and gently turns my hand. His thumb traces a faint red line on my knuckles I didn’t realize was there.
“You’re marked up,” he says softly. “You want me to clean you up before you traumatize Jackie’s kid with your battle scars?”
I snort. “I don’t think a scratch on my hand is going to scar your goddaughter for life.”
His gaze trails from my hand up to my neck. Whatever he sees there—whatever Asher left—makes something shift in his expression. It’s not jealousy exactly. More like a flare of emotion he tucks away before I can name it.
He slides off the counter, stepping closer. Too close. The kitchen table presses into the backs of my thighs as he hems me in without actually touching anything scandalous.
“Still,” he murmurs, voice dropping. “I could help.”
“You say that like you have medical training,” I say.
“Maybe I just like the idea of my hands on you after his,” he says, so quietly only I can hear.
My breath catches.
His palm lands on the table beside my hip, fingers splayed. His other hand mirrors it on my other side, caging me in without actually touching me. He leans forward slowly, the warmth of his body a breath away from mine, his mouth near my ear.
“You look different,” he murmurs. “Lighter. Less like you’re about to bolt every second. It looks good on you.”
“That’s because I just did sprints on a stair machine,” I say, but my voice is softer than I intended.
He huffs a quiet laugh, breath ghosting over my skin. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
I feel his presence more than anything—the press of him without contact, the way his words slide under my skin, the knowledge that his eyes have seen every version of me and still choose to stay.
“Zay,” I warn.
“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want,” he says. “Just… letting you know I see you.”
It’s almost worse than a line. Because it’s true. Because it’s gentle.
Footsteps pound on the stairs.
Fast. Heavy.
The mood shatters.
Asher appears in the doorway, eyes wide, breathing hard. His usual iron control is gone; panic has cracked straight through it.
“Talia is gone,” he says.
The words land like a physical blow.
I straighten, Zay pulling back a step, the three of us snapping into the same tight focus.
“What do you mean gone?” I ask, my voice too loud, too sharp.
His chest rises and falls in harsh pulls. “Her room is empty. Bed made. Clothes gone. Phone gone. Window cracked. She’s not in the bathroom, not in the yard, not anywhere. I’ve checked every room twice.”
Zay swears under his breath, the sound ugly and raw. “Did anyone see her leave? Cameras?”
“As of last night, all outdoor cameras were clear,” Asher says. His hands are fists at his sides now, knuckles white. “No alerts. No motion. It’s like she just… vanished.”
Ice rushes through my veins. My mind flashes back to the phone call through her door, the way her voice trembled when she said Kill. The way I sprinted down the stairs rather than let her catch me listening.
“What if…” My throat tightens. “What if the Vipers took her? Grabbed her between feeds? Or on a run none of us clocked?”
The possibility hangs in the air like a guillotine.
“Or,” Zay says, eyes darkening, “what if she walked to them?”
No one breathes.
Asher’s stare cuts to him, sharp, lethal. “Don’t.”
“We have to consider it,” Zay pushes, but there’s no satisfaction in his tone. Just grim reality.
My pulse roars in my ears. Talia’s laugh in the kitchen. Her bruised eyes in Jackie’s room. Her voice through the door. Fine. For you. Fine.
I grab the edge of the table to steady myself. “Whatever happened, we find her,” I say. “We assume she’s in danger until we know otherwise. And if the Vipers touched her—”
“They didn’t,” Asher snaps. Then softer, more broken, “They won’t.”
He looks at me then, something wild and pleading in his eyes, like I’m supposed to have the answer. Like I’m supposed to say the one thing that will make this less terrifying.
I don’t.
All I have is the cold certainty curling in my gut.