Chapter 10
ASH
Cold Shower
The sun is warm, and Olive and I spend a quiet afternoon outside.
She’s sitting at the edge of the pool, legs dipped in the water, sunglasses on—bare legs glistening with sunscreen.
I’ve come down from my jealousy-driven spiral. The first thing I did yesterday, when Olive mentioned grabbing coffee with this friend of hers, was get his name—Matt—and immediately text Liam.
Ash:
Who’s Matt?
Liam:
No idea. I don’t know any Matt. What are you on about?
Ash:
Olive’s meeting him for coffee.
Liam:
And why do you care who she’s meeting? …Wait. I remember Matt now. He was always hanging out with a bunch of girls in college—firmly friend-zoned. They liked him, but no one ever fancied him. I met him a couple of times at their study group. Honestly? Kind of felt sorry for the guy.
Ash:
Just looking out for your sister. Don’t want her meeting any creeps.
Liam:
Nah, not a creep. Thanks for watching out for her, though.
And just like that, I’d felt better.
Now, sitting by the pool, I can’t help but ask, “Good coffee yesterday?” I keep it light, like this is small talk about weather patterns and not a topic that kept me checking my texts more than once.
I can’t see her face from here—I’m too far away. She hums. “Yeah. It was nice.”
I nod like I have a quota of nods to hit. “Will you meet him again soon?”
She doesn’t even glance up, still caught in her own thoughts. “I don’t think so. He was only in town for a couple days. Pretty sure he wants to get back to his girlfriend as soon as possible.”
“Ah. Got it,” I say, aiming for casual. But inside? I’m throwing a goddamn party. The weight lifts off me so fast it’s dizzying, and I dive back into working on my song with a burst of fresh energy.
I’ve noticed spending time with Olive is somehow both relaxing and energizing—like she’s equal parts calm and chaos. She sparks something in me. It’s cliché, but I swear she’s my muse.
And then it hits—the next line of the song I’ve been stuck on. Clear, vivid, right.
Where the hell is my notebook? Music’s like dreaming—if I don’t write it down immediately, it’s gone.
“Damn it,” I mutter.
I’m halfway to panicking when Olive, sweet and nerdy as ever, offers me the notebook she always seems to carry around.
I flip through the notebook, skimming quickly for a blank page.
Then I see it.
At first, I only catch the title—“After the Photoshoot”—and I pause, curiosity flickering.
Then I read the first line.
The studio’s dim light casts shadows around us, heightening the intimacy of the moment. The cold wall presses against my back, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Ash’s body.
I blink. My eyes skip further down the page and are caught on another line:
I wrap my legs around his waist, pressing closer, feeling the hard evidence of his desire against my core.
Oh. Fucking hell.
He doesn’t make me wait. With one swift thrust, he fills me, his cock sliding deep into my wet heat. “So tight,” he murmurs, his voice thick with wonder. “So perfect.”
Holy shit.
It’s me.
This is about me.
She wrote about us. The photoshoot. The kiss. What would’ve happened if we hadn’t stopped.
And I’m… hard.
Instantly.
Aroused, furious at myself, stunned she wants me like this—in that hungry, no-holding-back way. It’s not sweet. It’s filthy.
And now I can’t get the image out of my head: Olive beneath me, breathless, arching, whispering my name like it’s the only word she remembers.
I snap the notebook shut.
“Everything okay?” she murmurs, totally clueless about what I just saw.
“Yeah,” I rasp, standing way too fast. I need to leave. Now. Because if I don’t, I can’t guarantee what I’ll do.
“Just remembered I—uh—need to rinse off.”
And then I bolt.
I make it inside without looking back, stride tight, head down.
The second I hit the bathroom, I crank the shower on cold. Freezing cold.
Clothes off in record time. And I step in.
The cold water hits me like a slap. I stand under the spray, fists braced against the tile as the water pounds down around me. I try to breathe. I try to forget.
But her words play on repeat in my head. Like lyrics I can’t shake. Like a fantasy I can’t stop wanting.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I’m still hard.
The cold water isn’t helping. If anything, it’s making it worse—tightening everything, shocking my skin, but doing absolutely nothing to quiet the heat in my head.
Or the pressure building low in my gut.
I lean one hand against the slick tile, jaw clenched. My forehead drops forward.
I can’t stop picturing her.
That curve of her hip. The way she’d written my name.
Fuck.
I should not want this. I should definitely not be this turned on, thinking about her spread out on some studio floor, whispering my name like a secret she’s only allowed to say when we’re alone.
Then I hear the door creak open. My head snaps toward the sound, heart lurching—and there she is. The last person I expect to see in my bathroom. Olive.
She freezes.
I freeze.
There’s a solid two seconds of stunned silence.
Then her eyes drop.
Right to the source of the problem.
And linger.
Her lips part. Her breath catches.
She looks.
She really looks.
And I can see it all on her face—the surprise, the curiosity, the heat—and it’s the single most erotic moment of my entire life.
Her gaze flicks back up to mine and she jolts like she’s been burned.
“Oh my God.”
She stumbles back toward the door, slamming it closed behind her.
Before I know what I’m doing, I shut off the water. Grab the nearest towel. Wrap it around my waist, water still dripping from my hair.
My feet hit the tile like they have a mission, even though my brain is lagging behind. All I know is: I can’t let her go upstairs. I can’t let her pretend it didn’t happen.
She’s still in the bedroom when I push the door open.
“Olive?” I sound calmer than I feel.
She looks more flustered than I’ve ever seen her, avoiding eye contact like her life depends on it. “I didn’t mean to—oh god—I thought it was a closet!”
“Closets don’t usually have running water,” I say, biting back a grin.
“Shut up.”
I laugh.
I can’t help it. But underneath the amusement, I’m reeling.
Her eyes finally flick up—and the moment they meet mine, her breath catches.
“Ash,” she starts, voice soft and pleading, “I—look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to see—I mean, I saw, but I wasn’t trying to—”
“Stop talking,” I murmur. I reach her in two strides. And kiss her.
Hard.
There’s no planning, no logic. Just want. My hand finds the back of her neck, fingers threading into her soft hair as my mouth crashes into hers, tasting her gasp, her surprise, and then—her surrender.
Because she kisses me back.
Hungry. Desperate. Like this is what she’s been waiting for.
Her hands are on my chest, then my shoulders, sliding down my arms as she melts against me like she can’t help it.
“Damn, Ash,” she murmurs in between kisses, her eyes roaming over my body. “You’re all muscle and ink. It’s almost unfair.”
I just grunt, because she’s already tugging me toward the bed, her grip firm and purposeful.
We tumble onto it in a tangle of limbs, her laughter mingling with mine as we roll across the sheets.
I end up on top of her, my weight pressing her into the mattress, and I can feel her heart racing beneath me.
She’s still wearing a loose tank top and pink bikini bottoms from the pool—bright, playful, and somehow the most seductive thing I’ve ever seen.
Finally, I’ve got her right where I want her.
Her hands slide down my back, nails grazing lightly over my skin, and she bucks her hips against mine—a silent, unmistakable demand for more.
I grin against her lips, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze.
“Impatient, aren’t we?” I murmur, my voice low and teasing.
She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks are flushed, her breath coming in short, quick gasps. “Just get on with it, Ash. You’re killing me here.”
I chuckle, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates against her skin. “Alright, alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
My hands slide down her body, tracing the curves of her hips, the swell of her breasts.
Her skin is soft and warm, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, and I take my time, savoring every inch of her.
Her shirt rides up as I move, exposing her flat stomach, the dip of her navel, and I can’t resist pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot just below her ribs.
She shivers beneath me, her hands tightening on my shoulders.
“Ash,” she breathes, her voice a plea and a warning all at once.
I smile against her skin, my lips brushing lightly as I move lower. “What?”
“Stop teasing,” she demands, her voice trembling. “Just—just touch me, okay?”
I oblige, my fingers sliding underneath pink fabric and between her legs, seeking the heat and wetness that’s gathering there.
She’s already slick, her body responding to my touch with an eagerness that sends a surge of pride and desire through me.
I press a kiss to her inner thigh, my breath ghosting over her sensitive skin, and she squirms beneath me, her hips lifting in silent invitation.
“Like this?” I ask, my voice a whisper against her skin. My fingers glide over her, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves, and she gasps, her head falling back against the pillow.
“Yes,” she moans, her voice thick with need. “Right there. Don’t stop.”
I don’t. My fingers move slowly at first, a deliberate tease that has her arching against my touch, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
I watch her face, the way her lips part, her eyes fluttering closed as pleasure washes over her.
Her skin flushes, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and I know I’ve got her right on the edge.
But I’m not ready to let her go just yet. I slow my touch, my fingers gliding over her with a gentle pressure that has her whimpering in frustration. “Ash,” she pleads, her voice a ragged whisper. “Please.”
I chuckle, a low, dark sound that vibrates against her skin. “Please what, Olive?”
“Make me come,” she demands, her voice fierce despite the desperation underlying it. “Don’t stop. Just—just fucking make me come.”
The raw need in her voice sends a jolt of desire through me, and I can’t hold back any longer. My fingers move firmer, faster, my touch relentless as I push her toward the edge. Her hips buck against my hand, her body tense and trembling, and I know she’s close.
“That’s it,” I murmur, my voice a rough whisper against her skin.
Her body arches, her back bowing off the bed as she cries out, her release washing over her in waves.
Her muscles clench around my fingers, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps, and I hold her there, my touch steady as she rides out her orgasm.
Her eyes are closed, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated pleasure, and I feel a surge of satisfaction at the sight.
When she finally collapses back onto the bed, her body limp and boneless, I lean over her, my lips brushing against her sweat-dampened forehead. “You okay?” I ask, my voice soft and teasing.
I expect a playful retort. Maybe a grin. More kisses. Maybe round two.
But instead, a flicker of emotion crosses her face. First contentment. Then confusion. Then frustration. Then—anger.
It’s the anger that sticks.
“What the fuck, Ash?” she snaps, eyes narrowing into slits, her voice sharp and shaking.
I blink, stunned. What is happening?
One second, everything was perfect—electric, connected. She wanted this. I know she wanted this. She showed me, clearly, undeniably. She was just as into it as I was.
She sits up, pulling the sheets around her like armor. She’s looking at me like I just broke something sacred.
“I—I don’t understand,” I say, breath catching.
Olive’s eyes are wet and wild. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Kiss me. Touch me. Make me come. Almost fuck me.” Her voice cracks on the last part. And I feel it like a slap.
She swallows hard, then locks eyes with me, challenging.
“Just answer me this—if I hadn’t stopped it, would you have fucked me?”
“Wh— I mean…” My heart thuds against my ribs. “If you’d wanted to. Yeah. Maybe.”
Her whole body tenses like she’s bracing for a hit.
“See? That’s not the right answer.”
She turns away for a second, swiping at her cheek. And when she speaks again, her voice isn’t sharp anymore.
It’s broken.
“I don’t know what’s going on right now,” I admit, trying to catch up.
“What’s going on,” she says, biting the words out, “is that you’re gay, Ash.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Wait—what?”