Chapter 15
Ivy
“Ithink I should be asking you what you think it is I brought to the township of Veilarath to be able to purchase here, since you and I both know it's more than money you have to have to move here.”
It’s become an annoying habit of mine, ignoring details I’d usually pick up on wherever Asher is concerned.
“I’m sure you’ll tell me eventually,” I say instead, rolling my eyes. “So, tell me about this plot of land?”
His knuckles brush my arm, but instead of moving, he leaves them there as his elbow hangs over the back casually. “Nothing too serious right now. It’s more of a renovation than anything.”
I can’t think of anything past the rhythm of his gentle stroke on my arm.
“Enough about me,” he says, and I sigh. “When did you turn into a park rat? I mean, I only taught you how to balance on your deck and barely started teaching you how to Eurocarve.”
The unfortunate thing about being stuck on a lift with your friend, slash, crush, slash, husband’s friend, slash—whatever the fuck else I can think of, is there’s no escaping his questions.
“What if I told you someone else taught me?” I arch my brow, but his face transforms. Every muscle goes rigid.
Lines carve deep between his brows. His mouth twists—not a snarl, but close enough to make my pulse stutter.
My lungs seize. My thighs clench. Shit. That wasn't the game plan. I should backtrack. I won't.
I flatten my expression. “Joking.” The word drops between us, dead on arrival. He won't buy it.
He glares at me. “Never been very funny, Venom. Wouldn't test it again.”
I hang my chin over the bar and peek down at the ocean of frost below, allowing satisfaction to eat away at my insides. Asshole. That’s what he gets for annoying me lately.
Trees scatter through the snow in patches of shadows, and the setting sun turns the sky above into a sorbet of tangerine. The days are shorter now, the nights longer. Perfect for Winter Games.
“Well, to answer your question,” I murmur, figuring I owe it to him for once.
“Since you left me alone so often lately, I figured I had to find another way to burn time.” I sniff as the cold bite of air clips my nose, eyes stinging.
The smile grabs hold of my mouth before I can shut it down.
He’s too easy to tease these days, and I’m greedy for any reaction that proves he still gives a shit.
Heat blooms across my cheek when the back of his hand grazes my skin. Every touch lately sets off a chain reaction—organs jerking awake, nerves sparking, my body breaking apart and reaching for him in one breath.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful when you smile like that.”
My attention snaps to him, walls slamming into place so fast it makes me light-headed. I straighten, drag my lips flat. “Asher.”
He silences my protest by capturing my chin between his forefinger and thumb. “Shut up and accept the compliment, Ivy. You have to know the effect you have on everyone around you.” His words pierce through my defenses, but I refuse to let them take root.
No. That's not who I am.
I'm terrifying.
I'm intimidating.
I'm… nothing like the woman he's describing. Nothing like what he's making me feel.
A broken laugh escapes his throat. “Why are you looking at me like I'm the first person to ever tell you this?” His voice dips low, as if I’d blurted out the answer myself. “I should beat Parker’s ass.”
The laugh that rips out of me is maniacal. “I’ve been called everything but that, but you know me, Ash. I don’t need to be told I’m beautiful.” Compliments never did anything for me.
My weak attempt to shift out of his embrace only makes him tighten around me, his body a cage I keep pretending I don’t want to be trapped in.
“Look at me.” His thumb drags along the outline of my mouth, setting tiny bursts of heat under my skin, nerves firing in a wild pattern.
My lungs lock, my lips parting on a breath I don’t take. Then his hand is gone, and the empty space he leaves behind splits wider in my chest, raw and stupid, and I hate that I already miss his touch.
This is not good.
He lifts his phone. We’ve taken so many photos over the time we’ve known each other. Mostly all silly, and mostly all to use against the other in all forms of blackmail, but nothing like this.
“What are you doing?” I ask, the smirk on the side of my face unbearable. His attention is on his phone with his tongue sticking out, a full-tooth smile, and some other random shit he pulls with his hands.
“I’m taking shots of you without you trying so you can see what the fuck we all see.”
My laugh slips out before I can stop it, and I shake my head as I turn to the camera. Seeing us both on the screen feels like my feet hitting the ground after being left to float all my life.
He turns toward me, and I keep my face to the front, forcing my eyes to stay on the lens as he comes closer.
My heart beats so hard I swear I feel the vibrations right down to my feet.
Time slows for a moment, as if the universe is allowing me a second chance to finally see what has been in front of me all along.
“We look good, huh?” His words scorch the side of my neck. He's so close my muscles twitch, nerves firing, need ripping through me in uneven bursts. I need his mouth on me. There. Right where his voice just branded. I want him to taste his own hunger off my skin.
“Do you need me to worship you, Venom? Is that it?” He murmurs lazily.
My hand curls at my side, nails biting into my palm as I swallow. His lips graze mine—barely—and my lungs forget how to work, breath catching rough in my throat, body hanging in the air.
“This—” The tip of his nose traces my jaw, and something inside me fractures. A simple fucking movement that detonates beneath my ribs. “This face. The way you think it hides all of your dirty thoughts.” His words scrape against my pulse.
I turn my head, static flooding my ears. “And your mouth. Fuck, Ivy. Every time I fuck myself, it's these lips I see. Has been since the beginning.”
Jesus. He fights dirty.
Air punctures my lungs as I struggle to maintain any composure.
“Want me to talk about your eyes next? Because all you have to do is bat these sexy fuckers and everyone will drop to their knees.” His teeth catch my jaw. “And these.”
His palm crashes onto my thigh, heat searing through my jeans. The ink on his knuckles blurs as he eliminates the space between us, pressing his body against mine until I feel every hard plane of him.
“I need this under my hands. On my tongue. Every second. Every fucking day.”
“Jesus, Asher…” I gasp, turning to face him. I don't even know if the phone is gone now, and I don't care. “I'm not some horny, under fucked housewife that you can just snap your fingers and have.”
The dimple in his left cheek deepens. “Never said you were under fucked.” His focus shifts between my face and my mouth. I move in closer, the mist of his breathing falling on my chin. “Just that it wasn't me doing it.”
“I've never cheated.” I don't know why I choose right now to fucking say this.
“A shame. He sure deserves it.” He doesn't skip a damn beat.
His words gut me. I've underestimated him.
Written him off as just another pretty face with fast hands and a dashing smile.
But Parker doesn't keep dull company. Never has.
I've spent years watching their interactions, trying to map the connection between them.
Stilted exchanges. Clipped sentences. Like they're reading from a script neither of them memorized.
It's been that way since the first morning Asher walked into my life—into Parker's kitchen—and everything shifted sideways.
His fingers find my jaw, rough and demanding as he pulls in closer, tilting my face up to his. The grip sends heat straight through me, my pulse hammering against his thumb where it rests on my throat.
“Don't wanna talk about your husband anymore, Venom.”
Words hit my mouth just before his does.
He doesn't ask—he takes, crushing his lips against mine with the kind of violence that makes my knees buckle.
His teeth catch my bottom lip, biting down hard enough to draw blood, and I taste copper between us.
My hands fist in his shirt, not to push him away but to drag him closer, needing more of this destruction he's offering.
He kisses me like he's trying to erase every other mouth that's touched mine, like he's branding me with soft, selective strokes. His tongue invades, possessive and punishing, and I meet him with equal fury, nails digging into his chest through the fabric.
This isn't a kiss. It's a declaration of war. One that doesn’t need weapons or violence. One that’ll kill you slowly, like a disease.
A moan tears from my throat as I fall deeper into his kiss.
My fingers dig through his hair as my back arches into his touch, a desperation of needing him closer.
He releases a small grunt without breaking the kiss, his hands landing on my ass as he guides me over his lap.
My knees hit both sides, the kiss slowing to the same rhythm of my heart. This is something else. More.
I need him. Now. Right fucking now.
My hips shift against the hard ridge of his jeans, and the rhythm shifts.
His hand drags up my back, fingers spreading until I'm locked in place, no escape, no breath.
That ruthless certainty lives in every inch of his touch, and my thighs slam together as my clit throbs, hunger tearing through me in hot, desperate bursts.
This is fucked. I should shove him off. Instead I press closer, chasing more.
I want to be consumed. Want to offer myself up and watch him take every piece, watch him erase every line I thought I had.
“I'm gonna make you come, but I can't promise you I'm not gonna fuckin' lose it when I feel you around my finger.”
Each word brands itself between kisses, sharp and claiming, sinking past skin straight into bone. I nod—pathetic, shameless, starving. My body betrays every promise I made to myself about staying away from him.