Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ashish
Groaning from the bathroom wakes me. I stretch my arms over my head because my shoulders are sore as fuck from the ride. Between hunching to hide from Bernie and the fear that it wouldn’t work out—it was a tense day.
“Are you okay?”
“Uh, yeah, I think so,” she calls, and I snort.
After the race, we made our way back to the hotel, showered, ordered takeout, and promptly fell asleep. Bernie tried to start the conversation I knew we really needed to have, but her eyes drooping and slow chewing made me feel like we needed to rest first.
I thought a lot about our fight last week while I was away. Part of me wondered if it would have turned out differently if I had just given her a little more time.
So, I tucked her in my arms and had fallen asleep tangled in her curly caramel hair.
“Need help?”
I look down at the gold band on my left hand. Simple, traditional.
Bernadette Murphy asked me to marry her.
“Nope.” The lock clicks like she thinks I’m going to peek anyway.
Walking out of that hotel room last week was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I had to stop convincing Bernie she wanted to be with me, she had to choose . As the days went by without contact, the doubt started to trickle in. I made Ravi take my phone so I wouldn’t cave and call her. I walked out because I needed to raze the unhealthy pattern we’d adopted in our relationship.
I wanted someone who didn’t need to be convinced to be with me. I wanted more, I wanted forever, and I knew that she needed to decide to give it to me. I couldn’t convince her anymore.
Her calls and text eased something in me, but it didn’t feel like enough. I worked remotely from my parent's kitchen and soaked up time with my mom. She gave me the context I needed to understand the implications of Bernie’s publications stalling in her postdoc. There’s no doubt that what Stephen Graham did was slimy and self-serving, but I’m not him; we are two separate people, and I’ve done nothing wrong.
When her proposal arrived in my inbox at three in the morning, I wasn’t sure if it was enough. I wanted her to come to me, to pound on my door and call me, chase me like I’d chased her.
I read and re-read her words, our story steeped in academic jargon. It was funny and careful. It made me book a plane ticket so I could follow her almost a hundred miles on a bike. When Gail called me and told me that I should contact her and that Bernie was on leave, I sensed there was more to our fight than I realized. We’d work it out together.
Bernadette Murphy isn’t perfect. She’s slow to trust and sometimes slow to smile. Watching her push and swerve and struggle reminded me that she’s so much more, she is mine.
I feel like she finally knows it.
I’m spinning the wedding band on my finger when she finally appears from the bathroom.
“All okay?”
“You don’t want to know,” she gripes, lifting the covers and sliding in next to me.
“Are you sore?”
“A little, not as much as I thought, but my—” her face flushes.
“Your sit bones?” It doesn’t matter that our bibs are padded, sitting on a hard-ass saddle for hours takes its toll.
“A little sore, but it’s actually my hand.”
“Your hand?”
“I must have put too much weight on my right hand.” She pulls her right arm from the covers and tries to bring her thumb and index finger together. They twitch, but they don’t really move.
Some people experience numbness or weakness in their hands after long rides. It’s pretty common when you’re tired to put too much pressure on your hands and stop using your core to hold up your body.
I reach out for her hand and massage the meaty part of her thumb.
“It’s okay, it happens. The strength should come back in a day or two.”
“Yeah, I hope so,” she says drily.
“Why were you groaning if you’re not too sore?”
“Because I needed two hands.” I look at her quizzically, her face turns beet red and she hides it in the pillow.
“What?” I laugh.
“Ashish, I needed two hands to hold the toilet paper, use your imagination, it was a nightmare.”
I laugh louder, her meaning becoming clearer. After my first century ride, I’d had to cup my hands just to turn my key in the ignition in my car. “I could always help you.”
“No, you cannot,” she snips and tries to tug her hand out of mine.
I swiftly roll over on top of her straddling her hips and holding her wrists to the bed. “I’m going to be your husband, Bernie. I’ll always take care of you.”
Her lips twist in a tiny happy smile, and I bend down to kiss them. Dropping her wrists in favor of sliding my hands through her hair.
Her hands roam my body, and I explore her mouth. I love the texture of her hair and her sweet sighs. Her legs shift under me, and I kneel between her legs. Eventually, her hands tug my hair, and I leave her lips to kiss down her chest, pulling down the straps of her tank top.
“Ash,” she moans when I suck a pink nipple into my mouth, “wait.” She pushes on my shoulders, but I’ve done enough waiting. I suck harder, keeping her pinned beneath me. I drag my mouth to the other nipple before working my hand between us so I can slide it into her sleep shorts.
She’s already slick, and I groan into her. I missed her so fucking much.
“We should–” she pants, and I slide a finger inside her wet pussy. “We need to talk,” she insists, rocking into my hand.
“So, talk.” I work my way down her body, pulling her shirt with me. I shimmy it over her hips, hooking her shorts down until she’s gloriously naked and flushed under me. Replacing my fingers, I watch them disappear into her wet heat. My cock aches at the sight, and I stroke myself through my boxers.
“I can’t talk like this,” she pants. I swipe my thumb over her clit, and she wiggles under me.
“You can’t talk like this, Bernie?” I tease, and she shakes her head. I lean down and bite her nipple, smoothing it with my tongue. “Why not? You can tell me anything.” I tease her clit again and feel her clench around my fingers.
Kissing down her stomach, I look up and find her watching me. Holding her gaze, I open my mouth and suck her clit, teasing her entrance with my fingers before pushing them back inside. I back off and blow on her wet pussy.
“Tell me what you want to say, Bernie.”
“Ash.” Her hands brush through my hair.
“Tell me, sunshine. What do you need to say?” I lick her again, keeping her on edge.
“Ashish–”
“Tell me.” I want to spank her ass, but I don’t know how sore she is, so I bite the inside of her thigh instead.
“I wanted to tell you I was sorry. That I love you.”
I spread my fingers slightly and she arches her back panting. “Hmm.” I lick her again, sucking that sweet little nub back into my mouth. She shivers around me, and I know she’s getting closer. I push my boxers down and move up her body, notching my dick at her entrance and pushing forward.
It’s fucking bliss.
“Ashish,” she sighs.
I draw back and then push forward again, tight pressure gripping me at the back of my spine. I reach for her wrists again and hold her down, brushing her nose with mine. “Do you want to marry me, sunshine?”
“Yes.” She hooks her long legs around my hips and tilts her hips up. I feel like I get impossibly deeper inside her.
“Do you promise to work with me when things get tough?” I squeeze her hands until she looks at me.
“Yes, I promise. I’m sorry. I was just overwhelmed and–”
I cut her off with another thrust of my hips. I’m less interested in the why, I want to know how we’ll move forward. “I love you, Bernie.” I kiss up her neck to her ear. “I want to marry you. I want to build my life with you.”
“I love you, Ash.”
I take her mouth with mine, fucking her in long lazy strokes. I want this moment to last forever.
“Good and bad times?” I groan.
“Together,” she whispers, and I blindly reach for a pillow, stuffing it under her hips. I link our fingers together, pressing my hips down so I strike her clit with each thrust. When she starts to fall apart, she takes me with her.
***
“You really forgive me?” Bernie swirls her fingers, drawing patterns on my chest. We’ve been dozing off and on for most of the morning. Every time I wake up, I need her.
“I forgive you. You were really convincing the last time you told me how sorry you were.”
Apology blowjobs might be the key to a successful marriage. Her laugh is sexy, and I turn slightly so I can wrap both of my arms around her.
“What did you mean you’ve been fired?”
“I’m on administrative leave because Stephen is threatening to sue for intellectual property infringement. He wants me to go back to working for him.”
“What an asshole. We’ll get a lawyer. He can’t just cut you out of your job because he’s not getting his way.”
Bernie sighs, resting her cheek on my shoulder, smoothing a hand over my chest. “I don’t know if I even want the job. Pru made me realize that I’ve been working towards a job I’m not even really sure I want. Gail gave me the contact information for this guy I met at the research development conference that runs a higher education policy think tank. Maybe I should just look for a research job.”
I sigh. “It’s not right.”
“I know, but I just want to be happy.”
“I’m not going to live in Seattle next year, I’m staying right in Indiana with you.”
Bernie smiles and kisses my shoulder. “The think tank is in Boston.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“You don’t have to–”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do yet, but we’ll figure it out. I am sorry, Ash.” She kisses my neck, and I smile. I’m not going to let this shit stand. I don’t know what I can do, but I will do whatever I can to fuck with Stephen Graham. No one messes with someone I love.
“I know, Bernie.” I wiggle my left hand in front of her. “But now that you’ve given me this bling, I feel a little better about your level of commitment.”
She pushes my hand away with a snort. I love this grumpy woman.
“Just don’t shut me out. Whatever we have to face in the future, we’ll do it together.” I lace my fingers with hers. I need to get her a ring to match mine.
“I promise,” she whispers, and I grin, diving under the covers. Shrieking, Bernie wiggles away from me, dropping out of bed, and rushing to the bathroom.
I chase her—I guess some habits aren’t worth breaking.