Chapter 18
Asher
The ranch is quiet, but my head isn't. It hasn't been since last night. I should be focused on the horses, on the fences that need mending, and on the list of chores sitting on the kitchen table.
Trying to bury myself in chores, I’m hoping sweat and dirt will clear my head.
I double-check the latches on the gates, even sharpening the blades in the tack room.
Nothing helps. Every detail brought her back—the way she looked at me last night in the barn, her breath catching on a kiss she claimed couldn't last.
It's maddening. And addictive.
I run a hand down Phantom's neck, since he's joined me tonight for my chores, and he flicks an ear, patient as ever.
"You're the lucky one," I mutter to him.
"No one expects you to have sense." He huffs out a breath and nudges at my shoulder, nearly knocking me off balance.
Shaking my head, I laugh under my breath.
I'm so far gone in thought that I don't hear Zach until he's right behind me.
"Earth to Asher." His voice cuts through the night.
I turn, bristling. "What?"
He leans against the fence post, arms folded, his smirk already in place. "You didn't hear a word I just said, did you?"
Finn's laugh carries from a few feet away, where he's hauling a bucket of feed. "Don't bother, Zach. He's been like this all day. Yesterday too. Honestly, it's starting to scare me."
I scowl. "You two ever think about minding your own business?"
"That's exactly what brothers are for," Zach fires back, grinning wider. "To notice when one of us looks like he's got a secret burning a hole in his pocket."
Finn drops the bucket with a clang. "Or when one of us spends more time staring at his phone than at the cattle."
Heat crawls up my neck. "I don't—"
"Don't bother lying," Zach interrupts. "You're distracted. And don't give me the 'ranch work is heavy' excuse. I've seen you handle triple the load without looking like a man about to jump out of his skin."
They exchange a knowing look, smug as hell.
"You both done?" I growl.
"Not by a long shot," Finn says, chuckling. "But we'll leave you to your thoughts before you bite someone's head off."
They walk off, still laughing, and I force myself not to throw something at them. My chest feels tight, my patience shredded. Because they're right.
I am distracted. I am restless. For sure, I’m not the man I usually am. And all of it comes back to her.
By the time the house is quiet later that night and I'm stretched out on my bed, freshly showered, the moonlight slipping through the curtains, I've lost the fight with myself.
Staring at my phone, thumb hovering over her name, I tell myself not to.
Be smart, keep the line between us clean, I tell myself.
But then I press call.
She answers on the second ring, her voice soft and warm. "Asher."
"You in bed?" My voice is rougher than I mean it to be.
"Yes." A little laugh slips into her words. "Emma finally stopped asking for water at nine thirty. Candy went home. It's quiet."
I lean back against the headboard, closing my eyes. "Good."
There's a pause, then she asks, "Did your brothers give you hell again?"
"Zach thinks he's clever," I admit. "Finn too. They know I'm... different lately."
"And you're blaming me."
"I'm not blaming," I say, my voice dropping. "I'm admitting. They know I'm not myself. They just don't know it's because of you."
Silence hums on the line, filled with everything we're not saying.
"Asher," she whispers, as if she wants to stop me, but can't quite do it.
I shift, stretching out on the bed, one arm behind my head, the other holding the phone tight. "You've been in my head all damn day. Couldn't shake it if I tried. I couldn't stop myself from calling. Didn't even try that hard."
Her breath catches. "You shouldn't say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because I'll believe you," she says, her laugh shaky, her words soft.
"Good," I answer, my chest tightening. "I want you to believe me."
I can almost see her—hair messy from the pillow, eyes shining even in the dark, body curled beneath her blanket. The picture alone is enough to drive me half-wild.
"What are you wearing?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
She gasps softly, then laughs. "You can't just ask me that."
"I just did," I say, my voice low.
Another pause. Then, quieter: "An old T-shirt. Pajama shorts. Nothing worth describing."
"Everything about you is worth describing," I murmur.
"Asher..."
"Tell me more," I press, my hand tightening around the phone. "Please."
There's a long pause, then her voice, softer now. "It's one of my old college shirts. Faded. Comfortable. The shorts are cotton. Thin."
I let out a breath, imagining it. "I wish I could see you right now."
"You shouldn't," she says, but her voice trembles, betraying her.
"I keep thinking about last night," I admit. "The way you kissed me. The sound you made when you forgot to be careful."
"Asher." My name comes out as a warning.
"I liked it," I go on. "I liked knowing I could pull you out of your head. Make you lose control, even for a second."
She's quiet for a long beat. Then she whispers, "You're dangerous."
"Maybe. But you like it."
Her laugh is breathless, almost nervous. "Maybe."
I shift on the bed, restless, my body already tight with wanting her. Lowering my voice, I whisper, "Close your eyes, Sunshine."
"What?"
"Do it," I urge softly. "Close them and imagine I'm there."
There's a rustle of sheets, then her quiet reply. "They're closed."
I exhale, picturing her in the dark. "Imagine I'm sitting on the edge of your bed. My hand on your ankle, sliding up your leg slowly. Just enough to make you squirm."
Her breath hitches audibly.
"Imagine I'm leaning over you," I breathe, "kissing your neck, your shoulder, my mouth finding that spot just below your ear that makes you sigh."
"Asher..." Her voice breaks on my name.
"You want me to stop?"
She doesn't answer.
"That's what I thought."
"Asher..." Her voice cracks on my name.
"Do you touch yourself and think of me?"
A gasp, then silence.
"I think about it. I think about you in your bed, your hand between your thighs, whispering my name,” I say.
Her breath comes faster now, uneven.
"Do it for me," I rasp. "Right now. I want to hear you."
There's a long hesitation. Then, the faintest rustle of fabric, and her shaky sigh.
"Good girl," I murmur, my hand sliding down my own chest, my cock already hard with wanting her. "Tell me what it feels like."
"I can't..." she breathes, but there's heat in her voice, want threading through the protest.
"You can," I say, my own hand gripping my cock. "I'm right here with you."
A soft whimper escapes her, and I know she's giving in. The sound goes straight through me, making my pulse hammer against my throat.
"Tell me," I coax, my voice rough with need. "Are you wet?"
"Soaked," she whispers, so quiet I have to strain to hear.
I groan low in my throat. "You're killing me."
"I'm... God, Asher, I shouldn't be doing this," she whispers.
"But you are," I murmur, giving my cock a hard stroke. "Because you want to. Because you've been thinking about it too."
Her breathing quickens, little gasps that make my blood run hot. "Yes."
"That's it, Sunshine. Don't think. Just feel." I close my eyes, imagining her spread out her bed, her back arching. "I wish it were my hand instead of yours."
"It will be," she promises, and the words light me up from the inside out. "Next time. I want your hands on me so badly."
I bite back a curse, my own movements growing rougher. "Tell me what you're doing. I want to hear it."
"Slowly circling my clit," she says, her voice a trembling whisper.
"Don't stop," I command gently. "Keep going."
"It's so much better when I imagine it's you," she confesses, and I can hear the shame and desire tangled in her voice. "When I close my eyes and think about your hands, your mouth..."
"My mouth," I echo, groaning. "Christ, I want my mouth on you. Want to taste you everywhere."
She moans softly, a sound that nearly undoes me. I grip myself harder, my hips lifting involuntarily from the mattress.
"Are you touching yourself too?" she asks, her voice thick with desire.
"Since the moment you said yes," I admit. "Hard as steel thinking about you."
"Tell me," she whispers. "I want to hear what you're doing."
I swallow hard, unused to putting this into words. "Stroking myself. Slow, then faster. Thinking about how wet you are, how you'd feel around me."
"Yes," she breathes. "I think about that too. When I'm alone."
The admission sends heat spiraling through me. "You've thought about us together before?"
"So many times," she confesses, her breath catching. "Ever since that walk around the lake."
I laugh softly, surprised. "That long?"
"That long," she confirms. "God, Asher, I'm close already."
"Not yet," I say, slowing my own movements. "Stay with me. Not yet."
Her soft whimper makes my jaw clench. I can hear her trying to slow down, the effort in her breathing.
"Good girl," I murmur. "I want us to come together."
"Asher..." My name is a plea on her lips.
I stroke myself more slowly, fighting my own need. "Tell me what you want me to do to you when I see you next."
"Everything," she whispers without hesitation. "I want your mouth on me. Your hands. I want you inside me."
The raw honesty in her voice nearly breaks my control. "Fuck, Sunshine. You're gonna be the death of me."
"I need you so badly it hurts," she confesses, and I can hear the movement of her hand getting faster despite my command to wait.
"I know, baby. I know." I squeeze myself harder, my breathing getting ragged. "You're being so good for me. So perfect."
"I can't... I can't wait much longer," she pants.
"Neither can I." My voice comes out strained. "You close?"
"So close," she gasps. "Please, Asher."
"Let go for me," I whisper, my own control fraying at the edges. "I want to hear you fall apart."
Her response is a broken moan that shoots straight through me, and I know she's letting go. The sounds she makes—breathless gasps and my name on her lips—push me right to the edge.
"That's it, baby," I encourage, my own movements becoming desperate. "Let me hear you."
When she cries out, her voice muffled as if she's pressed her face into a pillow, I lose it completely. My release hits me hard, my back arching off the bed as I groan her name into the darkness.
We're both breathing hard in the aftermath, the phone line filled with nothing but our ragged breaths. I stare up at the ceiling, my chest heaving, trying to process what just happened between us.
"Jesus," I finally manage, my voice hoarse.
Her soft laugh is shaky, vulnerable. "That was..."
"Yeah." Still trying to catch my breath. "You okay?"
After a long moment, her breathing steadies, though it's still ragged. "I can't believe I just…"
"You're perfect," I say firmly. "Don't regret it."
She laughs softly, embarrassed and breathless. "You make me reckless."
"Good," I murmur. "I want you reckless with me."
"Asher." It's half a plea, half a warning.
I squeeze my eyes shut, the ache in my chest as sharp as the one low in my body. "You don't even know how much I want you. How much I've thought about this."
Her soft laugh trembles. "And what happens when the thinking turns into doing?"
"Then we deal with it," I say simply. "But tonight... I just want you to know how much I see you. All of you."
I hear her swallow. "What if we can't make it work?"
"Then we fight harder," I say simply. "Because I'm not letting this be just a fling. Not with you."
She doesn't answer right away, but I can hear the way her breath catches.
"Get some sleep, Sunshine," I whisper. "Dream of me."
"You too," she says softly. "Goodnight, Asher."
I don't hang up right away. Instead, I listen until her breathing evens out, until I know she's asleep. Only then do I hang up the phone, staring at the ceiling in the dark.
While I should feel guilty or worried, I feel restless, alive, branded by the sound of her voice.
For the first time in years, I want something that can't be measured by fences or herd counts. I want her.
And I know I won't be able to stop.