Asher

Page 32

As I hurry through the streets, adjusting my scarf around my chilled neck, I tell myself he isn’t a child and that I should probably stop hovering over him the whole time. Heck, after the morning sex we had... Yeah. Definitely not a child.
God, I feel hot just remembering how he touched me, how he held me, how we rocked together.
If it wasn’t so cold outside, I’d be fanning myself at the memory.
But he’s still recovering from the beating from hell. Add to that his dizzy spells and I think I’m perfectly justified in wanting to check on him.
Yeah, okay, so I can admit to myself I have a protective streak when it comes to Ash. That boy needs someone to look after him. Whenever he smiles, he brings me to my knees and melts my heart. He needs to smile more.
I climb up the stairs and unlock the apartment door. I close it behind me quietly, in case he’s asleep, and creep inside.
And stop in my tracks.
Voices. They drift over from the living room. I lean back against the wall to listen.
A woman’s voice. I frown. Mom? I peer around the wall and there she is, sitting on the couch—next to Ash? What’s going on here?
“Please listen to me,” Mom is saying, her voice quiet yet vibrating with emotion. “I’m afraid I did something very stupid, something I told myself I’d never do: I judged without knowing. I judged you. It wasn’t my place to do so.”
Mom is apologizing to Ash? That’s so great, I can’t help but grin.
Ash is hunched over, though—hands on his thighs, dark hair falling in his face, hiding his eyes. What’s going on in his mind?
“I should have trusted Audrey’s opinion of you,” Mom tells him. “I never actually thought about your dad beyond the accident. Didn’t realize he made us both suffer.”
“He...” Ash doesn’t lift his head. “He was my dad. He’s still my dad.”
“Yes. Of course.” Mom gets up. “I’m sorry. For everything. I’ll leave you to rest. I’ll talk to Audrey about the programs I mentioned. As for staying here... This is Audrey’s apartment, and she should do with it as she pleases. My life is in Chicago now. And I have the impression she cares about you very much, Asher Devlin. Take good care of my daughter.” When he doesn’t answer, she hesitates. “Asher...”
Then she sighs and turns to go.
I step back into the bedroom as quietly as I can, hiding. I don’t want to talk to Mom right now, no matter how glad I am she’ll help Ash and that she’s sorry for how she treated him before.
But I don’t want to spend time on small talk and coffee, not now. Something in Ash’s posture, his bowed head, twists that odd feeling in my chest into something heavier.
I wait until Mom leaves and I hear the click of the door closing before I step into the living room.
It’s only then I see how he’s shaking. Now I think about it, I’ve never seen Ash cry. Not when his dad beat the crap out of him and he ran away, not when my mom sent him off, not even after he learned his dad died and when he was beaten to a pulp and knifed. He’s strong and tough, and I often forget he’s my age—barely eighteen, barely an adult.
“Ash.” I hurry around the sofa and sit, drawing him close. He wraps his arms around me and holds on like a man drowning. I wonder if Mom told him anything nasty before I arrived, but what I heard was positive. “Mom’s right, you know. I do care about you a lot.”
He clutches me harder, crushing my ribs. His head is heavy on my shoulder. “Too much,” he whispers. “It can’t last. This can’t last.”
He’s afraid. And I think I understand why. Good times, in Ash’s life, seem few and fleeting compared to the bad ones.
“We’ll make it last,” I say, inhaling his familiar scent. “You and me, together.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Asher
Dad’s funeral is a quiet affair. Tyler is there, as he said he’d be, but I avoid him afterward and he doesn’t force the issue. He sends me a few sad looks but drives away and I don’t hear from him again.
He came through, though, keeping his word about the bank account. So now I have some money to my name, which is another of those weird new things in my life.
Like having a home again.
Clearing my stuff from Dad’s house, going through his things and deciding what to keep and what to give away is tough. Audrey helped me with that. I don’t think I could have done it alone. Awful as Dad was most of the time, he left a goddamn hole in my life. I’m angry at him, for beating me, for dying, for losing the house. And I’m grieving, too.
Time passes. After the first awkward week when I didn’t know whether I should sleep on the couch or Audrey’s bed, if I was supposed to cook or only wash and help clean and who had the bathroom first in the morning, we settle into a sort of routine.
We sleep in Audrey’s bed. She’s even cleared drawers and shelves for me in her bedroom. Going to sleep with her in my arms is one of the best perks of my new life. It keeps the nightmares at bay—the ones of me running in the streets looking for her. Her sweet smell seems to reach into my subconscious, reassuring me she’s fine.
And, yeah, going to bed is fun. Mostly because the moment she starts to undress I pounce and tackle her to the bed. She never stands a chance, and doesn’t seem to wanna fight it, either.
As for the bathroom, she has first dibs, and the cooking... Well. I did try but after a few disastrous attempts, we’ve decided I’ll keep to the washing and cleaning. Best for everyone’s health.
The stitches came out and my bruised body is starting to heal. The headaches are growing weaker and don’t come on so often. By mid January when Audrey’s classes at college begin, I’m slowly starting to find my old self.
Less stressed, though. Easier in my skin. Not so afraid of the future. Audrey’s mom sent me a few phone numbers and told me which people are in charge of funding and counseling programs and can help me. I might give them a call.
As the month draws to a close, I return to my evening classes, trying to catch up with all I missed the past weeks.
It feels weird not to worry about the basics. To have a safe place to come home to, and my girl waiting for me at the door.
Believing it might all end suddenly is a fear I struggle with. Good thing Audrey seems to have enough faith for both of us.
Tonight I’m the one waiting for her. My lesson was canceled and for the first time in ages I feel good. I feel strong and well, horny. Not my fault; she’s addictive. I’ve never been so into a girl in my whole life. Everything about her turns me on—her wild red curls, her lush lips, her curvy body, her scent, her taste...
Oh f**k. I’m hard just thinking about her.
The lock turns and I walk to the door, waiting for her to come in. Then I grab her in my arms and lift her, whirling her around. She squeals and I laugh, letting her slide down.
I can see the question in her bright eyes, the question that wants to spill out of her mouth, but I swallow it, pressing my lips to hers, letting her know all I feel for her and all I want.
She smiles when I pull back and reach for the hem of my T-shirt. I tear it off and she trails her hand on the dragon tat that curls over my pec and shoulder, up where it touches my neck.
Hell. This girl can bring me to my knees just by a touch of her fingertips.
Grinning, I walk her backward, running my hands down her body. I push her blue coat off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor as I steer her toward the bedroom. Her sweater comes off next, landing in a pile by the bed, followed by her long-sleeved blouse.
God, her lacy underwear drives me crazy. It’s half-transparent—today it’s blue with tiny white flowers—and it reveals more than in hides, hugging her br**sts, lifting them. I bend over and kiss the twin mounds, and I hear her breath catch. Then I press my mouth lower, until she moans and buries her fingers in my short hair. I love how her hardening ni**les stretch the thin fabric, begging me to lick and nuzzle them.
When I do, her knees buckle and I lower her to the mattress, climbing between her legs to tug down her leggings. I hesitate with her lacy panties, the same color as her bra, looking at her for a long moment in her matching underwear.
So damn hot.
Then I rip the panties off and trace my fingers down the inside of her smooth thigh, to the soft red curls down there. She’s so pretty, from head to toe. I take in her scars, take in all of her. I inhale the scent of her arousal and have to still for a second, because my dick’s dangerously close to bursting.
Take it slow. That’s the plan for tonight. Make sure she enjoys every moment. Her face is alight, her eyes dark with desire. Her lashes lower when I run my thumb between her legs, spreading her open. Then I bend over and flick my tongue over her hard little knot, and she whimpers. She’s delicious, I want to eat her up and that’s what I intend to do.
But she has other ideas. “I want you inside me,” she whispers. “Ash.”
I lift my head to tell her of my plan to draw the pleasure out, make her come until she sees stars, but her expression stops me. It’s solemn; too f**king serious. Shit, something isn’t right.
“Hey.” I place my hands on either side of her head and lean over her, staring into those brilliant green eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Ash.” She threads her fingers through my hair, pulling me down. “Show me.”
I blink down at her, meeting her clear gaze, about to ask what she means—when she draws me down and kisses me. It’s slow, sweet, deep and hot. Her legs wrap around my hips, trapping my c**k between our bodies, making me gasp and break the kiss. She rolls her h*ps in a long, endless movement.
Damn, slow doesn’t seem possible anymore, not when she presses on me like that, turning the tables. My plans for the evening fly out the window. All I want is to pin her to the bed and slam into her.
“Show you what?” I manage, my throat tight.
“I want to see you letting go,” she says. “Taking your pleasure.”
Let go. How can I let go? Raising myself on my arms, I lift my hips, pressing against her, desperately trying not to come in my pants. Trying to restrain myself with all I have. “What if I hurt you?”
“You can’t hurt me,” she says, certainty in her voice. Her head drops back and the sight of her underneath me, only clad in her blue bra, her red locks fanning around her head, breaks my control.
“Fuck, Auds.” I push down my pants and briefs, toe them off together with my socks, and grab my dick.
Then I freeze, because she’s looking at me under her lashes, a faint smile playing on her lips.
I can’t hold back any longer. I push into her in one thrust, almost passing out from the pleasure. She grips me, clamps around me; silky heat and rippling strength that wring a cry from my throat.
Panting, I shift up, looking down at her delicate face, her parted lips. I pull out of her all the way to the tip, then thrust back inside, growling deep in my throat as liquid fire shoots up my spine. Fuck, she squeezes me until I can hardly breathe. Fuck going slow.
As if reading my mind, she lifts her legs, digging her heels into my thighs, and rocks her hips, somehow taking me deeper than before.
Oh f**king hell. My balls ache, my dick hardens more. I brace myself on my hands and let go, slamming in and out of her. Sweat rolls down my face, stinging my eyes, a counterpoint to the massive pressure rising in my gut, tightening my balls and swelling my junk.
Holding back is near impossible. Dammit, I want to see her writhe in pleasure before I lose all control. Now it’s too late. I’m too close.
“Auds.” I hiss as the pressure rises higher, as my c**k starts to twitch. “Christ, Auds...”
Her h*ps lift, pressing me one last millimeter deeper, and her mouth opens in a silent cry.
My ears are ringing. My body strains, my ass clenches, and white-hot fire fills my dick. The pleasure bursts through every nerve-ending in my body, forcing a strangled moan from my lips.