by Aly Stiles
I was so angry a second before. It was like all that rage just converted into a deep passion that burned just as hot. Because for those few seconds of fury, I hated that no matter how hard I try to show him the truth about himself, he refuses to see it. That after everything we’ve been though, all my efforts, he’d think for even a second I still see him as nothing but an employee. That all this time, he thought my love was pity. And after all of that, he’d apologize to me for hurting him because that’s what Ashton does. Takes everyone else’s sins upon himself and suffers their punishments, their consequences to the point where he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
It’s not fair, it’s not right, and I’m just so damn tired of watching him suffer.
So yes, I snapped. All the frustration for me, for him, for this entire unforgiving world came rushing out in an onslaught of violence that wasn’t meant for him and yet was only meant for him. I don’t think I was trying to hurt him. I was trying to wake him up.
And maybe, I’m starting to believe I did.
After giving me a t-shirt and shorts to borrow, he said almost nothing during the little time left after our spontaneous co-shower. But his eyes spoke. Every time I’d catch him staring, blood rushed straight through me. Desire. Lust. Intense hunger I know well, all of it silent but broadcasted with a clarity that now has me stalking the quiet apartment like a lioness in heat.
By the time the lock clicks open around eleven-thirty, it’s everything I can do not to pounce. His shy smile when he sees me shoots straight between my thighs.
“Hey,” he says, the smile growing.
“Hey.” My greeting is more of a whimper.
“I really like seeing you in my shirt.”
I really like wearing his shirt. Hope he doesn’t think he’s getting it back.
He turns to lock the door behind him, and I can’t hold back anymore. He’s too close not to touch.
I slip my arms around him from behind like I’ve wanted to do since earlier today. His chest moves with a chuckle when I squeeze, and I melt from the sensation as much as the sound. He frees one of my hands and turns to face me as he brings it to his lips. Holding it there, he searches my eyes in the charged silence.
My belly cramps with want that quickly sinks into a low, deep ache to experience more of him. I press into him and shove my free hand in his hair, forcing his back against the door.
Drawing his lips to mine, I unleash days of desire.
He stiffens in surprise at my hungry kiss, then relaxes into it just enough to make me wild. I pull my other hand free for better access, my body rocking against his, as if seeking every point of contact it can find. I clamp my hands behind his back to force our hips together, gasping at the long-awaited friction of him hardening against me. He groans a tortured response before pulling away, but his face is amused, not upset.
“Whoa. Hold on. Let me clean up first. I smell like fried food and crappy tips.”
I laugh through the craving, awed by the hypnotic grin on his face. I reach up to trace it, watching my finger move in perfect lines over his lips.
“I want to come with you,” I say quietly. My voice is strained and needy, and his smile slips into something more heated. His gaze sinks to my lips as well, and he traps my palm against his chest. I sink my fingers into the tight black t-shirt, imagining myself ripping it over his head. In fact…
I grip the hem, still watching his face to read every nuance as I test him. With a slight tug, I untuck his shirt, lifting it a few inches to enjoy the hard lines of his exposed abs. I run my fingers over the ridges, loving the way he sucks in a breath and jerks ever so slightly against my hips in an instinctive response to my touch. A jolt of electricity surges through me, and I have to steady my own pulse against the rush.
My fingers sink lower, my palm braced against his stomach as they slip just past the waistband of his uniform. They won’t be able to get far beyond the unforgiving fabric, but right now isn’t about taking. It’s about seeing what I can have.
His eyes close as I tease the sensitive skin and hint of coarse hair just at my fingertips. His body responds again, matching the sweet agony on his face. I press harder, loving how his head falls back against the door. My strokes become more steady, more insistent, even though my fingers are still far from where they want to be.
This is sweet revenge. About making him burn like I am. Like I have for so long. I want him aching and desperate. Willing to do anything to have me just for a second like the torture it is to be near him.
A single touch.
A brief taste.
“Iris,” he rasps.
“Ash,” I reply with a coy smile.
He searches my eyes, releasing a reluctant breath of surrender, even as his body tenses against the next wave of my seduction. It’s like he knows what I’m doing and can’t decide if it’s okay to let himself enjoy it.
Removing my fingers from his waist, I send both palms up his chest instead, dragging his shirt along his torso. Each inch of exposed skin is another reward for my patience, another gift I enjoy slowly and fully now that he’s offering it.
He feels like living stone. Hard and warm and shifting in the slightest movements with each breath, each beat of his heart and reaction to my caress. When I get to his shoulders, he allows me to tug his shirt over his head, obscuring that striking hazel gaze with a soft curtain of disheveled hair.
Just. Breathtaking.
“Iris,” he says, a slight plea in his voice.
“Ash.”
“I really need to clean up first.” He averts his gaze, and I hate that he’s embarrassed by the things I love most about him.
But I want him to be comfortable, to feel safe and confident, so in what feels like an incredible sacrifice, I release him and step back.
“Fine,” I sigh out, and a faint smile spreads over his lips.
“Just give me five minutes,” he promises with a sexy half-smirk. Yeah, that’s making it way worse.
“I said fine. Go,” I return in mock irritation, waving him toward the bathroom.
He laughs and starts down the hall, turning back for another heated glance.
This time I’m the one who breaks the connection. It actually hurts to watch him right now. My entire body is wound in a coil of need, stoked hotter by the unsatisfying taste of what it craves. I’ve been window shopping too long to watch him walk away from me.
The next five minutes continue like the five prior to his arrival. Me pacing, then dropping to the couch and scolding myself for acting like a horny animal. Back to pacing. Another scolding. Straining to see if I can tell how far along he is based on the sounds coming from the bathroom.
Turns out he lied. It’s actually twelve minutes before he emerges from the hall to stop my heart in a pair of gym shorts and nothing else. Geez, is he trying to kill me?
I’m not sure what to do or where we stand after the intermission that came way too early. Doesn’t matter because I can’t seem to move anyway.
“What’s wrong?” he says with a laugh. I don’t even think he’s teasing me. He’s as confused by my weird behavior as I am.
Wish I knew, Ashton. Wish I knew.
“Um.” Suddenly, I feel like I need water to soothe my dry mouth and throat. All the water, actually, that’d be fantastic.
He slants his head, studying my odd reaction. I was Miss Dominatrix Vixen the last time he saw me. Now I’m a tongue-tied middle schooler plastered to the wall of a school dance.
“Iris?”
“Right.” I shake off the paralysis, pulling in a quick breath as he approaches.
Oh crap, he smells as good as he looks. The trace of mint mixing with that intoxicating scent of whatever shower potion he uses makes it pretty clear he’s going to taste really good too. Suddenly, I’m the one who’s self-conscious. Why didn’t I think to spend that wasted time freshening up instead of hovering like an idiot?
“Thanks again for watching Braydon tonight,” he says quietly, cu
pping my face and settling his gaze on me.
“Oh. Yes. I mean. It’s fine. Or. You’re welcome.” I cringe, and his eyes squint in amusement.
“You okay? You got weird all of a sudden.”
“Pssh. Fine.” I add an unconvincing shrug that probably makes it worse.
“I have no expectations for tonight,” he says softly, searching my face. “You don’t have to be nervous. In fact, as much as I’d love to resume what we started earlier, we probably should take a raincheck. It’s already late, and you shouldn’t be driving when all the drunks are on the road. Plus…” He nods toward the wall to Braydon’s room.
A shiver runs through me at the thought of leaving him right now, and I clutch his hands still resting on my cheeks to lock them in place.
“We don’t have to have sex, but I have no intention of leaving,” I clip out. He startles at my abrupt tone, and I wince. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.”
I pull his hands from my face so I can grip them harder in mine. His surprise fades into the heated amusement I’m starting to really really enjoy.
“Well, you can’t sleep here,” he says through a laugh.
I tense at his unexpected response. Why would that be funny? I’m actually a little hurt he’d just throw that out so callously.
He must sense my reaction and his smile fades. “Wait. No, that’s not what I meant. It’s not that I don’t want you to spend the night, it’s just…” His expression regresses back to the embarrassment I hate so much. “I don’t have anywhere for you to sleep.”
I cock my head and motion toward the couch. “There’s plenty of room for two people on your bed. It’s a queen.”
He stiffens, his pretty eyes igniting with alarm. “How do you know it’s a queen? Wait, how do you know that’s where I sleep?”
“I saw the pillow and all the stuff on the end table and asked Braydon.” I’m not even sure why he’s so upset.
He clenches his jaw and pulls away from me, crossing to the offending couch. After dropping to a cushion he exhales an audible breath and rubs a hand over his face.
“Ashton…” I say gently, sinking beside him.
He doesn’t look at me, but he also doesn’t recoil when I take his hand. I pull it to my lips, intent on kissing his fingers until he lets me into his head.
“You’re not sleeping on a pull-out bed, Iris,” he says darkly. “I’m not letting you sleep on a pull-out bed.”
I lower his hand and glare at him. “Why do you get to tell me what I can and can’t do?”
“Because it’s my place.”
“You think I’m too much of a princess to sleep on a sofa-bed, is that it?”
His jaw hardens, and he tries to pull his hand away but I hold on. After a few tries, he gives up. “No. I’m too much of a gentleman to allow that.”
“No,” I draw out. “A gentleman would allow a lady to decide what she can and cannot endure. You’re just being a stubborn ass-ass again.”
The slightest of smiles slips out through the severity on his face. “Fine. Yes. I’m being an ass-ass, but that’s what it is.”
I narrow my eyes at him, yanking his hand until he jerks toward me in some weird punishment I just invented. He straightens again, his face now openly amused.
“You can fight me all you want. But you’re not winning this one.”
“If you’re so ashamed of sleeping on the couch, why don’t you take your mom’s room now that she’s gone.”
I gasp the second it comes out. He flinches, all color and humor draining from his face.
“How did you know that?” he chokes out.
I feel like crap and release his hand.
He wrenches it back to his lap, a crushed expression on his face before he hides it in his hands. I don’t know what to say as he scrubs at his features, rigid with anxiety. Maybe anger? I can’t tell with him sometimes. He hides things so well when he wants to.
“I found the note when I was cleaning up.” I hear the pain and regret in my voice so I know he does too.
“Shit,” he mutters, massaging his temples. His head snaps up. “You didn’t tell Bray, did you?”
“Of course not,” I retort, annoyed he’d even think that.
He relaxes slightly and blows out a breath. “Sorry, Iris. I…”
His hand swipes over his face again as he leans back and rests his head on the backrest of the couch to stare up at the ceiling. It’s been too long, too may negative words exchanged since I last touched him, and he inhales sharply when I lean into him and wrap my arms around his chest. But instead of ducking away, he lifts his head and straightens enough to secure me tighter against him.
My heart soars, my body flooding with a new kind of warmth as he accepts me into his world.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, enjoying the feel of his heat and beating heart at my ear.
“No, I am. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. It’s my own fault for forgetting it was there. If anything, I’m relieved you found it, and not Bray.”
“Not about finding the note,” I say gently.
He tenses again, and I shift so I can see his face. I reach up and trace the hard line of his jaw, spreading my fingers to soothe the muscle I have to watch clench so often.
“I was pissed at first,” he says after a long pause, surprising me by offering instead of resisting for once. “But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if we’re not better off. She didn’t just neglect to care for us, she actually made things harder. If we can figure out the childcare issue, we might finally be able to work ourselves into a decent rhythm.”
He quiets, and I adjust to settle against him again. This time my head is at his shoulder and he secures his arm around me. It feels so good. So safe to be with him like this. My desperation for sex just minutes ago has transformed into a desperation to make him feel like this too.
What makes Ashton feel protected and cherished?
“What are you going to tell, Braydon?” I ask, running my fingers down his chest. I absorb his strong inhale followed by an extended exhale.
“I don’t know yet. Every time I open my mouth to try, I can’t go through with it. She’s still just Mom to him. He’s too young to understand the dynamics of her destructive force in our lives. I have no idea how to tell him without crushing him.”
I nod, my pulse increasing at my coming confession. After the weight of this conversation and the joy of him finally opening up to me, I don’t have a choice. I’m not leaving tonight so we might as well start the argument now.
“Ashton?”
“Yeah?”
I swallow and look up at him. “I have to tell you something that’s going to make you mad again.”
His eyes narrow, and just as I feared, I feel the instinctive strain of his muscles. “What?”
“Actually…” I sigh and force myself up. “It’s probably better if I just show you.”
He eyes me with suspicion when I grab his hands to pull him up as well. He’s silent as I yank the cushions off the couch and toss them to the side.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Pissing you off.”
His jaw ticks with what I think might be a threatening smile. “Really. So why are you doing it?”
I shrug. “Two reasons. One: it’s already done.”
I tug the handle of the bed, and he jumps in to help me. His eyes go wide as the frame unfolds and exposes itself.
“What did you do?” he whispers. I can’t even tell if he’s furious or impressed.
“Well, this is a BedMedics certified memory foam mattress and those are four hundred thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Oh, and a Sherpa lined blanket. Also…” I reach behind the couch and pull out an armload of new pillows. “I wasn’t sure what style of pillow you liked so I got a few different kinds.”
His eyes are round and confused as he stares at the drastic makeover.
“Your old one is in your mom’s room for now because I’ll
need your help to toss it.”
“How…?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “How did you get this up here?” he asks, pressing his palm into the mattress.
“Easy. It’s one of those cool foam things that comes in the shrink-wrapped plastic square. Cut the plastic and poof. That small square becomes this big rectangle. It’s razor thin but will provide the comfort and support of a full-size mattress. Or so the lady at the store promised.”
I can tell he still doesn’t know how to react, but that’s because he hasn’t tried it yet. I hold up my hand with a hard look.
“Just… before you freak out and make me return everything, please at least lay down in it once. I earned that much, I think. Do you have any idea how many trips to the car it took to bring all this stuff in?”
He gives me a look that could arguably be defiant, but at my return warning, he lets out a resigned sigh. Pulling back the blanket and sheet, he climbs beneath it. His body visibly melts the second he hits the surface.
“Holy shit,” he mutters.
He groans and presses his fists against his eyes. “You said there were two reasons?” he asks finally, his face still blocked by his hands.
Good, then he won’t see me coming.
“Yes.” I slither into the empty space beside him. He startles at the movement and turns his head to watch me scoot toward him until I’m close enough to slide my arm over his chest. “Reason number two is that I’m spending the night.”
Chapter Seventeen
ASHTON
I wake to something I can’t remember waking to before: feeling rested and refreshed in the shadow of a vibrant blue gaze.
Iris’ face lights up with a warm smile as she reaches over and brushes some hair from my eyes.
“You’re awake,” she says gently.
“Hey,” I croak.
“Hey.” Her smile spreads into a grin. “How did you sleep?”
“What time is it?” I ask, pushing up with alarm.
She laughs and tugs me back to the bed. “I will actually accept that as an answer to my question. It’s almost ten.”
