by Aly Stiles
Our breathing accelerates, our kisses now frantic as they fight to consume us. Desire surges through my blood in steady waves, drawing a groan when she unbuttons my uniform pants and reaches in.
“Iris,” I gasp out as she runs her palm over me before tightening her fingers in an agonizing grip.
“Please tell me you have protection this time,” she pleads, her caress becoming more demanding as she works my starved body.
I grab her wrist, stopping the torturous strokes.
“I do, but... Iris, our first time shouldn’t be here, on a sofa-bed.”
Her eyes change as they bore into mine, the lust from a moment ago tinged with something more lasting. “This is the only place I want for our first time.”
Please say yes, her gaze says.
Yes to letting her accept me as I am.
I answer with an urgent kiss, allowing her to clutch my shirt and yank it over my head. I help her shrug it off and then work on hers. She tosses it on the floor, then forces me around so she can straddle me. She braces her palms on my chest, sinking her fingers into my skin as she studies my face.
“I want a future with you, Ashton Morgan,” she says, releasing the clasp of her bra. She rips it off and drops it behind her. “I want tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.”
She leans down and kisses me, gripping my face as if she’s afraid I’ll fade away.
Never, I want to say. Never again will I dissolve.
I slide open the button of her jeans, burning as she squirms out of them. I kick mine off as well, and she climbs back up my body with a stern look.
“You promised,” she warns, and I can’t help but grin at the implication. I know what she means, and she confirms it when she drags down my underwear.
Her eyes go hot as she studies me, touches me, tortures me until I reach into the drawer of the end table for my wallet. I pull out a condom and hold it up with a smug look.
“Better?” I ask in a teasing voice.
But she’s not in the mood for games. She snatches it out of my hand, and soon I’m back on top. Soon I’m lost and desperate inside the woman who found me when I was at my worst. My flower of hope when everything was so dark I couldn’t see a way out.
“Ashton,” she gasps, her face so beautiful when it yearns for me. I push harder, determined to give her everything she wants. All of me, even if it isn’t much.
“Iris,” I rough out, my own body thawing with each violent rush of heat.
Then the words stop, unnecessary when two souls that have always known each other come together in the ultimate collision. Iris arches in beautiful perfection before collapsing back to the sheets. I follow soon after, breathing hard as I balance over her, studying the face of a promise I’m starting to believe.
Could it be that this infinite, magnificent Hope has a place for a tiny cosmic speck of ash?
I adjust my weight to one elbow so I can trace her soft cheek. She’s silent as I cup my palm against her, gazing into the eyes of the woman strong enough to change destiny.
“Iris and ash. How can a piece of burnt rubble deserve you?” I whisper, searching her eyes.
She flinches, her gaze narrowing in confusion. “What?” She pulls away and pushes me onto my back with a stern expression. “What are you talking about?”
“Iris and ash. Hope and debris.”
Her eyes widen in disbelief, almost looking hurt as she studies me. “Debris? Are you serious?”
“Ashton Morgan.” She centers my gaze on hers, piercing my soul with dark blue eyes bursting with new life. “Ash isn’t debris. Ash is the only piece left standing after the fire.”
Epilogue
IRIS
Eight months later…
“Hey! Aren’t you forgetting something?” I ask Braydon as he rushes to the door. He glances back in confusion, swinging his backpack against the open frame. I raise my brows and open my arms. A sheepish smile spreads over his lips as he runs to me and wraps his arms around my waist. “Better. Now go own Tuesday, kid.”
“Whatever, Aunt Iris,” he mutters, but I see the hint of a smile still on his lips. He takes off through the door to wait at the bus stop in front of our building, freeing me to check on my other challenge this morning.
“Ash, will you hurry up? We have to go!” I call out as I stalk down the hall to our room.
I stop at Bray’s door, glaring at the mess of toys all over the floor. Interesting, considering I asked him to clean this mess up before he left for school. Guess who’s straightening his room before video games when he gets home? I shake my head and keep walking.
The large master bedroom is bright with natural light when I enter. The morning sun streams in through tall windows, making the cathedral ceilings and open floor plan look even bigger. This was one of the reasons Ashton and I chose this place when we decided to move in together a month ago. My dad would have loved if we’d lived at his house, but Ashton insisted on having our own space and didn’t want Braydon to grow up accustomed to such an opulent lifestyle.
“If he wants to go after that and earn it himself, great. But he’s not going to think he’s entitled to it.”
I guess I can’t argue. I’ve seen what entitlement did to my sister. Speaking of, things still aren’t great there, but improved considerably after she finally apologized (sincerely) to Ashton for what she did. I even saw glimmers of a heart when she formed friendships with a couple of the kids at the homeless shelter where she volunteered as part of her Dad-imposed community service. It was just enough that I haven’t given up on her. Ashton forgave her, so I know I will have to at some point as well.
Anyway, I couldn’t be happier with our housing compromise: a three-bedroom, two-bath luxury condo within walking distance of the office. I’m pretty sure my boyfriend was more excited about that fact than anything in the shiny new apartment. Seriously, it’s scary how much this boy loves boring corporate crap. I caught him reading my Concepts of Leadership textbook the other day—for fun.
On that note…
I bite back a smile at the adorable image of Ash in front of the floor-length mirror with a perplexed expression on his face. One tie is draped around his neck, another held up beside it.
“Oh good. You’re here,” he says with a passing glance before focusing back on his reflection. “Which tie is more budget meeting?”
I snort a laugh. Pretty sure those words have never been strung together in a sentence before. He fires an even cuter glare at me. “Babe, I don’t think anyone’s ever been so excited about a budget meeting in the history of budget meetings.”
He grunts and holds the tie in his hand up to his neck. “What’s not to be excited about? We get to determine how we’ll allocate funds for the entire year. The decisions made today will impact the whole department over the next three-hundred-and-sixty-five days. The blue, right?”
He turns to me, and I sigh, closing the gap. I slip my arms around him from behind, standing on my toes to rest my chin on his shoulder and study our reflections.
“No, the green. It brings out your eyes more.”
He squints into the mirror. “Do I want my eyes being brought out more for a budget meeting? Shouldn’t I be trying—”
“Oh my gosh, Ashton. Will you stop? You’re going to do amazing no matter which tie you wear.”
His shoulders drop, and I turn him around to face me. Reaching up, I lock his head in my hands to search his eyes. So beautiful. Still so haunted and insecure no matter how many times he proves to everyone else how incredible he is. Hopefully one day he’ll believe in himself, but until then…
“It’s my first major project as head of the marketing department. I’ve only had one full semester and—”
“And you wouldn’t need any semesters to rock a measly little budget meeting.”
“It’s forty-two million dollars,” he groans.
“Yeah? And you’ve been solving complex money problems since the day you were born. You got this, Ash. You. Got.
This.”
I draw him in for a kiss. It’s impossible not to kiss him when he’s this close. I thought that need would go away, but after a month of living together, I still can’t say goodbye to him in the morning without a kiss and at least some form of extended contact. My favorite is when he’s drinking his coffee, and I come up behind him for a cuddle. He always sets his cup down and turns, drawing me into his arms and pressing a kiss to my hair.
“What’s up, beautiful?” he says.
“Everything now,” I answer with a smile.
Today though, there was no coffee, or sweet cuddle, or anything because for some reason, the world has to stop when this boy has a freaking budget meeting.
“I think you’re right. Green.” He rips the blue one from around his neck, and starts working on the green when his phone buzzes in his pocket.
“Probably Karen wondering where you are. Should I tell her to postpone the meeting because you can’t decide on a tie? How long? A week? A month?”
“Shut it,” he says with a mock glare, and I bump his shoulder with a grin.
Just for fun—and a bonus touch—I pull out his phone to check. How funny would it be if it was Karen? But my amusement fades when I see it’s not.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, studying my expression in the mirror.
I swallow. Crap. Of all the times for this woman to come back into his life… I take a deep breath and hold the phone up to him. He pales and stares at the screen.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
“Yeah.” I put the screen to sleep and shove it back in his pocket. “Forget about it for now. We’ll deal with it later, okay?”
He nods, but I can tell by the look in his eyes he’s been rocked hard. Of course he has. He hasn’t heard from his mother in three months and suddenly she wants to talk? I’m so excited to finally meet this woman so I can slap her senseless.
“Ashton, look at me.”
After a moment, his tortured gaze flickers to mine. I grip his face in my hands and bore my stare into him. “She doesn’t get to hurt you anymore. No one does, do you understand? Today is about you. Tonight, we will deal with your mom—together.”
He searches my eyes for another few seconds before finally releasing a heavy exhale. I relax when he does, my arms dropping when his do. Sometimes it feels like I’m inexorably connected to everything he feels. When he hurts, I hurt. When he laughs, I laugh. When his world crashes down, so does mine, which is why right now I’m hoping that connection also works in reverse.
When I believe, he will.
He blows out a breath and turns back to the mirror, his shoulders square and tall again in determination. I line up behind him and squeeze his arms.
“Much better. Now go slay some spreadsheets, tiger,” I bark out.
He chuckles and turns back for the kiss I’m craving. “Thanks. You too. Slay the… applications for funding or whatever it is you do.”
“Oh, you know it,” I say with a wink and devastating finger gun.
I’m not at all surprised by the rumors that Ashton is putting on quite a show in the marketing meeting. Apparently, he got into it with two senior members of the department, and when they retaliated by going above his head, the VP sided with him after reviewing the data. It amazes me that he can be so insecure about himself, and yet so strong and determined in the face of everything else. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, given his history.
I glance down at a text from my dad, smirking at the abrupt message.
Heard our boy is already making waves. Can’t wait until he’s stirring up board meetings.
He’s so much like you it’s scary, I type back. Pretty sure that means I need some sort of therapy.
Dad returns a laugh emoji, and I tuck my phone away.
In eight months, I’ve been able to make some waves of my own. I’ve hired two employees so far: an administrative assistant who just earned a fundraising certificate and has a long history of volunteer work, and a director of operations who served as the director of a nationally recognized major charity for twenty-one years before retiring to pass the reins to the next generation. But I need experience and knowledge, not strong young backs for this role, so I was thrilled when Sarah Hollingsworth signed on to work beside me as we organize and launch The Alexander Global Fund.
The next call that comes in has my heart racing and blood pounding like it always does when I see his name. I get up from my desk and lock myself in one of the small rooms my team shares when we need privacy.
“Hey, rockstar,” I say, answering Ashton’s video call. “How’s it going in there?”
His face is an open book of the frustration I expected from the updates. I try not to smile, but he’s so stinking cute.
“Some of these people are unbelievable,” he mutters. “They think because we’ve done it this way forever we need to keep doing it. Uh, yeah, and it hasn’t worked all those years, so why the hell would you keep doing it? Their solution to fix something that isn’t working is to throw more money at it.”
I bite my lip and force a serious nod. Welcome to corporate life, babe. “Yeah, but I heard you’ve been holding your own.”
His eyes widen. “You did? From whom?”
“Like, everyone?”
He furrows his brows, premature worry lines denting his gorgeous face.
“What are they saying?” His tone is more uncertain, and I hate the insecurity creeping back in.
“That you’re a freaking rockstar. Like I said. Did you not hear me when I answered the phone?”
The worry melts into a crooked smile that plunges straight between my legs. It’s annoying how easy it is for this man to turn me on. One look. One smile. That’s all it takes apparently and I’m counting the seconds until we’re alone again.
“You’re lying,” he says with a laugh.
“Nope. I’ll prove it.”
He squints at me. “Yeah? How are going to do that?”
“You’ll see.”
His gaze shoots to something in front of him, and he nods before focusing back on me. “Hey, I have to get back. Just wanted to check in quick. Thanks for the encouragement. Love you.”
“Love you too. Hey, Ashton?”
“Yeah?”
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re the only person on the planet who can make spreadsheets sexy? I want a personal re-enactment of watching you fight for more digital and less print funding.”
He grins and shakes his head with my favorite mix of exasperation and shyness. “Anything for you, babe,” he teases back before hanging up.
He thinks I’m joking.
ASHTON
I sit on the edge of the bed after Bray’s asleep, door locked, Iris beside me. She reaches over and loops her arm around mine, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.
“I’m right here, Ash. You can do this.”
I sigh and stare at the name on my phone. When did pushing one button get so hard? Mom gave no indication what this was about, just a cryptic message to call her as soon as possible. Guess now qualifies as much as any other time. The sooner I get it over with, the sooner I can start my recovery.
With a deep breath, I punch my finger on the screen. Heart racing, I watch the call dial while awaiting my fate like I have so many times before. Iris squeezes my bicep, and I glance over into endless blue eyes brimming with love. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I finally get to decide who I am and who gets to hurt me. Maybe this time will be different. I’m different.
A piece of ash ravaged by fire and still standing.
“Ashton, thank god!” Mom says as soon as we connect.
She looks older than I remember, thinner and tired. Then again, she looks how I probably did the last time I called her begging for help. It’s strange to me how I have no emotion right now. I was so nervous a moment ago, and now I feel nothing. She’s betrayed me so many times, used me, abandoned me, left me to literally starve. I have trouble seeing her as anything other than a woman I used to know. Certainly not
a mother. In the months Iris and I have been together, her father has been more of a parent to Braydon and me than Mom ever was.
“Hi, Mom. I’m surprised to hear from you.”
Iris glances over sharply, and I’m guessing she heard what I just did—my flat, stale tone.
“You know how it is, baby. You get so busy and time just flies. Well, you certainly know that now with your fancy new job. Wait, are you living in a new place too?”
She squints into the screen, and I angle the phone so she can’t see much other than my face.
I clench my fist at her flippant remark. “Yeah, well, you know when time doesn’t fly? When you’re lying awake at night so hungry you can’t sleep and all you can do is stare into the darkness wondering how the hell you’re going to keep you and your brother alive.”
Guess the emotion is back.
Iris’ arm tightens around mine, but I can’t look at her. Hard memories start slamming into conflicting emotions, sending them veering off in chaotic directions.
“Baby…” Mom says in faux sympathy. I don’t know if it’s faux to her, but it is to me. I can’t believe anything from her mouth.
“What do you want, Mom?” I say, impatient. I’d much rather be spending this time with my girlfriend.
She looks away from the screen, and I notice there’s no club lights behind her. In fact, there doesn’t seem to be much of anything.
“Ronny left me a few weeks back.” She says this as if it’s a shocking development. She would be the only one who’d think so.
“Sorry it didn’t work out.”
“Yeah. That bastard found someone else and kicked me out of his place. I’m staying with a friend until I get back on my feet.”
“Okay.”
“Her name is—”
