“Why, Asher?” I ask, tears brimming my eyes. “What is so wrong with me?”
When he doesn’t respond, I turn to leave, but Asher lunges for me, snatching my wrist and pulling me back toward him until I’m straddling his lap.
“Briar,” he says, his eyes searching mine, begging me to understand.
“Say what you mean and mean what you say, Ash. I’m not a mind reader.”
“You’re fourteen,” he stresses, as if that’s reason enough. And I suppose it is. But this thing feels bigger than our ages. He’s not some predator. He’s just…Asher.
“Not to mention, my best friend’s little sister. Do you know what I’d do if someone even looked at my little sister sideways?”
“You don’t have a sister,” I point out. “And it’s different,” I insist. I’m not like other girls my age, and I want this. My friend Sophie still plays with Barbies—when no one is looking, of course—and loves One Direction. I like this. This feeling with Asher, right here, right now.
“It’s not. It makes me sick,” he starts, his warm hands smoothing up my back. “It’s not right.”
I push his shoulders, causing him to fall backward, and boldly, I lean down and press my lips to his. At first, he doesn’t react. He simply lies back, allowing me to explore, to kiss and nibble and suck with his hands clenched at his sides. But when he feels my tongue against his lips, seeking entrance, his hands fly to my waist, and he kisses me back. This time it isn’t timid or polite. This kiss feels like war. A battle between right and wrong. Moral and corrupt. Honorable and deplorable.
Asher slides his right hand into my hair and positions us so that we’re both lying on our sides as he continues his assault on my mouth, on my soul. He shifts his body until his leg is wedged between mine, and I can’t help but chase that glorious friction once again. A moan slips free, and I feel him stiffen like he’s about to deny me again. I bring my hands to his cheeks to keep his lips on mine and rock into his thigh.
“Please, Ash. Touch me,” I beg.
“No.”
“Then let me touch you.” I reach for the bulge in his jeans, and he smacks my hand away.
“Fuck no. It can’t go any further than this.”
I could cry tears of disappointment right now.
“Look at me,” he orders, hooking a finger under my chin. “Keep your hands to yourself. If you go for my cock again, I’m gone. Understand?”
I nod eagerly in agreement.
“Goddammit, give me words, Briar.”
“I promise. Just make me feel…that.” I feel my face burn with embarrassment, and the corner of his mouth twitches, like maybe he’d be amused if he weren’t on the verge of jumping over a line that should never be crossed.
Asher plants each of my hands on his shoulders and gives me a searing gaze, silently ordering me to keep them there. I swallow and give a sharp nod, and he places his own hands flat on the mattress by his head, purposely not touching. I press my lips to his, and he reluctantly kisses me back. I start rocking into his leg, powerless to this feeling. Once I find my rhythm, he clasps his hands behind his neck, watching my body move. Seeing him lying back like a king while I grind into his thigh is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Oh my God.” My voice is just above a whisper.
I press myself into him even harder. The new angle has my eyes snapping shut and my head flying back. My movements are becoming sloppy and jerky, and I know I’m close to something epic. Life-changing even. I hear Asher shifting again, but I don’t dare open my eyes. I can feel my wetness leak through my shorts, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if that’s normal. But Asher doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t mind.
I’m climbing higher, higher, higher, when I feel something hot and slightly damp wrap around my nipple. My eyes shoot open to see Asher drawing the tiny bud into his mouth through my tank top. And just like that, I come apart. He holds me in place through my orgasm as he continues to suck until I’m shuddering and shaking in his arms.
I’m practically panting as he uses his palm to brush the sweaty hair off my face and leans in to kiss the damp skin of my neck.
“Thank you,” I say dumbly. Because what else can I say after that?
“I’m going to hell.”
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” I say honestly, laying my head on his shoulder, feeling so content that I could fall asleep and stay here forever.
“You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. I did. You don’t understand it now. But you will look back at this some day and see it for what it is.”
“And what is that, exactly?” I ask, feeling my temper rising.
“A man who just took advantage of a fucking child,” he spits, looking up at the vaulted ceiling.
“That’s bullshit. Don’t do that.”
“Do what, Bry? It’s the truth.”
“Don’t act as if I didn’t practically throw myself at you. That I’m too young to make my own decisions. You didn’t take advantage of me. You didn’t take anything. You gave.”
“The only thing I gave you is false hope. You know this can’t ever leave this room. If Dash knew…”
“Why would I tell my brother about hooking up with anyone? I know this doesn’t make you my boyfriend. I’m not that naïve. But maybe when I’m eighteen…”
“This shouldn’t have happened,” Asher says, grabbing me by my hips and lifting me off him. He stands and reaches for one of Dash’s T-shirts lying on top of his dresser. “It’s wrong,” he says once again.
“Yes, Asher, tell me again how wrong I am for you. I don’t think you’ve gotten your point across.” I roll my eyes, sarcasm dripping from every word.
He pulls the plain black shirt over his head, and I watch his muscles flex with the movement. I gulp. Asher’s growl has my eyes snapping back up to his.
“Stop looking at me like that, Briar,” he warns, his voice lethal and low.
“Like what?” I ask, feigning innocence.
“Like you want what I can’t give you.”
“The only thing I want is for you to stay.”
“I have to tell you something,” he says, changing the subject.
“What is it?” And why does it feel like he’s about to end our nonexistent relationship?
“I got a scholarship,” he says, his mouth twitching at the corner in an almost-smile. “A full ride.”
“Are you serious?” I squeal, my frustration from a minute ago all but gone. I’m more excited for him than I’ve been about anything in my entire life. I knew he was applying, but he told me it was impossible for swimmers to get a full ride. “That’s amazing, Ash!”
I throw my arms around his neck, but there’s nothing sexual about it this time. Just genuine pride and happiness for him. Ash is one of the best people I know, and he deserves an opportunity to live a life as good as he is. I pull back, scanning his face. He’s not easily excitable, but I expected more enthusiasm than this.
“What is it? What else aren’t you telling me?”
“It’s in Georgia.”
For the second time tonight, I feel like that time I fell on the playground in the fourth grade and got the wind knocked out of me. “What?”
“I leave in four months.”
I nod, caught between two warring emotions. I’m elated for him, but I’m sad for me. He untangles our limbs and sits on the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees, avoiding eye contact.
“Does Dash know?”
“Yes.” He looks over at me, and his eyes soften at his admission.
He never even bothered to tell me.
“I’m happy for you,” I say, my voice contradicting the words coming out of my mouth. “This is your chance.”
He nods, and we sit in strained silence, unsure of where to go from here.
I try to hold back the tears. To be a good friend and be happy for him, but my chin starts to wobble, and one, single tear runs down my cheek. Asher is in fron
t of me in an instant, gripping my face with both hands, forcing me to look into his eyes.
“Don’t waste one fucking tear on me.”
I sniff and look away.
“Dash is losing his best friend. And so will I.”
“I’m not leaving tomorrow, or next week. We have time.”
“Promise me something.”
“What’s that?”
“Promise me you won’t leave without saying goodbye. Promise me I won’t be blindsided.”
“I promise,” he swears.
I nod, feeling slightly pacified. I want nothing more than for Asher to get the hell out of there, but selfishly, right now I can only think about losing him.
“When you leave…”
Asher watches me, waiting. “Yeah?”
“It won’t be forever, right?”
“I can’t promise you that.”
“You really need to work on this whole ‘comforting someone’ thing. You’re really bad at it,” I say, pulling back to look up at him. Ash is at least six feet tall, and I have to strain my neck to make eye contact when we’re this close.
“I’ve never had to do it before.”
“Why does it feel like we’re saying hello and goodbye all at the same time?” After years of tugging at his sleeve and following him like a lost puppy, I’ve finally gotten Asher’s attention in the way I’ve always wanted. But I’m not naïve enough to think that this could end well.
“Because once I leave, you’re going to forget this night ever happened.”
I lick my lips, and his eyes follow the movement.
“But you’re still here now, so…” I rise onto my tiptoes, circling my arms around his neck. Asher grips my waist and lifts. My legs automatically wrap around him.
“For once in my goddamn life, I’m trying to be the good guy, and you’re not making it easy.”
“I like you better when you’re bad.”
Something not unlike a growl is all I hear in response before his lips are on mine once again. Ash walks us over to the wall next to the window, still holding me by my ass. When my back hits the wall, his hands are free to roam. He smooths them up the outsides of my thighs and then either side of my waist. I hold on to his shoulders to keep from melting into a puddle at his feet as I feel it building again, and my hips shift in search of the friction I need, when I hear it.
Giggling. Feminine, annoying giggling.
“Shut the fuck up! You’re going to wake my parents,” says a familiar, albeit irritated voice.
“Fuck,” Ash whispers, dropping me like a sack of potatoes, right before Whitley, Asher’s ex, appears in the window. She lands in a pile at my feet, and she smells like alcohol and cheap perfume. When she notices me, her face morphs into one of total and utter disdain.
Dash climbs through after her—his preferred method of entry when he has a girl with him—and looks between us. It’s not exactly suspicion I detect on his face, but confusion. I feel the need to straighten my shirt or tame my hair, but I’m frozen, afraid of doing anything that will display my guilt.
“What’s going on?” he asks, concern coating his tone.
“A little help here!” Whitley slurs in her high-pitched, dolphin sonar voice. Dash rolls his eyes, reaching down to help her to her feet.
“She was looking for you. Wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Dash explains. “Figured you’d be here when we didn’t see your truck at yours.”
“I was just, uh, helping Asher with something,” I say. Dash reads the meaning of my words, and his head jerks toward Ash, assessing.
“You okay, man?” he asks, keeping it vague since Whitley is here.
“I’m good,” is all he says, and the two share a look that even I can’t decode.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Whit?” His tone is harsh, but hearing him call her by her nickname reminds me of the fact that they were close once.
“We need to talk,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
“The fuck we do,” Asher snaps. “Go home.”
“I can’t!” she protests, and I fight the urge to cover my ears. She’s always so loud. “I didn’t drive.”
“Jesus Christ,” Asher says, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Go wait for me in my truck. I’ll take you home.” Whitley wastes no time, probably knowing that he’d rescind the offer if she pushed her luck.
“Which is it this time? You pick a fight with some random asshole, or is your dad drunk again?” Dash asks once we hear the car door slam shut.
“The latter.”
“Does he look like you?” He gestures to his bloody appearance.
A devious smirk lifts the corner of his lips. “Worse.”
“Good,” Dash says solemnly. He hates this just as much as I do. It’s the most helpless feeling in the world, standing by and watching something so awful happen to someone you care deeply for, and not being able to do a damn thing about it. As much as I hate the thought of him leaving, I feel so much relief in knowing that there’s now an end in sight. “Call me tomorrow. I gotta take a piss.”
The moment my brother is out the door, Asher’s guilt-ridden eyes dart over to mine. “This was a mistake.”
“Bullshit,” I argue, moving toward him.
“Don’t,” he says, backing away, and I die inside, just a little.
And before I can pick my stupid, naïve heart up off the floor and form a response, he’s gone.
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Charleigh Rose lives in Narnia with her husband and two young children. She’s hopelessly devoted to unconventional love and pizza. When she isn’t reading or mom-ing, she’s writing moody, broody, swoony romance.
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Bad Influence Page 23
