by Anna Paige
“Beck, either take this phone in there with you or turn the damn thing off. It’s getting on my nerves.”
“My hands are wet. You mind bringing it here?”
I blew out an annoyed breath and grabbed it off the table, pivoting toward the kitchen.
Don’t look at the screen.
Don’t look at the screen.
Shit, too late.
It was Ash calling. I swiped the screen to send the call to voicemail and when I did, the other notifications came up. Four missed calls from Ash among them. The most recent text was also visible in the notification screen and it, too, was from Ash.
Ash: Here at your parents’ place. My bag is on the porch. Guess you guys made other plans. Woulda been nice to get a heads-up, bro.
I hit the lock button and the screen went dark.
Why did I feel like shit when I pictured him standing on my parents’ front porch all alone, knocking on the door of an empty house?
What the hell was wrong with me?
I walked into the kitchen and set the phone on the counter, careful to keep it away from the spill zone, just in case. “It was Ash that time. I sent it to voicemail.”
Beck finished drying his hands on a kitchen towel and started pulling spices from the cabinet above the stove. “That’s fine. I’m too busy to deal with him right now anyway.”
“Deal with him in general or is there some problem between you two?”
“At the moment? Both. I’ve had just about as much drama as I can fucking stomach for a while, so he’s going on the back burner until I can be sure I won’t say or do something regrettable.”
“Why are you so angry with him? Is it that Marin girl? I know you used to have a crush on her back in school.”
He scooped up half a dozen spice jars and looked at me as he turned toward the counter. “I can’t believe you remember that. And here I thought I was so smooth about it.”
I snorted, reaching over to inspect the various spices as he sat them down. “You were hardly smooth. Every time you saw her, you did a double take. Once, I saw you almost run into an open locker door because you were staring so hard at her ass. If Ash hadn’t jerked you to a stop by your backpack strap, you would’ve totally humiliated yourself.”
“I don’t recall this alleged incident.”
“I do. But it’s okay. I mean, most of the guys at school reacted the same way to her. Except Ash, funnily enough. Guess it took a few years for the attraction to take hold.” I shrugged, picking at the label of the Thyme bottle in my hand. “Or he’s run out of new women to screw, so he’s reassessed his type to find a new crop of ladies.”
I realized a split second after I said it exactly how bitter I sounded.
Beck, for his part, didn’t seem to notice, but he was sporting a scowl of his own, so he might not have registered my cattiness. “Apparently.”
The phone buzzed again, just once, which meant a text. I didn’t pick it up and neither did Beck, but as soon as he had a free hand, he turned it completely off after a brief moment spent silently scrolling his notifications, his scowl still firmly in place.
He hadn’t specifically said Marin was the reason there was tension between him and Ash, but he hadn’t denied it either.
I mentally flashed to Ash standing on that porch again, and despite my anger at him, knowing he’d been left there not just by me but by his best friend in the world, I was sad for him.
Incredibly sad.
For us all.
Ashton
I sat there in my truck, phone in hand as I stared at the Martells’ front door, feeling angrier and more hurt than I’d ever fucking been.
When I pulled into the driveway and saw Beck’s truck gone, I halfway thought he’d just stepped out to get food or something, but part of me knew he’d never leave the girls alone. Not after all they’d been through.
Still, I’d jumped from my truck and headed for the door, fresh clothes and some important paperwork in hand, hoping against hope that she was there, that I could make her understand. She wasn’t there. No one was. And my bag was sitting beside the door, blocked from sight by a large planter so that no one could see it from the street.
Gee, that was nice of them.
Better than leaving it at the curb, I supposed.
I stood there for the longest time, letting the silence sink in, letting their message sink in.
They didn’t want me around. Left without a word, though they knew I was coming back.
How fucking lucky was I to have friends like them?
Eventually, I had returned to my truck, downtrodden and lost.
As much as I wanted to, I refused to call Blair. I didn’t want to speak to her until we were face to face.
Becker, on the other hand, needed to stop shutting me out long enough to at least let me know they were okay. That Blair was okay.
Where the fuck had they gone?
I was ready to put my fist through the dashboard when a text came through.
Not from Beck, but from Cody.
Cody: Damn, dude! Didn’t waste any time hittin’ that, huh? So much for not being available until tonight. Saw her car at your mom’s place earlier. Lucky fucker. I shoulda kept that number for myself.
Cody really needed a great big helping of shut the fuck up.
I almost told him as much but ended up deleting the reply altogether. Why bother? He’d been that way as long as I’d known him and no amount of chiding from me would change that.
He was just that guy who perpetually had his foot in his mouth.
Usually, it was funny, but today he’d seriously fucked me.
But he’d also managed to show me what my so-called friends were all about and how quick they were to drop my ass when I fucked up.
Not that I had actually fucked up, but they didn’t bother to ask that first, now did they?
I really didn’t see this coming, not from Blair and especially not from Becker. He’d been the only brother I’d ever had, seen all my mistakes and helped me work past them just like I helped him work past his. We’d seen and done shit that both of us would take to our graves, trusted each other when we couldn’t trust another goddamn soul on earth, but today, because of a stupid comment Cody made, today he decided to turn his back on me.
I hated to admit to myself just how much that hurt.
I mean, sure, I sort of got it. He knew about me and Blair, even if Blair was unaware I’d told him, so he was angry on her behalf. He’d chosen her because he’d always choose her. I respected that he put her first.
I just never thought we’d be in a situation where he had to choose her over me.
And even then, I would have thought there’d be at least a smidge of hesitation on his part.
If it appeared in any way, shape, or form that this was bothering him, I could find a little comfort in that.
Instead, I didn’t even get a damn text telling me I wasn’t welcome.
Silence.
All I got was fucking silence.
And it was deafening.
Blair
I lay in bed that night letting my mind wander, knowing any sleep I might get would be hard-won. There was too much to contemplate. The arraignment and Tommy, both of which ratcheted up my anxiety. Ash and Marin and what Cody said outside the courthouse, which pissed me off.
Images of Ash standing in my parents’ driveway, hurt and alone when he realized we’d fled without him, which made me immeasurably sad.
But under it all, the anger and sadness and fear, were the strongest images of them all.
Ash launching himself at Tommy on that beach, shouting that I was his, fighting to protect me.
Ash tucking me into his side and holding me all night when I’d let what happened with Tommy get to me. Not demanding, not asking for anything I wasn’t ready to give. Just comforting me and making sure I felt safe.
Those moments kept replaying in my mind, stirring emotions I wanted so badly to tamp down. Gratitude. Affection. Co
nfusion.
Desire.
I could almost feel the heat of him there beside me, the weight of his arm across my belly as he tucked me into his chest, the smell of his cologne as I turned and buried my face in his neck.
The feel of his arms around me, his lips on mine as we made out like horny teenagers at Phil’s cabin, sneaking in as much time as we possibly could before Becker returned. It had been hot, intense, amazing, even if it had all been based on lies.
Warmth pooled between my legs, an ache building there as my thoughts went from what had been to what could have been.
I imagined him slowly stroking my side as he whispered over and over that everything was okay, that he’d protect me no matter what because, like he said on the beach, I was his.
His thumb would graze the waistband of my shorts and after a few tentative sweeps, he would hook it under the elastic and begin sliding them down my legs, all the while holding my gaze to be sure he had my consent.
His breath would skitter over my cheek as he leaned down to whisper, “I want you so much, Blair. Tell me you want me, too. Please tell me you want this. Us.”
I would be too overcome with desire to speak, but in response, I would finish tugging the shorts off along with my panties. A clear answer if there ever was one.
By now, both my hands were under my blankets and my heart was hammering at the deliciously dirty images playing out in my head. This was the outlet I needed, even if I kind of hated myself for still having him in my fantasies.
I slipped my pajama shorts and panties down, just far enough to allow access but not all the way off, in case someone knocked on the door and interrupted me.
As the Ash in my fantasies explored my body with his hands, my own hands echoed the motions. When he carefully fondled my injured breasts, my own hands followed through. When he deftly parted my folds and ran one long finger through my hot, slick seam, my eager hand followed along.
When he inserted two fingers and began to slowly pump them in and out of me, gently grazing my nipple with his free hand, I did the same. Then he added a third finger and began to furiously fuck them in and out of me until I was breathless, grinding into his palm every time it slammed into my body.
I could feel his breath in my ear again, telling me how much he loved the way I felt around his fingers, how hard he was going to make me come.
He whispered that he knew I thought of him whenever I touched myself and it made him so hard thinking about it.
I was getting close, too close, and I wanted to enjoy this just a little while longer, so I slowed down, letting the tension of my building orgasm ebb just enough to keep me from toppling over the edge.
My fingers worked in and out of my body, my pinkie occasionally brushing my rear entrance and making my whole body heat.
The Ash in my mind nipped my ear and whispered low and smoldering, “Don’t you wonder if I ever stroke my cock while picturing your face?”
And I did wonder, though I supposed I would never know. After hearing what I had about him and Marin, these fantasies were likely to be all I’d ever have with him.
All he’d ever have with me.
He probably hated that he hadn’t gotten to fuck me before it all blew up in his face. He probably still wanted me even if he was angry that we’d ditched him, the same way a part of me still wanted him even though I was his backup plan.
So, I kept right on stroking and flattered myself by fantasizing that maybe he was doing exactly what I was doing now. Settling for the fantasy to forget about the hurt.
The Ash in my mind could soothe the pain the real Ash had inflicted.
Ash
I hated that she had done this to me.
I hated how quickly she’d made assumptions.
I hated the way she’d frozen me out, acting like I didn’t even exist when I tried to talk to her.
And more than anything, I hated that I was incapable of hating her.
Not only that but lying in bed that night stewing about the whole fucked up situation had gotten me angry as hell. And aroused.
There I was, well past midnight, my rigid cock in my tightened fist, stroking and squeezing as images of her played on in my mind. God, I was hard.
Incredibly hard at the thought of her pouty, indignant little mouth falling open as I thrust into her. The taste of her lips, her tongue spurring me on as I worked her over. The idea of her not only fully acknowledging me but wantonly panting my name over and over as I pounded her hard and fast, fucking away my anger and pain until we were reduced to two rutting animals.
Apologies would fall from her lips, pretty words meant to soothe the gaping wound she’d caused. But I wouldn’t be so easily swayed.
Determined, she would pull away and drop to her knees, taking me into her mouth, her own juices glistening on her lips as she sucked me deep and used her hot little mouth to apologize in a completely wordless way.
My fist stroked fast from base to tip, thumb rolled expertly over my exposed head like her tongue would no doubt do when she sucked my cock. If Fantasy Blair was all I’d ever have, I’d have her exactly how I fucking wanted.
My hips pumped upward, meeting the strokes of my hand while I pictured her there on her knees, fighting for breath as I fed her every inch of me over and over without mercy.
And she’d take it all, gripping my ass and pulling me impossibly deep, putting my pleasure above her own need for air until I thought she might pass out.
Not wanting her to go overboard—and because I’d much rather come in her hot, tight pussy—I would lie back on the bed and pull her body on top of mine until she straddled me. Once there, I would thrust up into her every movement, fucking her from below even as she threw her head back and rode me as fast and hard as I’d ever experienced.
She’d be so tight, so hot, and so goddamned wet that I would have to fight like hell not to blow my load within minutes. No, wouldn’t want that. This would be a moment to savor and I flat out refused to be robbed of it after all these months and years of waiting.
The sounds she would make . . . my God, the sounds. Little gasps when my hips came up in a particularly sharp thrust, my tip slamming deep enough to touch that line between pleasure and pain. She would moan when she ground herself into me, circling her hips over and over as I gripped her waist hard enough to bruise. And when I finally couldn’t take another minute, when I flipped her onto her belly and slammed into her from behind, my fist wrapped in her hair, she would call my name over and over as I circled her swollen clit with my fingers, refusing to come until she was coming with me.
My hand was slick with pre-cum as I stroked and stroked, recalling the scent of her perfume and the heat of her body against me in bed as I held her. The way strands of her hair would cling to the stubble on my cheek and how it smelled of sandalwood and vanilla.
All of those things felt just as real as the hand currently seconds from bringing me to orgasm.
I’d had her next to me in bed, which was a new memory, a new layer of realism to add to the fantasy, and it made it so much better than it had been before. I’d thought of her this way for longer than I could remember, but tonight it was different, it was more somehow.
I’d held her. I’d tasted her hot little mouth. And because of that, the fantasy was that much more real.
Which was better and worse in equal amounts. Better because I knew how she’d feel there beside me, worse because I knew how little faith she had in me and that stung more than I cared to admit.
Shaking off the thought, I stroked even harder, my grip bordering on painful as I wondered for probably the millionth time if she ever pleasured herself while thinking of me.
Did sleeping in the bed with me the other night mean anything to her at all?
Did the idea of my body beside hers make her wet? Turn her on as much as it turned me on?
Would we ever get any further than this right here?
Than memories and wishes and pretending?
As my org
asm began to build low in my spine, I told myself she would think of me next to her and it would turn her on, that somewhere right now, those little, pink polished fingers were deep in her pussy while my face was at the forefront of her mind.
That thought more than any other, spurred me toward orgasm.
Blair
The fantasy shifted and it was no longer him and me together, it was me quietly watching as he stroked himself in his bed, head thrown back as his hand pumped furiously under the covers. There were tiny beads of sweat on his forehead and he panted slightly as he worked himself over.
His hips pumped up, meeting his hand halfway, the most filthy, delicious slapping sounds coming from under the blanket.
Getting overheated, he would throw back the covers, exposing himself to the cool air in the darkened bedroom without ever slowing his strokes.
My mouth fell open at the image my mind conjured, of him so furiously pumping himself, his impressive length getting slicker and slicker with the accumulating beads of pre-cum.
I was getting close, too close to stop. My fingers plunged deeper, harder than before.
Ashton
There she’d be on her bed, those skimpy little pajama shorts dangling from one ankle along with her panties, her hand working hard between her spread legs, giving me an incredible view of her fingers as they plunged into her pussy.
She would bite her lip to keep from moaning, aware she wasn’t alone in the apartment as she fucked herself and pretended it was me.
Spreading even wider, she would plunge two manicured fingers into herself, working them deep and crooking them to catch that sweet spot I was dying to seek out with my tongue. Her little finger would nudge her asshole over and over until, nearing orgasm, she finally slid it inside and ground herself against it, her free hand tugging her nipple hard enough to make her nearly cry out.
