Smoldered

by Rachel Blaufeld

  Beck leaned in real close, too close, raising his voice a tiny bit, making sure I could hear him. “I said, that night was fucking insane. You, Natalie, and Shayla were high as kites—at least you and Shay were—and you all disappeared in the back room for two hours. The party raged on without you guys, but seriously, you weren’t quiet, and we all got a good idea of what was happening. That’s why I said it’s too bad you don’t remember. Must have been one hell of a good time.”

  I just stared at the man, unable to take my eyes off him, bearing down on him with my evil gaze, begging him to tell the truth—not some bullshit story. Because that did not happen.

  I started running my hand through my hair, over and over, and said, “Dude, seriously, don’t make shit up about me. I don’t particularly like it. Fucking hate it.”

  The guy was a flat-out liar.

  Beck held up his hand like he was taking an oath. “I swear, my man, I’m not. I almost blew a wad in my pants listening to you guys. Afterward you came out with just Shay—danced for a while, grinding all up on her, tossing back some more booze before Lee drove you home.”

  “You’re bullshitting me. I was not with Natalie back then. She was just a kid. I fucking knew her my whole life, and she was practically a baby at that party. I think it was you, and you’re feeling guilty.”

  There. Now I was finally getting to the point of why I was hanging out with the prick. How dare he try to place blame on me when it was all his doing? I didn’t care that I was already buzzed, I flicked my hand in the air, grabbing Louie’s attention.

  Beck shook his head emphatically. “Nope. No way it was me. I wouldn’t have the balls to be with one of those girls, let alone both at the same time. Plus, Natalie never came back out of the bedroom, so when you left, I headed back there and found her curled in the corner crying. At first I was pissed off, worried she might have been forced to do something, but she quickly set me straight. After insisting that the whole thing was consensual, all she did was rock back and forth, crying, holding her stomach until she fell asleep on the floor in my arms. When I woke up in the morning, she was gone.” He shook his head again, frowning regretfully. “That was the last time I ever saw Natalie. She turned nineteen that night, and I got to hold her in my arms. Too bad she was a sobbing mess.”

  When he crossed his arms over his puny chest, I wanted to break the fucker in half. Why was he getting pissy with me? This was the first I’d heard about this obvious crock of shit. The first time I slept with Natalie was in my office on the couch. Not in the back room of some party with that skank Shayla and a bunch of voyeurs listening in. No fucking way.

  “That’s crap, Beck. You sure you never slept with Natalie? You know she has a kid?” Pissed off and determined to get Beck to admit the truth, I barely noticed that Mike had sidled up, apparently ready to rejoin our little group.

  Beck’s eyes grew huge. “A kid? You’re shitting me? When?”

  I pointed my finger at the little prick. “I thought it was you, but you’re saying you never slept with the girl? You always liked her, followed her around.”

  “Well, yeah, I liked her, but she never returned the feelings. In fact, the closest I ever got to her was the night she cried in my lap after sleeping with you…and Shayla. Who’s the asshole now?”

  Itching for a fight, I rose from my seat, ready to pounce on Beck. I jumped, surprised when Mike put one of his huge hands on my shoulder and forced me back down.

  I shrugged Mike’s hand off and leaned forward, pinning Beck with a glare that should have scared the shit out of him. Slowly, I gritted out, “What. Are. You. Saying?”

  Beck narrowed his eyes. “I’m saying you screwed both Natalie and Shay while the whole party listened in on your coked-out, drunk ass pounding the two of them. Then you left Nat a crying mess.” Then he stood and turned to leave with the upper hand in his back pocket. “I’m out of here. You were always a jackass, Asher. I thought maybe you’d changed, but you haven’t.”

  I didn’t respond. Cradling my head into my hands as I leaned on the bar, I tried to think through my scotch-induced haze. Mike’s hand landed on my shoulder again, and I looked up. “What the fuck, Mike? Did you hear what that jerk just accused me of?”

  “Yeah, I did.” He took the seat Beck had vacated and said, “I think you gotta let it go. He doesn’t know shit and you need to move on. This is a crazy wild-goose chase, Ash, and Natalie is gone. Move on. You can’t dwell on shit that happened a decade ago.” He held up two fingers to Louie, signaling for two more of what I was having.

  “Move on?” I shouted, not giving a shit that we were in public. I ground my teeth, leaning into his face as I spat out, “Did. You. Hear. What. He. Said? Beck Hadley didn’t have sex with Natalie. I did. Ten years ago, I had a threesome with Natalie and a skank we grew up with. And I was apparently too coked up to remember.”

  Mike suddenly became fascinated with his phone on the bar, spinning it around, not daring to make eye contact. So I ignored him, knocking back another single-malt scotch before throwing a wad of cash on the bar to cover the tab.

  Standing up, I said, “Mike, get me back to the Tunnel. Set up a limo to the airport, and get me a flight to Miami now.”

  Lifting my phone to my ear as I walked out of the club, I said, “Hey, Carson. Sorry, man, but I need you to get a hold of your detective friend right away. I’m on my way to Miami. I know who the father of Natalie’s baby is…”

  I’ll Take What’s Behind Door #3

  Natalie

  Miami

  WHEN I heard Asher’s voice addressing me by that stupid pet name, I laid my palm flat against the wooden door, the burning connection between us running up my arm and coursing its way through my body. And I hadn’t even opened the door.

  Breathing had completely ceased for me as I tried to figure out what to do with the dumbstruck man standing behind me—and the obviously irate one on the other side of the door. Was there a third option?

  Words bubbled up in my throat, but I was having trouble putting them together into something understandable. George approached me and the door, which quickly snapped me back to reality. As he was about to speak, I held up my hand and shook my head while mouthing no. Hearing a man on the other side of the door would only inflame Asher more.

  Gathering myself, I closed my eyes, leaned against the cool wood, and said, “Shhh. Asher, step back. I’m coming out.”

  Opening the door a crack, I slipped out into the muggy Florida night and took in a disheveled Asher slumped down next to my door, sitting on the concrete with his head between his legs.

  “Ash? What are you doing here?” I whispered, closing the door behind me.

  He held his head up, and I expected him to shine his silver eyes on me. But tonight they were a deep smoky-gray rather than the silver orbs that normally smoldered for me. Dark and full of animosity, they were like storm clouds threatening an angry, ominous rain. And they were narrowly focused on me.

  I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Isn’t this familiar?” he said. “You sneaking out in the middle of the night to sit with me outside? Keeping me away from what’s mine.”

  I slid down the door and crouched on the damp concrete floor next to him, the hem of my dress riding up, making it impossible for me to sit comfortably unless I straightened my legs out in front of me. My hand reached out of its own volition and stroked his shoulder until he flinched and moved away. Deciding to play dumb, I said, “I don’t know what you mean.”

  How did he know about the man on the other side?

  Asher combed through his ratty hair, reeking of the booze that seeped from his pores, making it clear that it had been some time since he showered, but not since he drank. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, something I hadn’t seen him do in over a decade. My mind flashed back to a brooding Asher as a teen, sitting on the steps to his house having a smoke, and I smiled.

  “What’s so fucking funny, Natalie? Why are
we sitting on the damn concrete when we could be inside your place? You don’t want me to come in and see…who?”

  He inhaled as he lit his cigarette, the ember crackling and burning brightly as he drew air through it. Impatient, he flicked at the cigarette with a finger, prematurely trying to dislodge ash that hadn’t formed yet, a nervous tic of his I’d forgotten. When I didn’t respond right away, he glanced at me, the cigarette’s glow reflecting in his tortured eyes.

  Looking away, I sighed. “I’m on a date, Ash.”

  He didn’t say a word, just continued to puff away. Why this information didn’t set him off, I had no clue.

  I ran a hand down my thigh, smoothing my dress. “Nothing’s funny. I was actually thinking back to the last time I saw you smoke. God, we were kids. You always broke all the rules.”

  He stubbed out the cigarette and turned toward me so fast, I thought he might get whiplash. His scotch-flavored breath hit me as he opened his mouth to yell, “ME? I broke all the rules? What about the night you had a threesome with me and Shayla? How many rules did you break that night?”

  My mouth dropped open. Shit. He found Beck.

  Asher glared at me, then stood and paced the small hallway balcony outside my apartment like a panther stalking its prey. I was unable to move despite the fact I was the prey being hunted.

  “That’s right, Nat. I just learned you never slept with Beck fucking Hadley. In fact, he claims to have consoled you after a drug-induced orgy between you, me, and Shayla at your birthday party ten years ago. A threesome I don’t remember, which clearly you must have figured out by now, but you certainly have the evidence that it did actually happen. So, yeah, I want to know who or what you’re hiding on the other side of that door. And I couldn’t care less if you’re on a date. I’m not talking about him. I’m talking about our son.”

  “Asher. That’s not exactly what happened.” I stood up and walked toward the half-crazed man.

  “Oh yeah? Stop, Natalie. Where’s the kid? Let me have a look at him. You’ve certainly done a bang-up job of keeping him from me. I’ve never even laid eyes on him, and he’s mine.” Asher stood tall, towering over me, a huge hunk of muscle, his eyes smoking clouds of fury, but I wasn’t scared.

  Fear wasn’t driving me as I shouted, “Enough!” Warm, salty tears ran down my face, a complete contradiction to the fury that shook me.

  At the sound of my raised voice, George decided to make an appearance. I didn’t know whether I loathed him for waiting this long or hated him for coming outside at all, but it didn’t matter because at the sight of him, Asher yelled, “Get the hell out of here! You have no business here, and unless you want me to physically remove you from the property, I’d move pretty fucking fast.” He whipped his arm toward the stairwell, and that was exactly what George did. He moved as fast as his loafers would let him.

  Now that my date was gone, leaving the door fully open in his haste, Asher rushed past me and into the apartment. Following behind him, I breathed in, taking in the unpleasant aroma that accompanied Asher. Even with him reeking to high heaven of alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat, I wanted him.

  Now isn’t the time for dirty thoughts like that.

  He didn’t know it, but I wasn’t arguing with his current trek, heading down the short hallway toward the other rooms, because Quinn wasn’t there. When Asher got to the first room, he flung the door open, nearly throwing it off the frame. Noting it was not the one he was looking for, but rather mine, Asher seemed to stop and take stock of the time of night. He stood tall, looked at his watch, and sighed, obviously realizing a young kid would be sleeping at this time of night, before gently opening the second bedroom door and peeking inside.

  Turning on his heel, he yelled, “What the fuck? Where’s the kid, Nat?”

  “Not here,” I whispered.

  “What did you do with him? Where the hell is Quinn? This is not freaking funny. Don’t be playing me, Nat. Did Mike and Lynx warn you I was coming? Let me see my fucking son.” He raged at me, his veins bulging.

  Mike? Lynx? I didn’t have time to think on how those two were even connected to all this. Asher was about to erupt like a volcano, bubbling over with words spewing from his mouth I knew he would regret later.

  “He’s sleeping at my sitter’s house. I was on a date, that’s it. I’m not playing you.” I turned and walked to the kitchen.

  Time to surrender.

  Asher followed, hot on my heels, just as I expected.

  I walked straight to the fridge and pulled off the single picture laminated to a magnet. As I turned around, I ran smack into a hard, sweat-soaked chest and looked up to see a face of pure agony. The wavy blond hair I loved so much fell limp and lifeless in his eyes, much like I felt.

  Limp. Defeated.

  I handed Asher the picture and was surprised to see a single tear roll down his cheek.

  Fully knowing why, I watched in silence. Stepping back, I leaned against the coolness of the fridge and looked on as the man in front of me took in a pair of silver-gray eyes identical to his—staring back at him from the photo. Those eyes, a constant reminder of that naive and reckless night a decade ago, were set in olive skin and framed by thick blond waves. Quinn had been begging for a buzz cut in the Florida heat, but I couldn’t bring myself to allow him to shave off the golden waves. They were one of the last threads linking me to the man I’d loved for nearly my whole life.

  Asher ran a finger lightly over the boy in the picture, tracing his profile with his finger, not looking up for a long time. How long, I wasn’t exactly sure; I couldn’t mark time or think about the future. It was difficult enough just to breathe as my emotions overwhelmed me, wrapping tightly around my chest and preventing me from drawing air.

  When the man, the one who was my one, finally did look up, he set the picture reverently down on the counter and said nothing. Closing the distance between us, he lifted his hands and in one sharp tug ripped my kimono dress straight down the middle. As the silk fluttered to the floor, I was left in nothing but the emerald-green lingerie I’d bought for George.

  George who?

  Asher, now a stinking holy mess, lifted me, and instinctively my legs wrapped around his middle, my thighs gripping him for dear life. His mouth came down on mine, hard, rough, frenzied. Feeling his tongue dip inside my mouth and catch mine, I couldn’t stop myself from pushing my heated core toward his erection, looking for the right amount of friction.

  He ripped his mouth away and said, “Natalie. I have a son. We made a baby, and he’s gorgeous. And, Christ, I’m so mad at you. How could you keep this from me? But I can’t even think straight now that I got you in my arms. Fuck, I need to be inside you. Deep inside, punishing you––it’s been a long time. But oh God, its gonna be fucking amazing ’cause you’re the mother of my son.”

  There was no need to answer; the wetness seeping from my panties and soaking his jeans spoke volumes.

  Unable to respond, I felt my body being lifted and carried toward the bedroom. Now, like earlier with George, I was the one watching from the outside as my life played out in front of me. I sank into the mattress in the darkness, the only illumination a bit of moonlight that streamed through the open window, framing Asher’s gorgeous silhouette. I reached up and grabbed his neck, drawing him to me. After rubbing my face like a cat along his rough goatee, I ran my tongue along his lips.

  He only allowed me a few seconds of control before he took over again, pulling my breasts out of my bra, ripping the straps in order to free them completely. Sucking one nipple while pinching the other, he explored my new piercings. “Doll, these are new. Jesus, I thought your tits were perfect before, but now they’re fucking heaven,” Asher said while dragging in a breath, his voice coming out raspy.

  All words having escaped me, I moaned.

  Our movements were rushed and urgent, a fine mixture of agony, pain, suffering, and unadulterated joy lay beneath both our actions. It wasn’t time to analyze, though, as Asher made his way
down my body, his tongue setting it afire before dipping into my folds. I felt his finger glide inside me, dipping deep and then pulling back, finding my spot, the nerve, tweaking it hard, making my body reach for the stars.

  His tongue flicked my tiny bundle of nerves, swept across it lightly, and with just a few passes, I was sailing through the sky, screaming Asher’s name before riding the aftershocks of the first orgasm I’d had in months that hadn’t been self-induced.

  Raising my leg, bending my knee, I used my foot to snag the top of his jeans, signaling I wanted them off—fast. He quickly stood and pushed them down, his dick immediately springing forward. Commando. Asher was not a man of many layers, at least when it came to clothing.

  I didn’t have to tell Asher to open the nightstand drawer. He did, and pulled out a condom. Within a matter of seconds, he was inside me, fully stretching me, gliding in and out at a slow, leisurely pace. My body heated again and I could feel myself clenching around his length. I was going to go off like a rocket in no time.

  Picking up the pace, he started to punish me as he’d promised with his cock. He took over my body, his hands coming under my ass and lifting my hips so he could go deeper, harder, faster. Sweat dripped from his brow into my cleavage and ran down my stomach, pooling in my belly button. It should have been gross, but it was so pure and natural, I couldn’t help but be turned on even more.

  I reached my hand down, touching our connection, coating his dick in my moisture, rubbing my clit, and within moments, I shattered. As I came, I let my hands go around and squeeze Asher’s ass, my head falling backward into the pillow as I let out one more hoarse cry.

  He flipped me over, dragged me up onto all fours, and continued to drive into me with no mercy, passion filling each slap of our bodies, marking what he believed to be his in the most primitive way.

  After he pulsed inside me, plunging as deep as he could, leaving nothing for later, he fell down on top of me, bracing some of his weight on one elbow.

  He turned me over once again, this time gentler, less hurried. We met face to face, skin to skin, our gazes wholly focused on each other. There were no words, just looks and expressions, weighted and heavy with meaning.