“Then we’ll create a way,” Amara said. She glanced at the Burnson home in her rearview mirror, and thought she saw the movement in the curtains of Asher’s bedroom window. “Frankly, I’m sick of being myself too.”
Chapter 12: Sidekick and Housewife
When Rose heard about the day’s events she had grabbed Thornton by the ear and yanked him out of bed. "I don't care how badly hurt you are!" she had said, wagging a finger at him sternly. "You're not getting to skip work because of it."
Now Thornton stared at the paperwork before him, his head throbbing painfully and his eyesight blurred. It wasn't so much the physical pain as the humiliation of defeat which dizzied him—and not just the physical defeat.
Where is that damned stapler? Thornton was throwing open every one of the drawers in his desk and rummaging madly through them. When he found the stapler, he realized that he did not have all the files he required. Cursing, he stood up and walked over to his filing cabinet and began to rummage wildly. His fingers touched an object which made him pause. A deep frown transformed his features.
His desk phone rang and snapped him out of his stupor. He moved over to the desk in an instant and jammed his finger down on the phone, causing the plastic to crack.
“Thornton Kalgren speaking.”
"Hey, man. Have you set up your date with the sexy doctor yet?"
“Date? She hates me and tried to kill me, why would she date me again?”
“Kill…?” Asher’s familiar voice was confused. “I'm not talking about Pax. I meant Medea.”
"Oh. No, I haven't."
"Great! Well, I hope you don't mind if I go first."
"Go ahead."
"By the way, bro… what did you do to my niece? I saw her naked earlier and she was bruised from head to toe."
"Why the hell were you looking at her when she was naked?"
“Relax… whoa, what are you, jealous? It was an accident; I just walked in on her like that. Oh, Amara was there too.”
"Was she naked as well?" asked Thornton in confusion. “Er… is there something between the girls? Is that why Pax won’t give me the time of day? Are they experimenting with being lesbians? Because that won’t last.”
“What! No. Amara had her clothes on. Lesbians? You're kidding right?”
"Well, they are practically living together these days…"
There was an awkward silence on the line.
“Anyway," said Asher, clearing his throat, “about Medea. I'm thinking of taking her to the beach. She said she likes beaches when I asked her about her fantasies, so I figured why not? Plus I'll get to see her in a bikini.”
“Good plan. Better than what I had in mind.”
“I know. So I just wanted to warn you, she is probably going to fall madly in love and lust with me and not even bother going out with you.”
Thornton frowned, rubbing his aching brows with his thumb and forefinger. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I’m not that great with women.”
“Huh? You were all gung-ho for this little tournament yesterday. Where’d your competitive spirit go?”
“I think I left it in Antarctica.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Never mind. Yeah, Ash. I'll take her on a date too, and we'll see who she chooses. I'll do my best to impress her.”
"Cheer up, bro! It'll be fun. Just like old times. We'll even make a bet out of it."
"Yeah. Sure."
* * *
Asher stood barefoot in the sand, gazing out at the horizon as his music player pumped lyrics into his ears. His date was late, but he didn’t really notice. His mind was elsewhere. He kept glancing to the north, his eyes following the gently curving shoreline. His mind continued to follow the shore far beyond the point where it disappeared from view. He saw the great cliffs which would swell the landscape in about fifty miles, he saw the aerial view of well-maintained gardens and forest, and he saw the scattering of unique, breathtaking mansions. He swallowed back a lump in his throat as a memory came rushing back to him, provoked by the tune serenading him from his earphones.
He held an information brochure and was scanning through the pictures casually while following her through the massive rooms.
She turned to him, pale blue eyes alight with excitement. "What do you think, Ash?"
A few weeks before she had signed a solid contract for her first invention, and even though she had made the deal under Kalgren Tech, she had dealt with every aspect of it herself. As all patents were in her name, she had received a juicy check and would continue to receive numerous papers with impressive numbers on them.
"Well, it's a lovely home. In a lovely neighborhood," said Asher, slipping his arm around Amara's waist and looking at the real estate agent squarely, "but are there schools nearby? My fiancée and I want to have children. Soon."
"Ah… I think so, sir," said the real estate agent as he nervously searched the map.
Beside him, Amara had buried her face into Asher’s shoulder to conceal her giggles at his playful lying. Whenever she reacted like this, it just egged him on. He couldn't help continuing.
"Well, it's important. We're going to start working on it as soon as we buy the house, so I need to know if this is going to be the right neighborhood in which to raise our… eight kids once they're born. We might have one in the oven already, right sweetie?"
Asher affectionately patted Amara's stomach and she promptly paled, then blushed, and then began to cough violently to conceal her laughter. She snaked her fingers around Asher and pinched his butt hard to let him know that he was going too far. His ridiculous joke would probably be in the news the next morning with the way gossip spread about the Kalgrens.
The poor real estate agent had dropped his glasses on the countertop in surprise and was now fumbling for them madly. He had been showing Amara and Asher around for most of the day and Asher had been doing his best to make him as uncomfortable as possible.
The two had enjoyed pretending to be a couple long before they had actually considered the idea of being together. Asher would defend Amara from the gold-digging, lecherous hounds that seemed to be stalking her at every corner by assuming the role of the big strong boyfriend. Perhaps it had been their play-acting which had led so easily into reality. Now they were play-acting that they were married or engaged whenever they went out shopping or anywhere they could make a silly spectacle. Would they someday turn that into reality too?
"Can you just give me a few minutes to look at it again?" Amara had asked the realtor.
"Of course, Miss Kalgren! Take as long as you'd like. I'll be out in the car."
Amara had walked from room to room as if in a daze. She appraised the crown moldings on the ceilings and ran her fingers over the dark marble countertops. She glanced out at the ocean view from each room. She stood over the bathroom sinks and tried to imagine herself brushing her teeth, applying makeup, and generally living in the home. It was a huge step. She had never lived away from her parents, and wasn't even really sure that she wanted to. Although she loved the idea of owning property and being independent, she loved Vincent and Rose far too much to leave them. Asher followed her, as usual, hypnotized by the sway of her hips. Whenever she'd stop to review an aspect of the home or to mumble pros and cons to herself, he couldn't resist the opportunity to touch her hair and caress her back while she was distracted.
Eventually she found herself in the bedroom, walking around in circles with her hands on her hips and trying to imagine what the room would look like with furniture. “What do you think, Ash?” she asked in a hesitant voice. “Is this me? If I lived here would you come and visit me sometimes?”
“I’m not sure," he had answered mischievously, approaching her. “Let’s feel out the vibe of this place.”
“Ash!” she’d protested, laughing as he advanced to hastily smash his lips against hers. He lifted her against him and pulled her legs up around him, making her red skirt ride up as he pushed her back against the glass panel w
hich made up the bedroom wall.
“Someone could see!” she’d protested pulling her mouth from his and glancing over her shoulder. There were a few boats out on the water, and anyone with decent eyesight or binoculars would have had a spectacular view of her bare bottom pressed up against the glass.
“Then let’s give them something to talk about,” he’d said, holding her up against the glass with one hand and fumbling to open his zipper with the other. He moved quickly, and using one finger he yanked her thong down and ripped it off her.
She'd inhaled sharply as he positioned himself at her entrance, raking his swollen member back and forth along her flesh. “Ash…” She hadn't been expecting it, and her body hadn't been fully ready—but when Asher was this close, her blood intuitively began pumping to all the right areas. Her insides grew moist and ready for him almost instantaneously. She gasped as he entered her, closing her eyes and clinging to his shoulders for dear life. He felt too large at first, but her body had quickly adjusted and welcomed him. He’d thrust his full length in and out of her quickly, forcing her body to slam again and again into the cool glass.
Just when he felt her body shuddering and approaching orgasm, he stopped, holding her close and kissing her deeply. “Let’s see… where will you put the bed?”
“You dork,” she mumbled, entangling her fingers in his dark hair.
He carried her, with her legs still wrapped around him, over to the floor in the center of the room. He laid her down gently before picking up where he’d left off. With her blonde curls spilled out all around her, Amara moaned, her back arching off the ground as she became lost in bliss. Her fingers dug into Asher’s neck and shoulders as she braced herself against the pain and pleasure of his glorious lovemaking.
He loved the way that her body shook in his arms when she had an orgasm, and he loved the way she screamed his name. He waited until he felt her release, the tension in her body dissipating into softness, before he allowed his own seed to gush out inside of her. Panting, he held her close for a few moments. He kissed her temple lovingly.
“Guess the house didn’t shake too badly. I approve.”
“I like it,” said Amara, breathlessly. “I really like it. The house, I mean.”
“Will you let me stay here with you sometimes, Mara?” he'd asked, suddenly shy as he stood up and helped her off the ground. He fixed her disheveled clothing, tugging her skirt back down into place before zipping himself back up.
“Of course,” she’d said, looking away to conceal her flushed cheeks. “Isn't that why you came along with me? Because it's important that you like it too… since you’ll be staying with me sometimes.”
"I thought I came along to see if the walls could handle my powerful thrusting."
"You goof!” she'd scolded him, laughing as she picked up her ripped thong from the floor and shoved it into her purse for safekeeping. It was designer—she’d sew it back together later.
"I don't know why you bother wearing underwear at all," he'd said grinning.
"And I don't understand why you don't!" she'd countered before turning around to glance at the room once more. “That might have been slightly better with a bed.”
“Doubtful,” he said.
Could I really live here? She asked him telepathically. Asher approached and hugged her from behind, kissing her neck and gently swaying her from side to side.
Can you imagine me making love to you here a thousand more times? He asked her in return.
“Only a thousand!” she had complained. “I would have thought the son of a demigod had more mileage left in him.”
“I do. I'll make love to you all day, every day, until I can't get it up any longer. Or until it falls off.”
“That's better.” Amara said with a wink. She took a deep breath. “Okay! Let's go purchase this thing.”
As the song on his music player finished, Asher’s memory faded and he was summoned back to reality by the waves lapping at his toes. Just how many hundreds of spoken and unspoken promises have I broken? Asher remembered waking up with a clammy layer of sweat gluing his skin to Amara’s in the summer. He remembered the soft fabric of her warm nightgown in the winter, and her small arms draped across his chest. He hadn’t known it would be so difficult, so insanely difficult, to sleep alone again. He had taken her proximity and her love for granted. He had not even realized how deeply he’d grown connected to her, and he felt like a fool and a failure needing to live at home with his mother again.
Although Asher loved his mother, Amelia’s company did not compare to the casual freedom he had experienced with Amara. He felt lost without her. The number one oversight he had made was underestimating the value of Amara’s friendship. The young woman seemed to have been born under a lucky star, and while he was near her he could feel the glow of the spotlight. Now that there was distance between them, Asher could admit to himself that it wasn’t just her name and heritage that made her special. Amara Kalgren would have been the same intelligent, successful woman whether she had been born a Kalgren or not. Asher wondered if he could say the same for her older brother.
As another tune began to play, another melancholy rock ballad, more memories returned to Asher with an unwelcome intensity. He saw his good friend, Thornton. An angry, extremely pissed off Thornton who sat with his head in his hands in his ransacked, blown-up office.
“Are you mad, Ash? I am not going to apologize! How can that little bitch not trust me? Fuck her! Do you hear me, man? Fuck her! I don't give a rat's ass if I was wrong. I don't give a flying fuck if this ruins everything!"
“For Sakra's sake, calm down… she saw what she saw and overreacted. Are you telling me you wouldn't have gone nuts if you'd seen her with another man? Seriously, Thorn, get it together. You love Pax, and this isn't you."
"No! Obviously I don't love her or I wouldn’t have done this. Who the fuck are you to tell me who I am?” Blue fire seemed to be flashing in Thornton’s eyes, but there was also desperation. “I'm not a fucking pussy-whipped weakling like you! If Mara snapped her fingers you'd go running like a fucking golden retriever, wouldn't you?" Thornton whistled and patted his lap, "Here boy! Come get it, Ash. Sex and food! That's all it takes to control a pussy like you."
Asher visibly flinched. “You're way out of line, man… what's wrong with you?"
“What's wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you! I'm a descendant of the royal deva bloodline and I'll be damned to hell if some woman is going to fuck with my head like this! Control me like this.”
“Thorn…”
“Here!” Thornton used his foot to sift through the embers of what had been his desk. Finding a small, singed velvet box, he chucked it at his friend. "If you want to play these stupid women's games, you go and do it. Take the damned ring and go propose to my sister. Sakra knows I don't need that thing anymore. You go and be a pussy. I'm done."
Thornton had stormed out of the office, and for some reason, Asher did not feel angry at his friend. He felt mostly sad and guilty. He felt as though he’d done something wrong. Asher looked at the small charred box between his thumb and forefinger which Thornton had so rudely flung at his head. Dusting off some cinders, he opened the box and peeked inside at the brilliant diamond. How he would have loved to give something like this to Amara! His eyes immediately narrowed and he closed the box. No. She deserved more than a castaway ring originally intended for his niece. She deserved a ring chosen specially, specifically for her.
She was a Kalgren. She was the princess of devas, and she deserved a ring fit to grace the hand of a princess. Asher was just a poor boy from the forest, living in Amara's magnificent house. He had nothing to give. He could never afford a ring like this! Growing increasingly depressed, he wondered how much had Thornton spent on the piece. Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? Or possibly even millions, knowing how Thornton liked to go all out. Asher gulped. He knew he'd never be able to afford that much. He couldn’t afford anything, and had no ambition to do
so… Amara deserved someone who could. Someone who gave back at least as much as he took.
Asher felt the weight of his friend's ever-present shadow on him as he stared at the scorched box. He felt helpless. Thornton had always been better than Asher in every way. He'd flaunted his one year of additional age, his greater strength, his endless amount of money, and the fact that he could have any woman he wanted. When Asher had been younger, it hadn't bothered him much. While his father had been alive, he had been too good-natured to notice his friend’s competitive condescension. As he'd grown older, he'd found that it did get under his skin more than he'd ever admit to anyone. More than anything, he just wanted Thornton’s respect. As time progressed, he felt uncomfortable playing sidekick to an impressive alpha male; he wanted to be a man who could stand on his own feet, but somehow this could never be. Every time he tried, he seemed to land flat on his ass—humiliated and belittled. And now, in this moment of brutal, honest anger, Thornton had revealed that he considered Asher to be the lowest possible form of man. The blonde businessman saw him as a "pussy-whipped weakling." Was he really so worthless?
Sitting for a moment and fingering the box, Asher considered the past few years. What had he done to deserve his friend’s condescension? The answer was simple: nothing. He had done nothing, and accomplished nothing. He had devoted himself to making Amara happy, and he had found a simple kind of happiness in just being with her. He didn’t know how to do more—although he had inherited divine powers, he had not inherited the empire to go with them. Asher had become something of a house-husband, supporting the brilliant young scientist as she tried to bring life to the mechanisms she envisioned in her mind’s eye. He had been obsessed with her imagination and dedication to her job, and enraptured by the playful passion with which she loved him. Life had been perfect.
But now he saw that he had trapped himself in playing second fiddle to yet another Kalgren sibling. He was 37 years old, and little more than a housewife for Amara. Meanwhile, he was sidekick to her brother—the man he had always considered his own brother, and the man who would someday legally become his brother. Unless he stopped it. Asher clenched the box tightly in his hand, feeling it heat up as his passion spread out of his fingers in the form of prana. He did not wear gloves like his niece, because his father had taught him to have much more control than the young girl possessed. He was supposed to teach his niece all he knew! Asher looked around at the destruction Pax had caused, and felt guilty for neglecting the poor young woman who was his actual blood relative. His actual older brother’s daughter, whom he should have been protecting from harm. He should have been protecting Pax from herself.
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