by Kreig, K. L.
“Right, because your type is five foot seven, curvy, and redheaded.”
Conn’s playfulness suddenly evaporates and his jaw ticks with anger. It was a low blow to bring up Nora, but I’m feeling pretty fucking low at the moment. I need to drag someone down into the bowels of the gutter with me.
I think we’ve made it clear I’m a jackass sometimes.
“Sorry,” I mumble. Conn likes to hear about Nora just about as much as I like him to bring up Natalie.
He simply nods and his anger vanishes. That’s probably the thing I admire most about him. He bounces back like a rubber ball and has the biggest capacity to forgive of anyone I’ve ever known outside of our mother. That, and his ability to detach himself emotionally from a situation, evaluating it thoughtfully from all angles. I jump to the worst possible conclusion while Conn sees the best in people until proven otherwise.
“What has she done to get you so twisted? You’re acting like a goddamn lunatic.”
I sigh, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “She hasn’t done a damn thing. It’s all me. Men flock to her like flies on shit and I can’t stand it. I’m irrationally jealous, like on the verge of spending the next ten to twenty in cell block ten of the Illinois State Pen for attempted murder.”
Conn takes the chair across from me. “Jesus, you’re in love with her,” he says incredulously.
I laugh, because it feels like so much more than love. I suddenly wonder if I ever loved Natalie at all. The feelings I have for Alyse are so different, so intense, so consuming, they almost border on obsession. And the thought of losing her to someone else makes me fucking homicidal.
“I am,” I sigh, scrubbing my hand over my face.
“How does she feel?”
God, I wish I knew. “Not sure, but after today, she may never talk to me again. I fucked up big time.”
“What’d you do?”
I stand and pour myself another whiskey in a fresh glass, taking a healthy gulp before answering. “I walked in on my director of finance with his hands all over her, just seconds away from kissing her. Jesus, I could see the lust in his eyes. I have never felt such rage, even when I walked in on Natalie that night. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands, Conn.”
“Oh boy. What happened?”
“He left, unfortunately unscathed. Alyse and I had words. She told me she wasn’t attracted to him and said I could trust her.”
“Oh Christ, Ash. Tell me you didn’t.”
He doesn’t need to ask. He knows exactly what I said, but he’s going to make me speak the words anyway. I look down at my caramel-colored whiskey, which reminds me of Alyse’s eyes.
Warm. Deep. Beautiful.
And full of unknowns that could hurt me.
“I told her trust is earned.”
“Jesus, Asher. You fucking asshole.”
“I know. Trust me. I know.”
“You need to make this right,” he replies adamantly.
“I’ve been trying. She won’t answer my calls or texts.” And part of me even wonders if she’ll show up in the office tomorrow. Hell, she’s probably halfway back to Detroit by now, making arrangements for one of her other auditors to take her place.
Dammit.
“You’re probably one of the most tenacious people I know, Asher. Get on the damn elevator and go down the five floors to her apartment. Make her listen to you.”
“I don’t even know what to say.”
“Tell her the truth.”
Taking another drink, I savor the bite. “And what’s that?”
“That some other woman permanently fucked you in the head.” I half expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. He is serious.
“That’s not true.”
“Yeah. It is,” he chuckles. “Look, I know you don’t like me to bring up her name, but Jesus, Natalie did a number on you and I told you last week that you can’t be what Alyse needs until you let that shit go. I know you don’t want to hear it and you may not even believe it’s true, but sometimes you can’t see the forest through the trees, brother. The fact that you just about assaulted a good friend of ours in the other room ten minutes ago says it all.”
I’m silent, which is apparently Conn’s clue to keep talking, even though I wish he’d shut up.
“You have it all backward. Guilty until proven innocent is fucked up and a lonely way to live. Listen, I don’t claim to know exactly how you feel, having the woman you love cheat on you, but not every woman is Natalie. Alyse isn’t Natalie. And you can’t put Natalie’s shit on Alyse like you did today. She’s an attractive woman, Asher, and you’re going to have to deal with that better than trying to take out any guy who looks at her with a little appreciation or you’re gonna find yourself blowing in the wind. Alone.
“I don’t know Alyse all that well, but she doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who would put up with that possessive jealousy bullshit. And in all of my twenty-nine years, I’ve never seen you act like this over a woman, not even when Natalie screwed you over. Alyse is the real deal, Ash. Don’t fuck it up and let the best thing that ever walked into your life walk back out because you can’t get out of your own way.”
I listen to his insightful words and I know he’s right. Then I decide to tell him the other thing that’s bothering me. Hell, I might as well peel all my skin off at once. “She doesn’t know about my…preferences.” That was always an issue with Natalie, even though she pretended to like it at the beginning. Natalie pretended to be a lot of things she wasn’t.
“And you still want that even though it makes you homicidal if another man looks at her? That makes no sense, man.”
I shake my head, because he’s right. It’s a complete contradiction, but it doesn’t change how I feel about either thing. “Yes.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“You’re not going to see shit, brother. Ever.” My glare pulls a laugh from him.
“You know I didn’t trust Natalie from the very beginning, Asher. Everything she did had an ulterior motive. Alyse is not like that. Alyse is real and honest and sincere. If it’s not her thing, I think she’ll tell you.”
I nod, hoping he’s right. “Why do you want me to talk to Natalie so damn bad if you never even liked her?”
“I told you, you need closure. I could give two shits about her. It’s you I care about.” Maybe he’s right. I file that away in my ‘I’ll think about it later’ pile.
“She’s hiding something. Alyse. I just don’t know what.”
“Aren’t we all? Maybe if you open up, she will too.”
“It was a hell of a lot easier when I didn’t have to worry about what a woman thought.”
“Maybe. But nothing truly worth having comes easy.”
True that. And Alyse is absolutely worth having.
Throwing back the rest of my whiskey, I stand, as does Conn. Pulling him in for a quick hug, I can only say, “Thanks, brother.”
And then I’m out the door, but instead of waiting for the elevator, I head toward the stairs, intent on getting to my woman as fast as possible so I can right this wrong that I’ve created.
Conn’s right. My past is fucking up my future.
I can’t let that happen.
Chapter 21
Asher
I ring the bell.
No answer.
I knock on her door.
No answer.
I try her cell phone again.
No goddamn answer.
I could turn around and go back to my apartment, forgetting that everything I want and more importantly, need and crave down to the marrow filling my bones is right behind this two-and-a-half-inch piece of locked wood, to which I have the key.
I could turn and walk away, waiting for her to come to me.
I could do a lot of things besides what I’m about to do.
But fuck that.
My entire future is contained within the four walls standing before me. I won’t let it slip away without a fight.
I slide the extra key I have for our executive apartment from my pocket, glide it in the lock, and open the door to complete silence and near total darkness.
The only light in the entire apartment comes from the hot flames being thrown by the gas fireplace, which appears to be going at full blast. My relief is palpable. Alyse must still be here. Certainly she wouldn’t have left town with a raging fire going.
Looking for her, I take a quick sweep of the room, which is relatively small, but about average size for a downtown high-rise apartment in Chicago. The main area is an open floor plan with the kitchen to the right and the main living area straight in from the front door. Through the main room to the left is a short hallway that has a common bathroom, a master bedroom at the end with an en suite bath, and another small bedroom. We have the entire apartment decorated warmly with neutral colors and high-end furniture.
The whole space is not much more than twelve hundred square feet. It rarely gets used. When it does, it’s sufficient enough for a short stay until our executives find permanent housing. That’s one of the reasons I suggested it to Alyse, but the real reason was I wanted her just steps away from me at all times.
Not seeing her in either the kitchen or living room, I deduce she must be in bed, even though it’s relatively early at only ten o’clock. I quietly close the door and have taken only three steps before I freeze.
My cock is instantly so hard I could jackhammer concrete.
Lying on the plush white area rug in front of the raging fireplace is Alyse. Even though it’s a chilly twenty-two degrees outside, the heat from the fireplace has quickly warmed this small space. Alyse has taken full advantage of it.
She’s wearing an almost sheer white tank and black lacy panties that look like little boy shorts from the side, but you know once you get a glimpse of them from the back, they will be those cheeky kind that frame a woman’s heart-shaped ass to perfection. Goddamn genius invention, those.
Her attire alone is a man’s walking wet dream and is sexier than almost any lingerie I’ve ever seen, but it’s what she’s doing that has me nearly whipping out my dick right here, right now, and following her lead.
From my angle, I can’t see her face because the loveseat is in the way. I can only see her body. And sweet baby Jesus, I’ve never seen anything as hot as what I’m currently witnessing.
Fuck.
Me.
This moment will be singed into my corneas for the rest of my days.
She has her top pulled up on one side, palming a breast, tweaking her nipple. The other mound is still covered by the thin white cloth, but because of the firelight, I can see the outline of her dark areola, and I can definitely see her pebbled nub trying to poke through.
But the thing that has my rapt attention is the fact that she has her panties pushed aside while she fucks herself with a vibrator. And not just any vibrator. It’s the kind that massages the clit at the same time. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this jealous of an inanimate object in my entire life.
As she works herself into a frenzy, her breathy moans mix with the low noise of the fireplace fan. After only three weeks, I know Alyse’s body intimately. We are in tune like we’ve been together our entire lives.
I know the exact spot on her neck that will convince her to acquiesce to my every sinful desire.
I know exactly how hard to suck her nipples, delivering just the right amount of pain to mix exquisitely with the pleasure I’m lavishing on other body parts.
I know the precise amount of pressure she needs on her clit to unravel and come repeatedly all over my fingers, my tongue, or my cock.
And I can tell when she’s getting close to climax by the flush on her skin, the change in her breathing, and the little hitch in the back of her throat. By her current level of breathlessness, I’d say she’s getting pretty damn close to flying.
I unconsciously reach down to stroke my pulsing cock through my jeans. I think it’s highly possible I could embarrass myself and come in about five pulls. I’m not at all sure I even care.
I want to move and watch her face as she falls headfirst into what I can tell will be one intense orgasm, but I don’t want her to stop. She obviously doesn’t know I’m here and I don’t want her to. I need to watch her through completion.
Once I hear low curses, I have to force my hand down to my side or I won’t be able to stop myself from coming with her. And when she finally falls over that elusive ledge, crying my name, I can’t help but move a few steps to the right, embracing the voyeur in me.
My favorite part of making love with Alyse is watching her face when she comes. Her pleasure becomes my own, especially when it’s me forcing her body to places I know she hasn’t been before.
When I finally get a glimpse of her pleasure-laden face, I suck in a breath. Christ almighty, she is absolutely magnificent. I have never seen a single thing more beautiful than Alyse in the throes of orgasm. I want nothing more than to bury my face between her legs and lap up every drop of her release. It belongs to me. I crave it on some primal level that I can’t even explain.
I shamelessly watch her come down. Her body slowly stops shuddering and she works to control her breaths as she withdraws her little pleasure wand, now coated with her juices, and drops it with a heavy thud to the floor.
Alyse’s eyes are tightly closed, but if she opens them at all, she’ll see me blatantly staring at her, ravenous hunger etched over every inch of me. It’s taking all my willpower to not scoop her into my arms and fuck her against the closest object.
Chancing it anyway, I move quietly forward and take a seat on the couch, letting my legs fall open. I have to carefully adjust my cock. He’s throbbing and on edge. One wrong move and he’ll erupt. The need to palm myself is powerful, but I won’t. The need to just sit here and drink in the sight of the woman who has become my entire world wins out over releasing the agony that’s drawn my balls tight.
I savor each second, because I fear once she realizes I’m here, she’ll kick my ass out.
So I sit.
I watch.
I wait.
And about fifteen seconds later, my visual worshipping is shattered when she opens her eyes.
Chapter 22
Alyse
“What the fuck, Asher!” I scream, scrambling to sit up. I pull my ear buds out and climb to my feet, but my legs are wobbly, both from my recent orgasm and the anger now coursing wildly through my bloodstream. “How the hell did you get in here?”
A slow smile eats his face. He proudly holds up something gold and shiny between two deft fingers, waving it idly back and forth. “Extra key.”
I am completely mortified at the thought that he just sat there and watched me masturbate. And the fact that I practically yelled his name?
Oh.
My.
God.
How dare he.
“Get out.” I stab my finger toward the door. I wish to hell I was wearing something that covered more. I’m also wishing I hadn’t played Enigma on my Pandora app, which caused me to get so goddamn worked up I had no choice but to relieve the building pressure or I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Asher has gotten my body so attuned to sex every damn day that, even through my hurt and anger, all I can think of is how much I miss the press of his perfectly honed, masculine body against mine.
“No.”
“No?”
“That would be correct.”
Like a petulant child, I huff angrily and make my way to my bedroom, trying to slam and lock the door, but a well-placed foot thwarts that idea. I sigh and keep heading toward the bathroom, so I can at least grab a robe to cover up. But he’s on my heels and grabs it out of my hand as I go to put it on.
“Asher, stop. Just leave. Please.” The last word comes out soft and weak. I’m a little buzzed, emotionally drained, and I’m just not up for a verbal sparring match tonight.
After he crushed me with his three little words, I couldn’t concentrate. I tried to work,
but finally gave up at four and left for the day. For about half a second, I briefly considered calling Al and swapping jobs with him, but I’m no quitter. I took this job, I committed to it, and no matter what happens with Asher and me personally, I will not shirk my professional responsibilities. I can’t do that to myself, my employees, or my business.
So I came home, took a bath, had a bottle of wine, and shed just a few tears. My anger has mostly dissipated, but the hurt lingers. Words are powerful. Too easily thrown around. I have to believe that Asher didn’t really mean them, but it doesn’t remove the sting they left behind either.
Playing his dominance card, he frames my face in his hands. “When I saw his hands on you, I lost my mind. I do trust you. I’m so sorry, Alyse.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? Just okay?”
I shrug. “What do you want me to say, Asher?”
“Yell, scream, hit me. Do whatever you need to do. I deserve it. I was an ass. I overreacted. I’m so sorry. But I want you to tell me you forgive me.”
“All right. I forgive you,” I tell him, my voice monotone. And I do. Mostly.
He drops his hands and takes a step back, staring at me for an eternity. Then he does something unexpected. He walks to the shower and turns it on. When he draws his shirt over his head, my mouth waters against my will.
Asher has just a smattering of dark hair over his toned pecs. His abs are so damn cut, you could hold water in the grooves for later consumption. And the “V” that disappears under the waistband of his jeans? Jesus H. Don’t even get me started.
“What—what are you doing?”
“I need a shower,” he replies, shoving his unbuckled jeans down his trim hips. Roped muscles ripple enticingly with every movement, making my sex throb in anticipation. His grey boxer briefs, which frame his fine package perfectly, quickly follow. Christ, he’s so thick and long and hard I have to lock my knees to stop from dropping and sucking him until he’s mindless with pleasure.
