by Mignon Mykel
Then there were some posts from October. Apparently, I was better about keeping Asher to myself that weekend, because there wasn’t anything posted with her at that point.
December showed pictures from McKenna’s wedding, but some of those pictures were from Ken’s Facebook. Who the hell was friending my entire family?
The very first picture of Asher though, was from this week, and it was at the airport.
I had seen the cameras. I was just too focused on the girl with the braid coming toward me. The girl who this picture captured so perfectly, as she hugged my neck.
Her face was buried in my neck and my beanie looked like it was ready to fall off, but it was a damn good picture.
I saved it before scrolling through the comments.
‘Who’s the girl?’ the caption read.
The anonymous poster added a few more pictures of Asher and I walking toward baggage claim, hand in hand.
Sighing, I turned off my screen and put my phone back down beside me before swinging my legs off the bed. I needed to change.
I looked behind me at Asher sleeping peacefully. I was glad to say she hadn’t had another one of those crying-in-her-sleep moments she had the first weekend she stayed.
I leaned into the bed and, with my fists holding me, I bent down and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
Everything I did with her felt so fucking slow, but I knew—I just knew—that it would be worth it.
That she would be worth it.
I couldn’t explain it, but something clicked the first moment I saw her. I wasn’t kidding when I told her other girls didn’t have a chance once I saw her.
I spent years fighting for what I wanted. I was well-practiced.
I was more than prepared to fight for her—whether it was against her ghosts or against anyone who had an opinion on me being “off the market.”
Now I just needed her to believe it.
I woke to the door clicking shut.
Shooting up in bed, I stared into the darkness, disoriented.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Porter whispered in the dark. I heard him shuffle toward the bed and I forced my heart to stop racing before he turned on the lamp.
I looked over the bed at him and took him in. “It’s okay.” I had to swallow at the sight he presented. He must have showered, because his hair was wet and his face clean-shaven. All he wore were lounge pajama pants and they rode low on his hips, showcasing the six-pack and V-cut I knew he had.
He walked to his dresser and, this time, I took in his back. At just twenty, he was a lean but muscular beauty. I could only imagine what he’d look like in ten years.
Porter in ten years.
Would I still be around?
Would we still be together?
Would he be like his lookalike brother, and have children? I didn’t think I wasn’t fit to be someone’s mother.
Porter successfully halted the thoughts in my head when he pulled a shirt on over his head, covering up the inspiration for my thoughts. He turned back toward me, running his hand through his damp hair and shaking it at the top.
“I was going to wake you up eventually,” he said, walking to the bed. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to change.”
I was still in my leggings and hoodie and while it had been comfortable during the day, I learned earlier in the week that I got really warm in Porter’s bed.
Even with him on one side and me on the other, I could feel his body heat. The guy emitted it in waves.
“I think I’ll shower, too,” I said, crawling to the end of the bed on my knees. I stepped down and walked to the drawer that housed my clothes—messy now—and rummaged through until I found bike shorts and an oversized tee. Porter stood beside me, not bothering to move. When I turned to head into the bathroom, he put his hands on my face and lifted it up so his lips could come down to mine lightly.
“Thank you for being here this week. And for staying today.”
“Of course,” I said quietly, staring into his eyes. He pecked my lips once more, but when he moved to step back, I held my clothes to my chest and moved a hand to his neck, keeping him in place.
“Happy birthday,” I whispered against his lips and offering what he always started. I kept my lips light and fleeting before sucking, then nibbling, his lower lip. I wasn’t sure what got into me but I liked it.
And apparently Porter did too.
I was pressed against him everywhere, my hand trapped between our bodies, but that did little to stop feeling him everywhere else.
I could feel his heart pounding behind the back of my hand.
I could feel him hardening against my stomach.
My mouth faltered under his at the realization and I stared up at him.
Still Porter.
Only Porter.
“Shower,” he said, his voice thick.
I nodded.
Shower.
For the first time in years, I wanted someone.
I wanted Porter with my entire being, and I was equal parts excited and so fucking terrified.
I woke to searing pain.
I felt as he put a cold liquid between our bodies. “Not wet enough, girl.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on now—the hot water cascading down my body, the smell of Porter’s shower gel still lingering in the air.
With a trembling hand, and that last thought of him in my head, I reached between my thighs.
And was shockingly surprised to find myself slick. I bit my lip as I explored, my eyes locked ahead of me on the shower tile. I was swollen and wet. My body was ready.
Shouldn’t surprise you, disgusting girl, my inner demons taunted me.
As much as I tried to block those dark nights, I knew for a fact that while my body liked the act, it hadn’t been ready for it. Surely there was a difference?
The last time I touched myself was easily before the Johnson house. Curiously, I moved my finger past my swollen folds and forward, brushing my clit. I bit down on my lip. I was already hypersensitive.
His thumb rubbed rough circles over me.
I removed my hand and swallowed, squeezing my eyes shut and stepping back under the stream, allowing the water to fall down my front and back, the water submersing me in the way only a shower could.
I held my breath, warding off the memories.
I hoped I could be brave enough for Porter.
I hoped I could move past my seventeenth year of hell, and stop letting my memories turn to fears.
Because there was a really great guy in the next room, and I was afraid of losing him.
Of losing his family, I tried to argue with myself, but it was no use.
I wanted normal, and I wanted normal with Porter Prescott.
Sitting in bed, I mindlessly played with the ties on my lounge pants as the television played some show.
I wasn’t paying any attention.
I had less than twenty hours with Asher left until she flew back to Wisconsin. Aside from the minor fights, this week had been fucking fantastic and already I could feel the void that would be there when she went back home.
My gaze snapped to the door when she walked in, oversize shirt hiding the bike shorts I knew she wore underneath. Cradled to her chest were her clothes from the day. We’d been all domesticated this week and every other night, she’d deposited her dirty clothes in my hamper, but tonight she walked to her bag in the corner and knocked it down with her foot before bending to lift the top and dropping her clothes inside.
“It went by really fast,” I said, finding my voice. “The week.”
She glanced up at me before rising to stand. “It did.” She quickly pushed her hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry for some of my moods this week. Today,” she added with a shrug. “It’s your birthday. I shouldn’t have even threatened to leave.”
I reached for the remote to turn off the television, and patted the bed beside me.
&nbs
p; Her spot.
Before Asher, I was a sprawl-out, middle of the bed, guy.
After Asher?
If I woke up on her side of the bed, I’d probably be holding her pillow. I wouldn’t put it past me.
She crawled up the end of the bed, moving to sit beside me. I pulled the covers down and she slid under them, sitting against the wall beside me. I took her hand and, after lacing my fingers through hers, lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the back.
“Growing pains, I guess,” I offered, with a squeeze of her hand.
“It doesn’t really excuse—”
“It’s fine, Ash.”
Her eyes searched mine before she shifted, leaning into me, placing her head on my shoulder.
“We’re going to have to figure out how to get you back down here.”
She laughed lightly, the sound airy in the otherwise quiet room. “It’s not cheap, Porter.”
“Well I can’t make it to Wisconsin as often as I’d like to see you, so you’re going to have to come here. Tomorrow, when you get home, we can Skype and go over your schedule. Then I’ll buy tickets. Maybe once a month, minimum,” I said. Now that the idea took root, I was rolling with it. “Heck, maybe mom could spare you every other week. A weekend and a week, you think?”
“Ok, Dr. Seuss,” she said, moving to sit up again. She turned now, her legs drawn to her side. “You can’t pay for everything.”
“Asher, it’s just money.”
“I will not be a kept woman.” The stern look she gave me cracked though.
“Are you trying to be funny?” My lips lifted in a grin.
“Yes and no.” She settled against my side again and I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. “When does the season end?”
“April, but then postseason can go well into June.”
“And then you come home for how long? Late September?”
I nodded, turning my face in to brush my lips over the top of her head. “Yeah.”
Her answer was a simple, “Hm.” Was that a good hm? A thoughtful hm?
“Maybe I can come out mid-March. That’s about halfway.”
“Or you can come out in two weeks.”
“Porter.”
“Asher.”
“You’re going to bully me into this, aren’t you?” Her voice had that little laughing lilt it got sometimes.
“Would that be a bad thing?” I chuckled into her hair.
“Terrible, really.”
“Smartass.”
“You’re going to have to come up with a better one-liner, Porter. It’s not the first time you’ve called me a smartass today.”
“If the shoe fits.”
She punched me in the stomach and I grunted, not expecting it. But then she smiled and with her hand over the spot she just maimed, she leaned into me and kissed me.
Second time tonight she did it.
We were getting somewhere.
And honestly, I wanted to see how far we could go.
Her lips were light on mine and as much as I enjoyed these kisses, I craved more. Hoping, God did I hope, this wasn’t the wrong move, I took her hips and moved her to settle on my lap. Her knees were on either side of my hips and she was settled right on top of me, her core open and her heat engulfing my covered but hardening cock.
Asher stilled above me, her lips still pressed to mine, but no longer moving.
Fuck. Wrong move, Prescott.
I could feel a flutter of breath leave her lips. When she pulled her face back, I was expecting…
Well, I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t for her to lean back in after looking at me. But she did, and then her tongue was in my mouth, and I was a fucking goner.
Her hands were on my face, her fingers bracketing my ears as she held my face still. She had complete control of this kiss and was doing a fucking phenomenal job of it. I was hard and aching under her, and as badly as I wanted to focus on her mouth on mine, my cock needed more attention than it was getting.
I was on edge. I needed her to move over me, to grind against me. Just the slightest movement from her had my blood rushing.
Putting my hands on her hips, I applied the smallest amount of pressure, just enough to move her over me a fraction of an inch.
Good fucking Lord.
Heaven.
Fucking heaven.
Her mouth again faltered over mine, but she began moving over me. Stiffly at first, but eventually with a slow, teasing dance that was sure to have me exploding in my pants.
I was so fucking close to coming. I hadn’t been on this edge since, shit…fifteen, sixteen maybe. It had to be the build-up; the fact that Asher and I had been playing this game for months.
Anticipation.
I banded an arm around her and flipped us so she was on her back. At the last moment, I remembered her claustrophobic claims and made sure to angle my body to her side. I moved my arm from her back to her neck, pulling her close, even as she was on her back and I, my side.
My cock cried at the loss—well, it twitched and I nearly cried—but I wasn’t about to get mine and leave Asher hanging. There were some things that I learned about sex when I was with Mo exclusively.
Before that time in my life, sex was sex, and I didn’t give a shit who got off first. Through the two years Mo and I were together though, she put me straight a time or two, and that anticipation thing I thought before with Asher? I knew it could make the end so much fucking sweeter.
I kept her shoulders lifted and brought my lips back to hers, allowing my hand to trail over her stomach.
Her stomach clenched when my fingers slowly lifted her shirt, my fingertips brushing the golden olive skin there. When she lifted a hand to put it on my forearm, I thought she needed me to stop, but instead, she slowly brushed her fingers up the corded muscles there. Her hand continued to move up until she grasped my elbow, her thumb brushing over the sensitive skin on the inside.
Her other hand went up to my face and I realized I really liked her hands holding me to her.
I changed the angle of our kiss, my tongue sweeping deep in her mouth as my fingers played with the band of her black bike shorts. They were tight.
I moved my hand back to her stomach, under her belly button, digging my fingers under the band. Her lower stomach clenched this time and I kept my hand still, the tips of my fingers so unbelievably close, but giving her a moment.
A moment to get lost in our mouths again, in her thumb caressing the inside of my elbow.
I broke my mouth from hers and pressed sucking kisses to her cheek, down to her jaw, trailing them to the curve in her neck. The hand on my face moved to the back of my head and she held me in place as I nibbled on the sensitive skin there.
When her body relaxed under mine again, I slowly slid my hand into her shorts. My hand raked through her curls there, meeting wet ones when I reached the bottom of her mound. My index finger slid over slick flesh first and her body jerked under my hand, her hand on my bicep, squeezing.
I kept my hand lost in her shorts, my middle finger over the top of her hooded clit and my other fingers gently pulling back her folds, but didn’t progress further. I lifted my head to stare down at her though.
Her eyes were wild.
And not all with pleasure.
My heart kicked in my chest but as I started to move my hand away, she let go of my arm and grasped my wrist, holding me in place.
I watched as her pupils dilated.
As she took a deep breath.
And then she reached up, pulling my face down, and kissed me again.
It’s just Porter.
Just Porter.
When the fear dissipated, when the tunnel vision cleared, I took in his concerned expression and I knew, without a doubt in my body, that he would stop if I asked him to.
But I didn’t want him to.
So I brought his face back down to mine.
&nb
sp; The moment our lips met, I felt as he slowly circled his finger around my clit.
Carefully.
Cautiously.
And then he dragged the tip of his finger back over me and my hips jerked. Now his tongue was dancing over mine as his fingers played softly below.
Slow circles with one finger, then eventual added pressure of two fingers. He played with my clit like he didn’t have a care in the world, nothing waiting for him, nothing but the hope of an orgasm.
I shifted my bottom in the bed, moving my hips so the pressure of his fingers hit me just so. His fingers began to quicken, moving double time to my rocking hips.
My lips trembled under his. I was close to my peak.
So close, so close, so close.
And then suddenly…
It was gone.
I tried not to focus on that, instead focusing back on his mouth over mine. I clenched my lower muscles in the hope that the tightening, along with his fingers, would bring the rise back. But after a few more minutes, I realized it was no use, and the more he rubbed, the more the sensitive nerves there, hurt.
Finally, I reached for his wrist again, and he stopped. Pulling his lips from mine, he looked down at me.
I offered him a smile I didn’t feel. “It’s sore.”
I could see the questions in his eyes, but I just shook my head slightly, hoping he understood and wouldn’t press. I couldn’t handle that.
Not tonight.
Not right now.
Not when I knew I was truly broken.
I woke with a start.
As I did every time, I took assessment of where I was.
Porter’s room.
Porter’s bed.
On my side with Porter wrapped around me, spooning into me.
After my failure, I offered him a hand job and he, in not so many elegant words, told me no. He wasn’t pissed, but it appeared that he was refusing to come if I didn’t. I told him that was ridiculous but he just shrugged it off, turned me on my side, and pulled me close.
I’d been able to feel how aroused he was behind my bottom. He was rock hard and pulsing, and I hated myself for not being able to give him something in return for his attempt.
