Ash: A Bad Boy Romance

by Lexi Whitlow

  “I’m so afraid,” she says.

  “Of what?” Suddenly, I’m deeply aware of her body against mine, the thrumming of blood in her veins, the heat and closeness of her.

  “Losing you again.”

  I want to tell her she doesn’t have to be afraid, that there’s nothing in the world that will take me away from her. But I can’t say it. Instead, I bring my lips crashing down on hers, and I kiss her like I should have kissed her that night before she left. I kiss her like she might drop off the face of the earth tomorrow—she might, after all. And there’s only so much time we have together. The room stills around us, and there’s only me, there’s only her.

  “Ash...”

  “I love you, Summer. You might not think that’s enough to carry us, but that’s why I wanted to give us a chance. Not for money, not for an ego trip. I love you. I need you. You’re my wife.”

  My lips brush over her neck, her skin creamy and smooth. Hesitantly at first, she moves her hand to my stomach, fingers trailing over my muscles. She looks up at me, her face full of emotion. She doesn’t say anything, she just looks at me, lifting my shirt and then putting her hand down the front of my shorts. My cock is at half-mast already, just from being close to her. I’ve dreamt about this moment for what feels like an eternity—the simple act of being close to her.

  “That’s just—we’ll just—” She stumbles over her words and then bites her lower lip. “We’ll just keep this between us for now.”

  I nod, helping her slip off her clothes, and then mine. She steps out of her panties and unhooks her bra, a far more confident version of the woman I knew before. My hands find her hips, and I turn her around, trailing my fingers over her back and then moving forward to cup her breasts. I twirl one nipple between my fingertips and then the other, listening to her gasp like it’s music. The throbbing headache from my black eye is a distant memory now. Here, now. This is everything. Hands moving over her torso, down to her sex, I slide my fingers over her wetness, roaming over the delicate folds, circling the sensitive bud of her clit.

  “Ash,” she sighs. “I missed you.” She looks at me over her shoulder, every trace of anger gone from her eyes. Instead, I see longing, a ripening need that’s been lingering under the surface of her every interaction with me. That was the secret she’s been keeping from me. That was what she was hiding all along. Far from wanting me out of her life, I know now that she was scared to keep me in it.

  “I missed you too, Sunshine.” I grab her sunlit hair in one hand, then pull her head back and kiss her neck hungrily. “And now I’m going to make you remember everything.”

  She moans, throaty, deep, sweet little sounds that remind me of the girl she was in New York, innocent and high-heeled. Without a doubt, this woman is more refined, so sensual she’s spellbinding. I grab a condom and undo the foil with my teeth, rolling it onto my length in one swift motion.

  “Do it. This is what I want.” Her hands creep down her body and find her sex, a perfect blond V. She groans and sighs as she touches herself. I watched her do this a dozen times when we were together, and my body remembers those sounds—the begging whine in her voice, the look of her eyes, hooded with lust, and the feeling of her as I push my aching hard cock against her ass.

  “Fuck, you’re so pretty,” I growl. I push my length into her from behind as she touches herself. I hold the head of my cock inside of her, feeling how tight and sweet she is, jolts of arousal rolling through me. “Bend over the table.”

  She bends over and places one hand on the dark wood, pressing her ass against me and taking me in deeper. Her fingers move languidly over her clit, her wetness encasing me, inviting me in. I drive into her, taking her waist into my hands and thrusting into her, each movement welcoming me deeper. The way she pushes her body against mine, her quickening breath, the blush rising over her body—combined, it nearly undoes me. Her movements speed up, her body desperately seeking release as I push into her time and time again. She starts to shake and shudder, whimpering, her hips bucking against my cock.

  Holy shit, she’s fucking sexy, coming hard against my cock like I’ve dreamed about for so long.

  What I love about this woman is that she never did anything I wanted her to—except marry me and fuck me exactly how I like.

  “Come inside me,” she whispers as she looks back at me. “Please.” With a deep groan, I thrust hard inside her, my muscles tightening, the world slowing around me as I come hard and fast inside the woman I love. I run my fingers over her back, then pull her up and turn her around. I bring her into my body and kiss her again, biting down on her bottom lip. I want to watch her come again—and I’d like to come inside of her for real, completely bare. I want to taste her and see if she’s as sweet as I remembered. And I want to watch her lips wrap around my cock, her gaze meeting mine as she takes me to the back of her throat.

  We’re silent for a long time after that. But then Summer reaches up and touches my hair, kisses me on the cheek. “I’m not the same as I was, Ash. If we do this again—we might need to realize we’re not the same people anymore.”

  I’m lost in thinking about her body, how it felt to finally touch her again, so I don’t respond right away. Instead, I kiss the top of her forehead and pick her up, wrapping her legs around my waist. I lean in close and bite her earlobe. She sighs in response, and I can feel the gooseflesh rising on her skin.

  “We’re exactly who we always were. You’re mine, and I’ll remind you of that every day that I’m breathing. If you can’t see it, I’ll keep proving it to you, over and over again. You have a shift in the morning?”

  She shakes her head. “But we need to meet with the lawyer again.”

  “We can go together. Fuck the lawyer. I’m sure there a thousand cases every year where people decide to stay together. Isn’t that a happier ending anyway?” I carry her over to my bedroom, and she wiggles against me, like she’s halfheartedly trying to escape. I won’t let her, not this time.

  “Ash—”

  “Don’t tell me this is a one time thing, Sunshine. It’s most definitely not. Because I intend to fuck you again tonight, and then make you come for me again in the morning.” She shivers against me, and I drop her on the bed. I have half a mind to burn her clothes so that she doesn’t have any way to escape, but that’s not my MO anymore. Instead, I’ll just make her come so hard she forgets where she is, who she’s sleeping with, and maybe her own name. That’s the only way I can see to keep her here.

  If I can’t get her to accept this one mistake, I’ll just get her to keep making the same mistake over and over again until it doesn’t feel like a mistake anymore. So that being with me seems as natural as breathing, as easy as falling asleep after a hard day.

  It’s the only way. Any other outcome will leave me undone.

  I wasn’t man enough to figure that out in my youth. But I’ve changed, and I know that my life is no good without her.

  Instead of standing still to contemplate that shit, I pull her legs and slide her ass right to the edge of the bed. It’s the perfect position to kneel down and feel just how wet she is, just how ready she is to go again.

  “Ash...” she sighs. It seems like the only thing she can say tonight is my name, and that’s a good fucking thing. Anything else might have her putting her thoughts together and rushing out the goddamn door. I nip it in the bud by moving my fingers over her wet slit and up over her rosy button, already swollen and needy with desire.

  Just like she used to be, she’s putty in my fingers, her back arching as soon as I touch her.

  “You were saying, Sunshine?”

  “I don’t know— I don’t know what I was—” The end of that sentence comes out in a whimper, a throaty, desperate whine. I finish her thought for her by slipping two fingers inside of her, entering her slowly and pressing the base of my palm against her clit. My cock is already growing hard again.

  “Dirty girl. You just want me to use you, like a little toy? Just like you a
lways did.” She doesn’t respond, so I start to move my hand ever so slightly, rocking my palm from side to side. The heat in her body rises, like she’s glowing with lust. I slip a third finger inside of her and bring my other hand to my cock. “I’m not about to let you go this time. You want to come again.”

  She nods quickly, a sigh escaping her lips. “Yes,” she hisses, pleasure resounding in her voice.

  “Then you better not come up with any arguments right now.”

  She bites her lower lip, and her eyes grow wide as I work my fingers inside of her.

  When she comes again, pressing her hips hard against my hand, I know that I’ve got her this time. There’s one thing about this girl that separates her from every other woman I’ve had—she aches for this, like nothing else.

  There’s no pain after that, and we both forget about what an asshole I can be. There’s only her body and mine.

  This won’t end the way she thinks it ought to. It ends like this, with us, every day. If it’s fifty years, it won’t be long enough.

  This is forever, and she’s mine.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Three Years, Three and a Half Months Ago

  When Ash walks out the door, it feels like my world is spinning out of control. There are secrets hidden in the fragile tapestry that holds our lives together. Cullen kept calling when we were away. I kept expecting to wake up to see one or more of his goons barging into our room, guns blazing, knives held to our throats. I dreamt about it once, maybe twice. But instead, I woke up to Ash, his hands, his mouth, the heat of his muscles, the length of his cock.

  He never said anything. We just carried on like we’d done the right thing, like we’d done the only thing we could do.

  I kept telling myself this wasn’t like the movies. The Irish mafia in New York takes over businesses, runs gambling rings, and moves money from place to place. They keep politicians and cops in their pockets—and they’re far more about paperwork and intimidation than they are about violence.

  That’s what I tell myself, even though I know what Ash’s job is. He doesn’t think I do, but I’m a smart woman, and I’ve seen the way he checks his pieces every night, cleaning them, taking them apart, reassembling.

  He strapped both guns on when he left today, cold metal against his warm body.

  The mere thought makes my stomach drop.

  Restless, I slip out of bed and put on my sandals and a green dress that Ash says matches my eyes. Such a romantic thing to say, and this is a man who assures me he’s not romantic, that this marriage was the only way to save my life.

  I think of the way his body works with mine, the way he looks at me in the morning when he wakes up next to me.

  “Bullshit. This is a load of bullshit, Ash.” I say it aloud to his empty and weirdly immaculate apartment. I’d always thought men were supposed to be messy, but Ash is fastidious. When I walk into the kitchen, I smell coffee and see that Ash has left out coffee, cream, and a carefully covered pastry. It’s ten in the morning, and the French press is room temperature. I pour my coffee into a mug and drink it cold with the cream, wondering why the hell he bothered to leave this shit out for me.

  What if he doesn’t come with me? What if I’m stuck, married to him, in limbo?

  We’re not really married, right? That priest didn’t look like he knew how to find the way to the courthouse to file that shit. And a drunkard who sleeps in the pews when people aren’t around isn’t any kind of a witness.

  Please God. Let us be really married.

  The thought comes to me from nowhere, sweeping in and taking over the piece of my brain that thinks rationally. That rational part—it should be checking to see if I’ve got an email from Doctors Without Borders. It should be going online and buying bus tickets to North Carolina. It should be hiding out in Manteo until this all blows over.

  But there it is.

  I married Ash to save my life. And now if I lose him, I’m losing part of my life.

  A jolt of fear sweeps through me, and I attack the pastry nervously. There are moments with Ash that make me feel absolutely sure of what we’re doing, that this relationship was worth it, that this was the only place for us to be. But here, right now, his tidy apartment feels just like a waiting room in a hospital.

  The doctor will come in, I think. And he’ll have bad news for both of us.

  Cullen doesn’t give a shit about his pacts or his rules. Ash pissed him off, and Bianca did too. And they’re probably both gone, throats slashed, left to hang, or shot, or tied up in a room to starve. Whatever the fuck mafia people do that’s not moving money around from place to place. Maybe it would have been a better idea to go to the police, like a fucking normal person.

  In the pocket of my dress, my phone rings. I spill the rest of the coffee on my dress and all over Ash’s clean, white tile. I pick up before even looking at the number, my hand shaking.

  “Hello?” My voice shakes as much as my hands, and I almost drop the damn phone when I hear the voice on the other end of the line.

  “Sweetheart,” my aunt Bianca says, her voice slower, more methodical than usual. Strange noises echo in the background. It sounds like she’s in a subway tunnel, or somewhere deep and echoing and underground. But maybe I’m imagining things. “I’m safe,” she says.

  “Jesus, B. I haven’t heard from you in two weeks—”

  “I haven’t heard from you either. And watch your mouth, Summer,” she says, laughter in her voice. “You’re about to go home to your mother.” The last part is more command than statement.

  She doesn’t know what I’m about to do or not do, regardless of whether she’s in danger. “Aunt B, where the hell are you?”

  She doesn’t answer my question. “I know you married that boy to get off Cullen’s list.”

  Shit. I can almost hear the eye-rolling in her voice. “B, listen. I’m staying in New York.”

  “No you’re not. You applied to that doctor thing, and you’re going. There’s nothing for you here. You need to go.”

  I swallow hard, and my throat grows tight and hot. “Because it’s not safe? I can go to Manteo for a few weeks and then come back—” I think of the way Ash looked at me when I woke, the way he touched my hair before I sank into the sheets and went back to sleep.

  “You’re safe, Summer. Your mother is safe. I told you Cullen wouldn’t hurt you. I swear, child. You don’t listen.”

  “But Ash said—”

  “Ash doesn’t know this family’s history with Cullen Flood. I know, your mother knows, and Cullen knows—well, he knows the full of it now. I have a deal with this man, and if you stay in New York, you’ll be wrapped up in this, too.”

  “How will I—” I feel dizzy and lean against the Formica counter. This explains why we didn’t have mafia soldiers coming for our idiot asses at five in the morning. Holding knives to our throats and—fuck, don’t go there.

  “It doesn’t matter, but believe me. You’re in the family. There’s no getting out of it unless you’re gone.”

  My hand is still shaking, the phone nearly rattling against my ear. “So there was no point in marrying Ash—”

  “No, love. There was no point. I’m sorry I got you wrapped up in this. That boy, he’s handsome. But he’s a soldier. You know what he does, don’t you?” Bianca pauses, and tears come to my eyes. I try to choke them back, but it’s no use. I barely hear her when she speaks again. “Your mother and I never meant to get you involved in this. There’s not much money in our family. You don’t have much now, but you will. When we’re gone—”

  “Stop—” I cry hard now. The life I built here, all so recently it seems, the stupid fake marriage—it’ll crumble even if it was temporary, even if it was stupid.

  “No, you listen. Summer, I love you more than any person in this world. More than I have any right to. I made sure you’ll be safe. Tell me you understand me.” Her voice breaks, echoing with desperation.

  “How did you—” I think of Cullen,
the history that Bianca always said they had, and his voracious desire to take over every business in Hell’s Kitchen to reclaim it for the Family. “You gave them the bar, didn’t you?” I hadn’t thought of it until I said it, but this is what she was planning to do all along. If he got close to me or any of the people she loved, she was planning on a surrender.

  “I gave him the bar. He’s the only one I’ll deal with.”

  I clench my jaw, and tears fall harder. “B, you hate him.”

  She’s silent on the other end of the line. “What I feel about Cullen Flood is extremely complicated, Summer.” There’s laughter in the background, the jangling of glasses.

  “He’s the bad guy—you can’t do this.”

  “Cullen’s no more a bad guy than I am,” she says with a sigh. “We’re just about matched in that department. It was time for me to face that piece of my history—of my history with him. And believe me, love, it’ll benefit you in the long run. I’ve got you taken care of for the rest of your life.”

  “I don’t understand, Bianca. Please—” My voice is still hoarse from holding back angry, futile sobbing.

  “You do as I say. You leave. Without that boy. Divorce. Be done. Move on.”

  There’s a click on the other end of the line, and I’m left standing in Ash’s kitchen, wondering what the hell just happened.

  Present Day

  I wake up, and I don’t know what time it is. It’s still dark, and the light of the moon plays through the blinds. But I’m on the wrong side of my bed, and there isn’t a window on this side of my room. Also, I’m naked.

  Naked, my body sore in a way it hasn’t been in the entire three years I’ve been away from the United States.

  Fuck.

  I sigh heavily and turn on my side. Ash is next to me, breathing deeply, the tattoos covering his arms and chest contrasting against his skin in the moonlight. Tentatively, I take my fingers and trace over his new ink: tribal designs under each collarbone, and symbols of the Irish mafia still uncovered on both forearms. He once told me that tattoos were another way to escape the life he didn’t want to have—the job where he hurt people for a living, the empty apartment he went home to every night, the places in his mind he didn’t want to go. He said that the five tattoos he had when I met him were all evidence of nights he wanted to gamble and lose himself in the rush of alcohol and money.