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.
I’m trying hard to remember why I was mad.
“Uh, you have a shower in your apartment,” I manage to say, after I peel the tongue from the roof of my mouth.
“But you’re here.”
“Asher—” He sets a finger to my lips, silencing me. He quietly strips me of my skimpy clothes and leads me under the hot spray, remorseful eyes never leaving mine.
I let him.
Against my better judgment, I let him wet and shampoo my hair, while I close my eyes and silently relish his gentle touch.
I let him tenderly wash my body, even though this is the third time I’ve been cleaned today and my skin will be as dry as the Sahara.
I let him trail his lips over every part of me while his sincerely and earnestly mumbled sorrys sink through my skin and into my battered soul, healing the tiny wounds he inflicted earlier.
And then I beg him to take me as he slowly slips into my impossibly wet sex and spends long, languid minutes making sweet love to me against the cool glass wall, solidifying our connection once again.
As he usually does when he’s inside me, his eyes lock with mine. I’ve never known anyone who likes eye contact more than Asher. It’s like he needs that connection so he can bore past my defenses, which are at their weakest when he’s taking everything I physically have to give.
We are so attuned to each other already, words aren’t necessary.
I feel his sincerity.
I feel his relief.
I feel his love.
And when we drop into bed, sated and happy, I curl my naked form around his and feel the day melt away like it never happened.
Only it did. And I may no longer be angry, but I still need to know why.
Chapter 23
Alyse
My eyes slowly open, bringing me out of the dark recesses of slumber. I vaguely note it’s still dark outside. A warm, hard body spoons me from behind. It takes me a minute to remember where I am and who I’m with.
Friday.
Chicago.
Asher.
I look at the digital clock, noticing it’s early. Only six o’clock. Asher’s usually up before now, running off to the gym or to an early morning meeting, but by the even, shallow breaths and steady rise and fall of his chest, I can tell he’s still in a deep sleep.
I’m grateful, because I need a few moments to digest the dream I just had about Beck. I haven’t dreamed about him in years and I have to wonder why I’m doing it now. Is it because I’ve fallen in love with Asher and Beck’s now haunting me or because I met a man who is almost his spitting image?
“What time do you get off, babe?”
“Three. Why?” I haven’t seen Beck for a week. We’ve barely spoken during that time. After only three months, I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with him, but when he disappears for days at a time without a word, it hurts and pisses me off. During those times, he’s distant and every single time I feel like he’s trying to break things off. But then he comes back and is his usual charming, irresistible, attentive self and I forgive him again.
He says it’s family stuff, but he won’t tell me anything else. He’s always so secretive about them, I’m beginning to think he’s trying to hide me, although I’m doing the same exact thing with him, because I know neither my father nor Livia would approve. That makes me frown.