Ash: A Bad Boy Romance (24 page)

“Ash, there are things you don’t know.” My body thrums, heat pooling between my legs.

“I give exactly zero fucks about what I don’t know.” He hooks his thumb in the waist of my leggings, then his fingers make their way to the crotch of my panties, lifting and pulling, sliding over my wetness and up and over my button until I’m whimpering. Until I’m lost and becoming someone else, someone without any secrets, someone who doesn’t care about any of the money or the other bullshit that’s supposed to be important.
 

Some of Ash’s red hair has grown long, and it flops over his forehead as he pushes me back so I’m leaning against the arm of the chair, slipping two fingers inside of me all at once. His palm rocks against my clit, fingers working inside of me, wet lacy fabric clinging to me. His free hand pulls up my shirt and bra, exposing one breast, and he bends to lick and suck at my nipple, tongue traveling over my flesh as I dissolve into a puddle of incoherent whispers and moans. There are plenty of things about this man that make me uncomfortable—it’s not his background or his jobs. I don’t view him like he thinks I do. As he slides a third finger inside of me and I toss my head back, fingers laced through his hair, I pinpoint the word that comes to mind when I’m around him—excessive. Like something that should be
forbidden
.
 

His hands move like lightning, and my shirt disappears over my head. My leggings and panties follow as he throws me around, and I moan with desperation when his fingers leave my sex.
 

“Don’t stop—don’t stop—” I’m drunk on my own lust and absolutely incoherent, unable to think about all the things I meant to say. My muscles tense with need, and I’m babbling when he gets off the chair and kneels in front of me, wrapping my legs around his head, licking, sucking, running his tongue up and down my folds, teasing and playing with my clit as I hang onto his hair for dear life. Crying out in pleasure, I throw one leg over his back and draw him in close.

Ash unbuckles himself, his jeans falling to his knees. There’s a tremendous groan against my sex, and he sucks my button into his mouth hard, biting down on it gently. He keeps groaning as he strokes himself, lips pulling against my clit.
 

My body tenses and shakes, my hips bucking hard against Ash’s face. Lightning bolts reach through my body, shaking and shuddering and setting everything on fire.
 

Just as I start to come again, Ash slips out of his jeans and stands, lifting his shirt over his head. Before he can lift me up and carry me like he normally does, I slide down to my knees before him and take his cock in my hand. It’s already rock hard, a translucent bead at its tip. I dart my tongue out and lick it, teasing his tip and growing even wetter as he moans and absently thrusts his cock forward so that it parts my lips.
 

“You’re such a good girl, Sunshine.” He strokes my hair, and I relax my throat like I used to when we knew each other before. It seems like a different life, but my body remembers him, remembers how
good
it feels to take him to the back of my throat, to listen to him groaning. He pulls out and strokes himself, moaning and panting. I lick from his head to his shaft, my tongue making contact with the tips of his fingers, skin salty and delicious. Gently, I move his hand away and take his head in my mouth again, circling it with my tongue before taking him to the hilt. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs again. I rock on my knees, and I feel his muscles begin to tighten just before he pulls away.

My pulse quickens. “Did I do something? Did I forget how—”

“No, baby. I just want to make you come again.” He lifts me up to my feet and sweeps me up, carrying me toward the bedroom.

I shake my head. “The chair. Put me on top of you.”

He growls and swings us both down on the chair, sitting so I’m positioned right over his cock. He lifts me up by the waist and his mouth finds one breast and then the other. I try to push myself down, but he shakes his head.
 

“Not yet, Sunshine. I want you nice and wet when I come inside you. God I love to feel how wet you get for me.”
 

His breath is hot and heavy against my skin. And everything about me feels like it’s on fire, brain buzzing, my legs parted just inches above Ash’s huge, hard cock. It’s like the conversation we started earlier vanished into dust as soon as he touched me. The thing with this man—when I start with him, I don’t get satisfied. Instead, I want more, need more, until mind and body are buzzing and I can barely breathe.
 

“Please let me ride you,” I moan. “I just want to
come
. Please.” His tongue traces a line between my nipples, and he bites down slightly on one as he moves a hand from my waist to the waiting, wet V between my legs. He taps once, and then twice on my clit, pressure as light as a small breeze. I shudder, and the sweet pleasure of his touch nearly sends me over the edge. I lick my lips and think of his cock in my mouth, my body arched over him, hungry with need. Slowly, he lowers me down on the head of his cock, stretching me like he always does.
 

“So wet. So tight.” He lets me down a little more, and I gasp. He looks me in the eye as he cups my breasts, brushing each sensitive nipple with his thumb, “You didn’t have any other men while you were away. I can tell.” It’s a statement.

I shake my head. “No, I didn’t.”

He slides me down lower, so I’m almost at the base of his cock. I’m still not free to ride him like I want, but I feel a slight sense of relief. Still, I need—I
crave
—what comes next. Riding him. Coming hard while his cock is inside me.
 

“Tell me why you didn’t.”

“Because I—”

He brings me to the base once and then lifts me again. I cry out.

“Because I didn’t want anyone,” I gasp. “Not if they weren’t you.”

He sighs. “Good girl. Now you can have what you want.”
 

He lets me go, and I throw my arms around his shoulders, leaning into him and riding him. His cock is almost too big to take, but I fell in love with that feeling when I first slept with Ash—like all of my senses are focused on that one point in my body. I ride him harder, faster, angling my clit so it meets his skin with every movement. My nipples stiffen, red-pink blush building from the base of my belly to my cheeks, muscles tensing and releasing. The unstoppable tide rises from my core, and I moan loud, shuddering, falling against him.
 

“I love you. I never stopped.” The words fall out before I can stop them, and they come in a rushed whisper, my chin on Ash’s shoulder. I’m panting hard, nearly crying. Ash takes over, lifting my hips and using me like he likes.

“Good,” he growls, thrusting into me from below.

We’re so close, so connected that I feel his voice rumbling through me, climbing through my body and invading my consciousness. I moan, my body utterly lightweight, as Ash holds me by the waist and brings me down again and again onto the full length of his cock.
 

I grip his shoulders and stare into his eyes, focusing on the whitish tips of his lashes. The waves build in my body again, starting where he fills me and expanding out to every cell, every fiber. I come, slower this time, my pleasure drawn out, eyes rolling back in my head. There’s nothing that will keep me from falling now, nothing to make me not want him. He might not know that, might not comprehend it in the visceral way that I do. I cry out and bear down against him.

He groans, muscles tensing, coming inside of me and filling me. He bucks hard into me, his kiss brutal and deep, red stubble rubbing against my cheek.
 

“My beautiful girl,” he says, his hands roaming over my body. I’m still throbbing around him. And the man, even though he’s fucking thirty-five, is still
hard
. I collapse into him, legs still splayed, muscles sore.

“Yeah?” I close my eyes and welcome his kisses. There are still burdens, yes, but it feels like we’re not beholden to them anymore.
 

“I was faithful to you, Summer. Every minute.”
 

My pulse quickens. I never expected that he had really
waited
for me. It must have been difficult, looking like he does. I can nearly hear panties setting on fire each time we walk on a crowded street.
 

He doesn’t wait for me to reply. Instead, he pulls me closer and whispers in my ear. “When the time is right, I want you off of that pill. We might not have the money now. We might not be steady enough—but I want a
family
. With
you
.”
 

My blood runs cold, and I freeze against him. I’m glad he can’t see my face. Because this is the one thing I can’t give, the one thing I can’t even try, not after what happened.
 

“I can’t...”

I can’t. I can’t. I lost the first one. The doctor said after it happened once, it could happen again.
 

The words stick in my throat, and I feel hot tears streaming down my cheeks. I’ve given up my anger, my grief, and all the ideas I had about a life in this little town. But this is the one thing I can’t give up.

“Don’t say anything now.” He kisses me again. “But I’m ready. Now, or any damn time.”

Three Years, Three Months Ago

Penn Station
 

By five in the afternoon, I develop a good enough lie that my wife believes me and heads to the damn station by herself. The bus leaves at seven, and I told her I’d be there at the very last minute.
 

I considered telling her I didn’t want to be with her, that I didn’t love her, that I wanted my life here more than I wanted one with her.
 

But when I looked at her face today, excited and nervous and exuberant all at once as she packed her frayed green scrubs, I knew I couldn’t do it. What’s more, I knew she wouldn’t go without me.
 

So here I am, sitting a safe distance from her stop at Penn Station, another anonymous man with a black hoodie pulled up over his head. My heart is heavier than it has ever been, and somehow I
feel
more alive than I ever have—but it’s because of the
pain,
pervasive, like it’s pounding through me.
 

What kind of man marries a woman just to break her heart? Just to watch her walk away?

Throat tight, fists clenched, I fight whatever the hell is happening in my mind and the bullshit it’s doing to my body at the same time. For a few seconds, it feels like I might heat up and explode from the inside, like one of those people you hear about who spontaneously combusts.

Jonathan Ash has never felt like this.

And
never
over a woman.
 

An old man passes by my bench, his arm so close it nearly brushes the fabric of my hoodie. He turns and looks at me, catching my eye, laugh lines crinkling up as he smiles.

“Waiting for someone?” He asks, voice raspy.
 

“No,” I grunt. “Just waiting.”
 

“That’s too bad,” he says and turns to walk away, leaning into his cane.
 

“Why’s that?”
 

He turns back to me and shrugs his shoulders very slightly. “Life is better when you have someone worth waiting for.”
 

The old man wanders off, leaving me with that bit of ridiculous crap advice that sounds like it came off the back of an inspirational coffee cup.
 

“Wait—” I shout after him, but he can’t hear me and walks off to the trains.
 

When I turn, I see Summer, wearing her green dress and a pair of sandals. I hadn’t even realized it was warm today. I pull my hoodie tighter over my head and watch her, trying to fight the rage swirling inside. At first, she looks calm, maybe even excited. I can’t help but think what an excellent doctor she’ll be, who she’ll become. Maybe Bianca was right—it’ll all be better without me. I shift uncomfortably, and a pain strikes me in my chest, like my lungs and heart are constricting together all at once.
 

At 6:45, right on cue, I see my cousin Damian catch her by the arm. He’s even bigger than I am—and he
looks
like he works for the mafia, which isn’t a coincidence because he most certainly does. Summer reels back and drops her suitcase, nearly falling over the bench behind her.