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For the rest of the meal, we make small talk and it’s like pulling teeth. When Maria gets up to clear away, I beat her to it.
“No, let me, please.” At the same time I get to my feet so does Kennedy, and I can already see how this is going to go.
We load up and carry the plates through to the kitchen, not a word said between us. As soon as the kitchen door swings shut behind us, Kennedy lets rip.
“What the actual fuck are you doing here, Asher?”
I place the plates down in the sink and turn the tap on before facing her. “I’m here because your mom invited me.”
“Well, you don’t have a reason to be here anymore, so you can go.” I watch as her mouth says one thing and her body tells me something completely different.
I reach behind me, turning the tap off, then I take a step toward her. Seeing my movement, she retreats a step, but I just keep coming until she runs out of room, her back hitting the wall behind her.
“You don’t have anywhere to run to now, Kenzie.” I lean forward, whispering the words in her ear. She turns her head away, but I’m not deterred. “We need to talk.”
“Like hell we do,” she grits out, turning her head back my way. The move brings our mouths within inches of each other, and I can almost taste her sweet lips. Cherries, she smells of sweet, sweet fucking cherries.
“If you think that we have nothing to talk about then you’re very fucking wrong, Kenzie. We have six years’ worth of talking to do.”
“Stop calling me Kenzie. I don’t like it. I have nothing to say to you. I said it all six years ago when I left you at my brother’s graveside.”
Her words hit as they were meant to, but I ignore the sharp pain they cause. “I’ll call you whatever I want because I don’t believe you. What you said that day wasn’t you talking, it was the grief, the pain, the loss. The same grief and pain and loss that six years away has done nothing to abate. Is that why you came back, Kenzie? Back to where it all started because it’s chased you wherever you go. I know it’s still chasing me.” My words are harsh and meant to hurt. I need her pain. I need her hate. It’s the only thing that will ever fix what’s broken in us both.
“Fuck you! You don’t know anything about my pain.” Her eyes pin me beneath her hate, and her words slice at the open wounds the death of her brother, my best friend, have left behind. “He’s dead—they both are—because you left him. If you think that six years away has changed that, then you’ve lost your damn mind.”
Without a second’s thought, I capture her chin in a bruising grip, causing her breath to hitch. Leaning down until our lips touch, I say, “You can think what you like, but until you allow me to tell my side of the story, you have no fucking right to tell me I’m to blame.” And before she can reply and not able to stop myself, I slam my lips down on hers. After a split second of surprise, she kisses me back, her mouth parting and allowing me access. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve tasted in six whole years. Moving my hand to the back of her neck, I angle her head, deepening the kiss, and she lets out a groan.
A noise in the hall has us breaking apart, and her hands on my chest push me away just as the door to the kitchen opens. Jackson strides in, opening his mouth to speak then closing it again when he doesn’t see us. Kennedy pushes past me, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth like that can wipe our kiss away.
It’s going to take a damn sight more than that to erase that from my mind. My cock agrees given how fucking hard it is inside my pants right now.
“Kenz, your mom wants you to bring out the dessert when you’re done. It’s in the fridge apparently,” Jackson says as Kennedy stops at the sinks and turns the tap on again ready to rinse the dirty plates.
Without even looking, she says, “Asher can bring it out now. Don’t wait for me. I’m feeling a little sick all of a sudden.”
Jackson looks to me, and I shake my head to tell him to leave it. Going to the fridge, I take out the pie and hand it to Jackson before grabbing the bowls that Maria must have laid out earlier.
Jackson watches as I go over to Kennedy, and I stop behind her. “We’re not done with this conversation, Kenzie. Not by a long fucking shot.”
I don’t wait for her response, leaving her to the dishes while I join the others in the dining room.
Kennedy doesn’t come back, not that I’m surprised. But I wasn’t lying when I told her this conversation wasn’t over. I let her go all those years ago, but if she thinks she can come back here and pretend I don’t exist after what went down between us, she’s wrong!
ChapterSeven
Ithrow the towel down after drying my hands. I can’t believe the cheek of him. Coming into my mom’s house, invading my personal space, then kissing me. I feel like marching into the dining room and laying him out. Of course, that would never happen. The guy is one hundred and ninety pounds of solid fucking muscle. That conjures a picture of a naked Asher, and I quickly shake the thought away.
Leaving the kitchen before anyone comes looking for me, or I change my mind and decide I want dessert—Asher wearing it, I head upstairs to my room. I drop face down onto the bed, burying my face into the duvet, then I let out a cry that I hope is muffled enough nobody can hear me.
After a few minutes, I decide I need a shower. Grabbing some clean pjs, I head to the bathroom, after double checking it’s empty.
I switch the water on and strip off, then climb under the cool spray. For the first five minutes while I wash my hair, it works to keep my mind off other things. But with the silky bubbles from my shampoo dripping over my breasts and down my torso, it doesn’t take long before my fingers slip between my folds, circling my clit while I tug and tweak my hardened nipples with the other hand. In seconds I’m coming apart and biting my lip so as not to make a sound. I’ve not had an orgasm that strong in a long time. But I refuse to admit it has anything to do with Asher fucking King.
Finishing up in the shower quickly, I put him to the back of mind, which surprisingly is easier now that I’ve scratched the itch he left me with down in the kitchen. Fucker!
As I dress, my mind wanders to the first and only time we had sex. It wasn’t gentle lovemaking; it was fast and raw and so fucking hot that I still dream about it sometimes. Waking up in the night wet and wanton. A couple of times I’ve woken with my hand between my thighs and on the verge of orgasm, and others, I’ve used Owen to get me off while fantasizing it was Asher.
I hate that my body still craves his touch. How is that possible after all this time, after what he did, what we did?
