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Reaching up, I cup his face and rub my thumb over his bottom lip. His eyes are hooded and dark, his cheeks are dotted red, and it’s obvious what he’s doing to me has him as affected as I am.
Bending over, his lips land on mine at the exact moment his fingers sink inside. Grabbing on to his arm for balance, I gasp at the sensation as he begins to make love to me with his fingers and his mouth . . . at the same time.
Sensory overload.
The warmth of the water. The burn of his skin. The taste of his tongue. The determination of his hands. The feel of his heart. The losing of mine. I surrender to him and fall into a trance of complete and utter bliss.
Backing me up against the wall, his hands grab my waist, and he lifts me off the ground. I wrap my legs around him, and he leans forward, bracing me in with his hips. One of his arms falls over my head to support himself, and the other under my butt to hold my weight.
Never breaking eye contact, he gently shifts my body and lowers me to exactly where we both need me to be. My head falls back against the wall and his face falls into my neck. A moan slips out at the pleasure he’s giving me, and his fingertips dig in as he begins to rock back and forth.
Back and forth.
Never in my life have I felt anything as moving and earth-shattering as this. He fully imprints himself on me, and I feel ravished, cherished, and loved. From the beginning to the end, the entire experience elicits emotions so raw and so real, I cling to him as tightly as I can as my heart swells and bursts into thousands of tiny sparkling pieces. How I’ll ever be able to find them all again, I don’t know. I don’t even know if I want to.
I am in love with him, and this just cemented his life to mine.
Laying my head on his shoulder, my arms wrapped around him, neither one of us moves. I think if I could stay like this with him forever . . . I would.
Something in his room makes a noise and wakes me.
Cracking my eyes open, I look at the clock and see it’s eight thirty. A groan rumbles through me; I’ve only been sleeping for two hours. I roll over on to my side. Soreness, that’s what I feel, and I decide it’s a good thing, smiling to myself.
Ash either has a very healthy appetite for sex, or a very healthy appetite for me, or both. Not that I’m complaining. I would repeat the hours we spent together last night any time. The buzz goes off again, and I reach over him, feeling along the nightstand to find it.
It’s his phone. No, it’s mine. Oh, I don’t know, phones all feel the same. Picking it up, a text from Juliet is lit up across the screen.
Juliet: Once she leaves, come back over, we missed you this morning.
Sitting up in bed, I reread the text as my heart starts pounding in my chest. I can’t be reading this clearly, but I am. I know it. The screen goes black and I freeze.
Once she leaves. She knows I’m still here. I know there were tweets and photos of me taken at his show last night, but still. How much does she know about me? Did he tell her about us? And if so, how is she okay with him being with another girl? Nausea instantly hits my stomach.
Come back over. This implies that they’ve been together recently, real recently. Like spent-Thanksgiving-together recently. Tears blur my eyes. I’m so confused.
We missed you this morning. I don’t know how to take this. Clearly, he sleeps there, and frequently, if he’s missed.We. Is she talking about the little boy he has as his wallpaper? Oh, God. Is this even his home, or is it just where he takes girls he meets?
Suddenly, flashbacks of Chris and his spring break affair come to mind. I found out about that too by text, and I can’t believe that the past is repeating itself.
Slipping out of bed, I tiptoe over to the closet door and open it. It’s only half full, and not because the other half is meant for someone else, but because he doesn’t have a lot of clothes hanging in here. How did I not notice this before?
I feel so stupid.
Who is Juliet?
Looking down, I’m still gripping his phone. Hitting the button, I slide it on; it doesn’t have a password. I open the web search and type in “Will Ashton and girlfriend” into the browser, and hit the images tab. There, as I scroll through, are hundreds and hundreds of pictures of him and the girl from the night of the benefit.
Oh my God.
Clicking on a random picture from last year’s Country Music Awards, the headline pops up, “Will Ashton, escorted by longtime girlfriend, Juliet Brooks, wins Male Vocalist of the Year.”
My heart stops, and tears spill over.
How could he do this me? How could he do this to her? How can she be okay with him being with other women? I know if he was mine, I certainly wouldn’t be, but then again, I guess he’s not mine and never will be.
With shaking hands, I close the browser and place the phone back on his nightstand. He’s lying on his stomach with one arm tucked under his pillow and the blanket has slipped down to his waist.
He’s so handsome.
