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He grows so still I swear he stopped breathing. Fuck. I didn’t really mean to say that. It was fucked up. It’s true, but it wasn’t fair.
“I left because I couldn’t bring my shit to you, knowing I was the reason you were hurting. Me. I’m the reason Marcus was dead, and I couldn’t face you.” His voice is quiet but powerful. “I needed you. Craved you with every fiber of my being, but I didn’t deserve to feel comforted by the person I had gutted.” His hand is once again on my face, keeping my gaze locked on his. “In my fucked-up head, you were better off without me, and not having you was my punishment.”
“I won’t survive you walking away again.” A tear slips down my face as I stare at him. “Being with you is everything I ever wanted, and giving it to me now only to turn your back on me again will ruin what little scraps of myself I still have left.” It’s his turn for tears to well up in his eyes. “Please, I am begging you not to take the fragile pieces I’m barely holding together, because I’m not capable of keeping them from you. If you don’t stop, it will destroy the broken shell of a person I already am.”
For a few frozen moments, there’s nothing between us but our pain as our breaths mingle.
“You haven’t figured it out yet,” he starts, desperation seeping in. “I can’t.” Asher lets out a shaky breath and cups my face in his palms while a tear slowly trails down his stubbled cheek. “I loved you more than I have words to explain. I couldn’t move on. I can’t let you go.”
His lips press to mine, soft but sure. The kiss is salty and full of the agony we know is waiting on the other side of this. Is it worse to know he’ll be broken by us too, or better to know I won’t be alone?
“Let me take care of you,” he says against my mouth. “Please, I need to.”
I nod, too close to another breakdown for words.
He gets the washcloth wet and cleans my skin, careful of the scab that’s formed. It’s really close to my groin, too fucking close to important shit that could have really hurt me. It was stupid, but I didn’t want him to see the mark. Old scars I can brush off, but a new one would be easy to spot and hard to explain.
“Stay right there. I have a first aid kit in my bag.” Asher gives me a stern look, and I watch him exit the bathroom and hear him rummage around in his suitcase. Do NFL players keep bandage supplies with them? Don’t they have a team doctor for that kind of shit? He comes back with a red shaving kit bag and sets it on the counter to dig through it. He finds some ointment and big bandages to cover the wound. It’s going to hurt like a bitch to get the adhesive out of my leg hair, but oh well, I guess.
Asher leans down and kisses the pad of the Band-Aid, then puts his supplies away. I slide off the counter and wash my hands that are now crusty with dried blood. He comes back in and picks up the knife, holding it in his hand. I’m sure he remembers it.
“When I unpacked your stuff, I thought you kept this with you because it made you feel safe. For protection.” He runs the blade under the water, dries it, then picks up my kit and puts the knife back in the case. “I’m not giving this back.”
Feeling minuscule, I nod as I dry my hands and leave the bathroom. The room is dark, bed is a mess, clothes everywhere. I’m fucking tired.
Crawling back onto the bed, I curl up on my side into a ball and hug a pillow to my chest. Asher shuts off the bathroom light and joins me on the bed. The clock says three a.m. on the side table, and I just stare at it until my eyes burn. Asher doesn’t try to touch me for a while. Long enough that I think he’s fallen asleep, but when I sit up, hetsksme.
“Lay down.” His words make me jump.
“I can’t sleep. I’m not just laying here to stare at the wall,” I tell him.
He rolls toward me, grips the back of my shirt, and pulls me back onto the mattress. Taken by surprise, I don’t fight him, and I find myself enveloped by him. My face in his neck, leg over his hip, and his arms banded around me. He pushes a thick thigh between mine and slides his hand into my underwear to hold my ass cheek in his hand, then settles solidly against me. The pressure of his body on mine, surrounding me, is what I needed. Finally, I’m able to relax, and my head quiets.
* * *
Two days later,while Asher is in the gym, I find the laundry bag the resort offers and stuff all of our dirty clothes into it. Since we’re here for an extended stay, I told the front desk to have the maids come in twice a week to straighten up, but that we definitely didn’t need them every day.
I don’t know how to feel about Asher, how to process what’s happened. With anxiety making me edgy, I clean up the room. Organize the bathroom supplies, find a silicone mouth sex toy that Asher must have left in the shower, stack the books neatly on the dresser, and empty the backpack from the hike the other day. The brownie I bought from Holden calls to me, offering peace. After tossing the backpack in the closet, I rip open the packaging and break off a piece of the thick, chewy brownie. The sweet fudge flavor hits my tongue, overpowering the weed taste, and I’m a goner.
I quickly straighten out the blankets on the bed and sit crisscross in the middle with the sugary treat and a paperback. It’s rich and heavy so I can’t eat much before my stomach complains, but hopefully it’s enough weed for the high to slow the anxiety. I’m flipping through the pages about half an hour later when the high starts. My head quiets, and I can breathe. The tension in my shoulders leaves, and I fall back on the bed with a sigh.
My skin is tingling as I run my fingertips over my stomach and thighs. Closing my eyes, I think of Asher, and my dick hardens. He’s so much better than I could have imagined. Controlling my body with a few soft words. He tells me I’m good and I’m his. It’s all I have ever wanted.
My fingers are dragging along the ridge of my dick through my underwear when I remember the sex toy I found in the bathroom when I was cleaning up. I jump up and grab the silicone mouth, pour some lube into it, and lie back down on the bed when the door opens.
“Eli—” I force my eyes open when he stops short. He’s sweaty from his workout but so fucking sexy. The bulging arm muscles decorated with tattoos, the soft chest hair that I love to rub my face against, all on clear display since he took his shirt off to dry his face with.
“What are you doing, baby?” He leans against the wall and watches me with that smile that’s all sex.
“Thinking of you,” I whisper. My eyes are locked on his face while my hips arch and roll as I slide the snug toy down my cock.
He raises an eyebrow and watches my hand between my thighs.
“What about me?”
“How you fuck me.” I pull my lip between my teeth, run my fingers down my dick still confined in my underwear, and arch my back. My thighs fall open as precum wets the fabric. The high lets me forget to be embarrassed over shit Asher doesn’t care about. It’s so freeing.
“Show me.” His voice is rough, body tense as he watches. He wants to touch me, I can see it, but he’s holding back.
