He didn’t even look at me. I shut the door and went to my room, burying myself in PSAT prep for four hours before curling up with the copy of Love in the Time of Cholera Asher had given me.
At ten, quiet footsteps in the hall made my pulse race. Asher was finally home. I didn’t want to wait for him to come to me.
I grabbed the novel, slippedout of my room, and crossed into his. Without knocking, I let myself in.
Water splashed in his en suite. I sank onto his bed, calm settling over me. The room smelled like him, warm and familiar—because here, I was always welcome.
Minutes later, the bathroom door creaked open. Asher stepped out in nothing but a towel knotted at his hips, head bent as he rubbed his hair dry. Water beaded down his chest and abs, glistening before disappearing beneath the fabric.
God help me. He looked like he’d walked out of a cologne ad—and he was mine.
“Drop the towel,” I whispered.
He stopped, staring at me as if I were the one half-naked. Then his lips curved. “I thought you were asleep. Also, what happened to ‘welcome home’?”
“And I thought you were dressed. Welcome home. Now drop it.”
His warm laugh rumbled through the room. “What do I get if I do?”
My gaze slid over every inch of his skin. “A welcome-home kiss. Or maybe I’ll lick you dry.”
Asher groaned, tipping his head back. “For fuck’s sake, peque. Have some mercy.”
“Only if you drop the towel.”
In one smooth motion, he tugged the knot loose. The towel hit the floor, and my core clenched at the sight of him. Holy shit.
I licked my lips. “So, just talking to me gets you going?”
His dark eyes raked over me. “Seeing you on my bed gets me going. Or hearing your voice. Or your existence, really. That’s it—the show’s over. Unless you want me to lick you.” He crossed to the dresser and pulled on a pair of black boxer briefs.
“Not fair,” I pouted.
He stepped back toward the bed, hunger sharpening his gaze. Shivers ran down my spine. “You know what isn’t fair?” He planted his palms on either side of me and leaned close, heat rolling off his bare skin. “That we aren’t alone.” His thumb brushed my cheek, then dragged across my bottom lip. “Because I’m dying to show you all of me—and seeall of you. But I’m not giving you your first orgasm while your father’s still in his office.”
Warmth pooled low in my stomach. I couldn’t wait for the day it was just us. He cupped my face, kissed me quick—right before Dad’s footsteps echoed in the hallway.
When silence returned, Asher sighed. “See? That’s what I mean.”
“He’s gone now,” I murmured. “Can I sleep here?”
He tucked a strand behind my ear. “And if he goes to check on you?”
That hadn’t happened in years. He wouldn’t start caring now. “He won’t. I tried talking to him earlier, and he dismissed me.”
Asher switched off the light and pulled back the comforter. Like always, he gathered me into his arms, and I melted against him as he drew circles on my back. “What did you want to talk to him about?” he asked.
“I skipped therapy. I wanted to tell him I’m quitting altogether, but he didn’t let me finish.”
Asher kissed my forehead. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too, but I’m used to it.” I traced his jaw with my fingertips. “I wanted to do the right thing—to save him money—since I’m not going back. I’d rather spend that time studying or reading.”
“What do you think of the book?” He nodded at the novel I’d left on his nightstand.
“The setting’s fascinating. Makes me want to go to Colombia. And I feel bad for Florentino and Fermina. I can relate to having a controlling father.”
Asher nuzzled into my neck. “I felt bad for Florentino too, but fifty-something years waiting for her? Get real. He should’ve fought harder instead of letting her marry that guy her father picked.”
