His thumb finds the corner of my jaw, tilting my gaze up to meet his. Somehow, that feels more like cheating than if he actually kissed me. I can almost feel the grit of his stubble as he examines the low dip of my cleavage. “Did Brayden give you that necklace?” he asks.
I nod. The pendant knocks against my sternum. “For our wedding.”
Asher mutters something that sounds likea fucking lock, before he dips low, presses his mouth to my clavicle, to the pendant in the dip of my collarbone. “When you wear that, I want you to think of me. When you wear that necklace, I want you to think about how he left you herealoneinstead of taking care of you.” He reaches for my wrist, thumb at the thin skin over my veins. Right where Brayden had touched me just a few hours ago. That’s enough to sober me. The air in the room is suddenly chilly again.
I pull back slightly. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” I manage.
Asher hums. “Probably not.” He turns, juts his chin toward the locked door adjoining Brayden’s and my bedrooms. “Maybe we should do this in there.”
“You want to fuck me in my husband’s bed?” I ask.
“I want to fuck you until he isn’t your husband.”
That makes me yank my wrist away. Asher’s fingers momentarily tighten around it, but he lets me go. His chest is heaving, as if holding still is taking all of his control.
“We shouldn’t,” I say more firmly. Even if everything in me wants to. Even if it’d be so easy to close the distance between us. Shut up in this big empty house, no one would know, exceptfor Asher and me, but that’s two people too many. “I’m not a cheater.”
Asher blinks. “Is Brayden?”
I don’t know. I don’t know what he’s up to, who he’s out with. But he sat next to me, asked me about my degree. Treated me like I was a person and not a possession. I can’t repay that by fucking his teammate. “I’m not, and that’s what matters.”
Asher doesn’t argue. He resettles himself on the bed, wincing slightly. He’s hard, unmistakably, through his jeans.
“Sorry.” I nod toward his lap.
“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “I’ll take care of it later.”
I get a flash: Asher in bed, hand around his cock as hetakes careof himself. Twin spots of heat flush my cheeks.
It must be obvious what I’m thinking, because Asher smirks. “Won’t exactly be the first time I’ve donethatthinking about you.”
“Asher…” I breathe.
“Yeah, it involves you saying my name just like that.”
My arm comes up—to reach for him, to stop him, I’m not sure—and the towel falls away. I’m wearing a bra and necklace, but that’s it. My underwear had gotten wet in the cleanup, so I took them off.
Asher makes a noise when he realizes, a word that comes out half a growl. One second, I’m standing on my bedroom floor and the next I’m sprawled backward on my bed, his hands tracing their way up my ribs, his body levered over mine.
“Take that off,” he orders, and I go to undo my bra when he shakes his head and reaches for the necklace instead, fingers stumbling on the clasp as he undoes it. “Right now, I don’t want you to think about him. Right now, I want you to forget you even know his name.” He yanks open a nightstand drawer and I think he’s going to shove the necklace inside and slam it.
Instead, he drops the pendant with a thump and then draws something else out. My vibrator. One of them. He toggles through various settings activating and silencing the main shaft of it and the part that goes right against my clit. “When was the last time you used this?” he asks.
I swallow nervously, face flaming with heat. “Yesterday.” An orgasm that had felt fine—good even—right before I went to bed, palm across my mouth so I wouldn’t disturb Brayden in the next room.
“What’d you think about when you were touching yourself?” he asks.
“You, here, asking me that question.”
He laughs at that. “Take your bra off.” I sit up and unhook the band of my bra, tossing it onto my bedroom floor. One of my tits is a little larger than the other. Something past boyfriends have mentioned, as if I should have been grateful for their attention at all. I wait for him to say something.
“Fuck,” he whispers, low and rough. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He leans over me, the tip of his nose against my neck, his breath against my shoulder. His hand tilts my jaw up. This time he doesn’t stop, just presses his lips to mine. At our wedding, Brayden kissed me like he wanted me to be his. Asher kisses like he wants to be mine, mouth firm, lips parting until I can stroke my tongue against his.
My hands find their way to his hair—longer than Brayden’s and glossy against my fingers—then to his shoulders. His tattoo is a dark swirl like a spill of ink. But underneath it, his skin is rough like the tattoo is being used to cover up a scar.
Asher startles for a second. He moves my hand to his back, lowering his face, kissing my throat and shoulder and collarbone. Then he pauses and sucks a mark right on my chest, unmistakable.
“Brayden—” I gasp. It feels traitorous to even mention him. “He’ll see.” He might, or he might not, but either way that mark is a reminder—that we were here. That we did this. That the number of secrets I’m keeping just multiplied by two.
