I raise an eyebrow. “Wow. Touchy.”
“Yeah?” he smirks, all sarcasm and hunger. “Well you're infuriating.”
“And you're engaged.” The words stumble out before I can stop them. Damnit. Again. Fucking motherfucker.
His hand is behind my neck in a flash, forcing me into his chest. “And you're fucking married, Venom, so shut the fuck up and stop being jealous. As much as I find it cute…” his nose skims mine. “I'll have no problem fucking you until you can't breathe just to prove that she doesn't mean shit to me.”
I want to yell. To argue. To be all the ugly things that I feel whenever she has her hands on him, but deep down, I know I can't. It makes me a hypocrite. It makes me all the things I never wanted.
“—honey were home!” Jord yells, kicking the door closed behind him and Luce, but it does nothing to separate Asher and I.
He sashays past us, lowering his glasses with a finger and looking between Asher and I. “Oh, baby boy, as much as I'd love to see you both go at it, my money's on Ivy.”
Asher releases me, and I place the basket down onto the sofa, finding Punk staring at me. She quickly smiles, before going back to her phone, scrolling through whatever it is she's doing.
Everyone exits the room except Asher, and I turn, eyes landing on him again.
“Ivy.”
I look away, and he steps close, fingers around my chin and forcing me back on him.
My heart feels heavy and lazy, the room small.
His thumb swipes my lip. “You of all people understand the complexities of fucking relationships that you don't wanna be in, so quit it with the fucking tantrums.”
My mouth snaps closed before I say something I regret. He's right. Of course he is. But—but what? I'm being ridiculous.
His mouth crashes into mine before I can form a coherent thought. The kiss is brutal, claiming, designed to shut me up and make a point simultaneously.
It works.
My hands find his shirt without permission, fisting the fabric like I'm trying to anchor myself. His tongue sweeps against mine, possessive and demanding, and I respond with equal ferocity because I'm done pretending I don't want this.
When he pulls back, it's only far enough to speak. His breath ghosts over my lips, and I can taste coffee and something darker.
“I meant every fucking thing I said last night.” His voice drops low, rough. “Every. Thing.”
My chest heaves against his. “Asher—”
“And it was your idea,” he continues, thumb pressing into my jaw, “to let this play out. So either you're in, or you're not. But don't stand here acting wounded when you're the one who set the rules.”
The words hit like a slap and a caress at once. He's right. I did this. I told him we couldn't be more. I pushed for the boundaries we're now obliterating.
“I'm in,” I whisper.
His eyes search mine, looking for the lie. He won't find one. Not about this.
“Good.” His arm slides around my waist, fingers splaying across my lower back. “Then quit acting like Camille matters.”
She doesn't. She shouldn't. But watching her touch him makes me want to commit felonies.
I nod, swallowing the jealousy that tastes like battery acid. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah.” I force the word out. “Okay.”
He studies me for another beat before seeming satisfied. His grip on my waist tightens, and he steers me toward the kitchen. I let him guide me like this is normal. Like we haven't just negotiated the terms of our mutual destruction.
