Thankfully, the snow stopped late last night, and the plows came through early, so the roads are completely clear. Ashton insisted on sitting with me for breakfast even though I tried to lose him in the buffet line. It was an awkward meal, to say the least.
When we got in the car to head home, I offered to pay for my half of the hotel even though I knew there was no way in hell I could afford it, but Ashton said he would get it covered. Whatever that means. Those were the last words we spoke to each other over half an hour ago. At least he put the radio on right away this time. I hum absentmindedly along with the music, some singer-songwriter who I assume has curly hair and a beard. Don’t they all?
I clack my nails against the side of the window, just to have something else to do, and Ashton levels me with a glare. Why on earth is he mad atmeright now? I’m the one who had to suffer through the most embarrassing morning of my life. I fondled my boss. Jesus, even thinking those words makes my skin heat. And the worst part is that I liked it. The whole thing was so wrong. For so many reasons. So why was there a part of it that felt right?
My thoughts are interrupted by the swift turn of the car into my driveway. I look out the window, then back at Ashton, then out the window again.
“Thanks for the ride,” I mutter as I grab the door handle, but something warm wraps around my arm. I stare at where Ashton is holding me. He looks too as if he’s not the one who just made that move. As if his body did it without his knowledge. “Allie, we need to talk.”
“There’s nothing to say. I was sleeping. I didn’t know what I was doing, and then I got…stuck. It won’t happen again.”
“Okay,” he says calmly, but his eyes narrow, the usual honey color transforming into liquid amber. I’m not sure if it’s the mismatch between his words and his expression, or if I’m just emotionally raw from the last twenty-four hours, but I choose this moment to completely lose it.
“Okay? That’s it?” I yell. “You would think you’d have more to say considering you were humping my hand like a freaking golden retriever.”
Ashton stares blankly at me for a moment, shock coloring hisface, and then he seems to lose it too. He lets go of my arm—the arm I forgot he was still holding—and shoves open the door, slamming it behind him. I do the same, grabbing the bag with my laptop in the process.
“Go inside, Allie,” he says in a firm tone. Oh, hell no. He’s not going to start ordering me around again. Especially when we’re not even at work.
“Fuck you, Ashton,” I spit out as I walk around the car. “What’s the matter? Mad that you were asleep for your first handjob? I mean, it must have been your first one with the way you reacted.”
“Alexandra,” he warns.
“Oh, we’re back to that? Look, it’s not my fault you’re so inexperienced, but I’m not interested in being your mentor. Why don’t you go find Cara? I bet she can help you out. I mean, I would feel a little bad for her considering you don’t even know how to find a clit.”
I’m waiting for him to lash out. To say something equally as harsh to me.
He doesn’t.
He just laughs. It’s smooth and carefree, like a summer breeze floating through a clothesline of white linens. Then it changes—turns darker and more manic. He takes a step toward me and leans in as if he’s about to tell me a secret even though there’s no one else around. He’s so close I can feel his hot breath on the shell of my ear when he speaks, and it sends an electrical current down my spine. “We both know that’s not true, Alexandra.”
A blush instantly spreads up my neck, heating my cheeks. “I was faking,” I rush out, desperately trying to get the upper hand.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Faking, huh? I didn’t realize you could fake your eyes rolling into the back of your head, but what do I know?”
God, I hate him.
“Well, now you know, Ashton. Sometimes women fake it. Not all men know what they’re doing. It’s nothing personal,” I say sweetly as I turn around and trudge up my walkway that’s still covered in snow. Luke usually shovels it for me, but he must not have gotten around to it yet. I throw the door open and walk inside the frigid house. I contemplate turning the heat on, but I’m just going to shower off the self-pity and head back out to the office. No sense in wasting electricity.
I shrug out of my coat and am about to turn the shower on when there’s a knock at the door. No, not a knock.Banging.
“Okay, Jesus.” I stupidly open it without checking the peephole, and there he is, his hair messy like he’s been running his fingers through it, eyes wild, darting back and forth between mine as if searching for something. His cheeks are bright red and he’s breathing hard. Why is he so out of breath from walking up the front steps? His body would suggest he works out regularly. Not that I’ve noticed or anything.
“What are you?—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence before he’s pressing his hands to my cheeks and crashing his lips to mine. I stumble slightly but right myself so we don’t fall to the floor. I’m stunned. So stunned that, without thinking, I part my lips, granting him access, and he slips his tongue in, tangling it with mine. I hesitate for a moment, a split second, and then I’m kissing him back, and it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. It’s heady and feverish, and a faint numbness spreads throughout my body, like I’ve just been injected all over with lidocaine.
Ashton walks me backward until my back hits a hard surface and removes one of his hands from my cheek, pressing it against the wall next to my head. I should push him away. Nothing good can come from this, but neither of us makes a move to break the kiss. It’s not as gentle as I would have imagined coming fromhim. It’s a mess of lips and teeth, urgent and frantic, and suddenly all I can think about is his hands on me. I want to feel him the way I felt him that night all those months ago. I want him to make me come apart.
Distract me.
Make me forget.
I take his hand from where it still rests on my cheek and slowly lower it down to my belly, giving him ample time to stop me. He finally breaks the kiss, and two amber pools angle toward me, glittering with unspoken words. With a slight nod, I let go of his hand, and he continues tracing it down my body until he reaches the hem of my skirt. He bunches it up from the bottom and slips a finger into the elastic of my tights, near my hipbone. Then he slowly lowers them down, just enough to realize that I’m not wearing panties. I only had the pair I wore yesterday and ditched them this morning after having slept in them all night.
