“Harder, Ashton. Fuck me like you mean it.”
This time I slam into her so hard that the chair scratches the floor and hits the counter. Tears spring to her eyes as I pick up my pace. I fuck her hard and deep until we’re both panting and sweaty. She keeps her eyes on mine the whole time. When I slide my hand up her shirt and grab her breast, twisting her nipple with my thumb and forefinger, her moans turn to cries.
“Fuck, Ash. I’m gonna come.”
I don’t say anything because I’m still her toy and toys don’t talk, but I pinch her nipple again as I bring my other hand down to play with her clit. Her hips grind up to meet every single thrust. It’s not long before she’s coming hard with my name on her lips. I follow right after, my dick pulsing deep inside her. When I pull out, cum runs out of her pussy and down her ruined tights.
The caveman she brings out in me wants to leave it there so she has to sit in it the whole ride home. So she feels me spilling out of her with each bump and turn. But this is her show, so if she wants me to lick every inch of her clean before we leave this room, I will.
I would do anything for this woman.
31
ALLIE
You knowthat feeling that everything is too perfect, and you’re just waiting for it all to go wrong? As humans, we’re conditioned to believe that every aspect of life is temporary. We’re mortals, so we only have so long on this earth. It’s a depressing thought, but it’s reality. Being human also means we’re vulnerable to whatever life feels like throwing at us. So when we’re happy and healthy and the sun is shining down on us, we know it’s only a matter of time before the storm comes.
That’s how I feel right now. Work is amazing. Ashton has given me free rein to write not only about local food and beverage happenings, but he also gave me a second byline, working with Dan to write about food culture around the world. Dan has traveled just about everywhere and I’ve never left the Northeast, so he does most of the heavy lifting with writing and anecdotes, but I’ve been contributing my expertise on the culinary side of things. I’m choosing to believe Ashton gave me this because he believes in my skills as a writer, and not because we’re sleeping together. A lot.
I haven’t actually slept at his house since the night before the concert, a little over two weeks ago. That whole weekend was intense,and I needed to dial it back a bit. When I told him I didn’t want to spend the night again, he was disappointed, but we made a compromise. We could still kiss. Honestly, it was a dumb rule anyway. Kissing is a part of sex, and we have sex, so I don’t see what the problem is.
Things with Ashton have been easy. We still drive each other crazy and argue daily, but it’s just who we are. Everyone outside of work knows we’reseeingeach other if that’s what you want to call it. We haven’t told anyone at the paper except for Skylar, and that was less of us telling her and more of her just knowing.
In general, we’re keeping it simple. We haven’t gone out on any more dates outside of our homes, but I do make him dinner most nights. I’ve always cooked for two, whether it was my mom or Emory, so it’s been nice to be able to cook more elaborate recipes again. It’s hard to justify making Coq au vin for one.
Even Craig is completely out of the picture. He tried to reopen Willow & Thyme, but everyone was scared to go back, so he closed it permanently. There was always going to be a sign in the window that there was a health code violation, but people may have assumed it was mislabeling of containers or improper storage of utensils. My article exposed exactly what the violation was, and I guess people tend not to like the idea of dining with rodents. Last I heard, he moved to California to “start over.” Hopefully, he’s learned his lesson.
Still, as I drive home from work today, I can’t help the nagging feeling that it’s all going to come crashing down, and when my phone chimes with an incoming message, my heart sinks. I don’t know why, because it could be anything. It could be Ashton telling me his sister decided to reschedule their dinner and he’s free to hang out now. Or it could be Emory telling me she thinks she’s in labor again. She’s been having Braxton-Hicks like crazy and has texted me at least once a day, convinced she’s having the baby. But deep down in my soul, I know it’s neither of them.
When I stop at a light and pick up my phone, seeing ‘Mom’ staring back at me, I know this is it. This is what I’ve been dreading. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had a chance to check in on her in the last week, and guilt crawls up my belly and gnaws at my chest at the thought. I pull over to the side of the road, not wanting to wait until I get home to read it.
Mom: I’m so sorry
I immediately tap on her number. It rings several times before she answers.
“Sweet pea,” she sniffles.
“Mom? What happened?”
“I thought it would be different.”
Shit, shit, shit.
I don’t know how many times I’ve heard her say those exact words.
“Thought what would be different?” I press the speakerphone button and place the phone in a cup holder.
“He promised to take care of me. All he wanted was a companion. She promised me it would be different.”
He promised? She promised? What is she talking about?
“Mom, you’re not making any sense.”
“You’re gonna hate me.”
“I won’t, Mom. Tell me what’s going on.” I pull off to the side of the road and swerve my car around, heading toward Rocky Falls.
“I took Celeste’s deal,” she whispers, and disappointment claws at my throat.
