"Oh god—oh god—" Her words dissolve into moans, her entire body starting to shake.
"Come for me," I demand, curling my fingers and grinding the heel of my palm against her clit. "Let go, Asha."
But I don't make her say it. Don't force the words from her. Because her body is already telling me everything I need to know. She wants this, wants me, that maybe she's always wanted me, even if she won't admit it out loud.
She shatters, her entire body convulsing around my fingers, and when the tremors finally subside, she sags against me, breathing hard. For a moment, she's completely pliant. Then she straightens, pulling away from me and adjusting her clothes with shaky hands.
"Don't look so smug," she says, not meeting my eyes in the mirror. "It's been a while. A vibrator would've gotten the same reaction."
I watch her smooth down her tank top, tuck her hair behind her ear, anything to avoid looking at me. A smile tugs at my mouth despite the ache still throbbing in my joggers.
"Right," I say slowly. "A vibrator. That's why you were moaning my name."
Her eyes snap to mine in the mirror. "I didn't."
"You did." I step closer, and she tenses. "But keep telling yourself whatever you need to, sweetheart. We both know the truth."
She whirls on me, eyes flashing. "The truth is this was a?—"
I cut her off. "Don't." It comes out sharp, my tone a clear warning. I refuse to let her downplay another one of our moments.
She must hear my warning, because she doesn't finish what she was about to say. "It won't happen again."
"We'll see about that."
She shoves past me toward the door, and I let her go this time, watch her yank it open and disappear into the hallway without looking back. I brace my hands on the counter where hers were just minutes ago, staring at my reflection. My hair is a mess from her fingers. My shirt is wrinkled where she gripped it. And I'm still hard as stone, my body screaming for release she didn't give me. But that's okay.
Because I felt the way she came apart in my arms, heard my name on her lips even if she wants to pretend she didn't say it. She can throw up every defense she has, but I know better. I felt the way her pussy clenched around my fingers like she never wanted to let go. Felt the way she ground back against me, seeking more. Heard those soft, desperate moans that shecouldn't control. She wants me. She’s wanted me this whole time, even if admitting it terrifies her.
And now that I've had a taste of what it's like to break through her defenses, to feel her come undone in my arms? I'm not stopping until every wall between us is rubble.
I adjust myself in my joggers, still painfully hard, and head for the door. Time to face Dar and Santiago and pretend like I didn't just finger fuck my wife in their bathroom while she tried to convince us both that it didn't mean anything.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ASHA
The kitchen smells like cumin and ghee, warm spices that should comfort me but instead feel like a betrayal. Dar is teaching me how to cook authentic Indian dishes—something I've always wanted to learn, but now that I'm not talking to my father, it feels pointless. Everything feels pointless.
My head is a fucking mess. If you asked me what color the sky was right now, I'd tell you it was red. I press the rolling pin hard against the dough. I'm mad at my father for keeping secrets. Mad at Trigger for making me feel everything. Ultimately, I'm mostly mad at myself for not seeing a rational way through all of this.
"Like this, Asha," Dar says softly, demonstrating the proper wrist movement.
I nod, trying to mirror her grace, but my movements are stiff, mechanical. Outside, I can see Trigger's silhouette moving past, and my stomach clenches. I've never been this way. I'm not easily ruffled, and right now I feel like the walls are literally closing in. I wanted to call him out this morning, on his silence, the bull riding, his plans for the merger, all of it, and I didn't.Because somewhere between the anger and my undeniable attraction for this maddening man, I've lost my footing entirely.
The night we kissed, I opened a door. I let him see something I don't show anyone: my vulnerability, the parts of me that aren't armor and ambition. And he shut me out. At least, that's what it felt like. That's what I've been telling myself. Then this morning... Heat creeps up my neck just thinking about it. My legs clench involuntarily, and I roll the dough harder, feeling it tear slightly under the pressure.Damn it.
This morning, what the fuck was that? It's what we do: we get each other worked up, push boundaries, and play with fire. But the way he was holding me, the way his hands gripped my hips like I might disappear. The look I saw in his eyes when our foreheads were pressed together, when the world narrowed to just breath and heartbeat and the impossible space between wanting and having. He looked at me like I was everything to him. Like I was truly something precious.
And it's that look I haven't been able to stop thinking about. I can't stop thinking about it because it feels so utterly contradictory to everything that's transpired up until that moment. How can he look at me like that and still hold pieces of himself back? How am I supposed to trust what I see in his eyes when everything else feels like a transaction, a negotiation, a carefully orchestrated merger of convenience?
"Do you want to talk about it?" Dar asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Hmm?" I look up from the dough, realizing I've been staring at it without seeing.
She smiles knowingly, nodding toward my hands. "If you roll that dough any thinner, it won't hold our filling."
"Oh." I glance down. The dough is nearly translucent. "Sorry."
