I stop at his feet, kneeling between his spread legs. Looking up at him, I see the muscle in his jaw twitch. His control is a thin, fraying wire stretched to its breaking point. I want to snap it completely.
"Ash," I whisper, my voice husky and wrecked from coming so hard.
His gaze is a physical weight pressing down on me. "Look at you."
"I need you," I say, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush that's more honest than anything I've said to him in weeks. I press my cheek against his jean-clad thigh, feeling the rough denim, the hard muscle beneath. "I've been keeping things from you. Been lying. Been bad." I look up at him through my lashes. "I need you to make me forget. Need you to use me. Please."
A low sound rumbles in his chest—something between a groan and a growl. One of his hands comes down, fingers tangling in my hair. Not gentle. A claiming grip that makes my scalp prickle and my core clench with renewed need.
"Is that right?" he murmurs, his voice dropping to that dangerously soft register that always makes my breath catch. "You want me to punish you for lying? For weaponizing that pretty body of yours?"
"Yes," I gasp, nuzzling against him harder. "Please. I need it. Need you."
His other hand goes to his belt. The sound of leather sliding through loops is obscenely loud in the quiet kitchen. The clink of the buckle coming undone is a promise that makes my mouth water. He doesn't remove the belt completely—just openshis jeans, popping the button, dragging down the zipper with agonizing slowness.
My breath comes faster.
He fists himself through his boxer briefs, already hard and straining against the fabric. "You want this?" he asks, voice rough.
"Yes. God, yes."
He pulls himself free, and I can't help the small sound that escapes me. He's thick and hard, the head already glistening with arousal. He guides himself to my lips, the velvety head brushing my mouth.
"Open," he commands.
I do, parting my lips and taking him into the wet heat of my mouth. He's big, and I have to relax my jaw, letting him push past my lips. I swirl my tongue around the crown, tasting the salt-bitter pre-come, and a groan tears from his throat—the first real sound of lost control.
"Fuck," he breathes. "That's it. Such a pretty mouth. Made for this."
His grip in my hair tightens, holding me steady as he starts to move. Shallow thrusts that slide him over my tongue. I moan around him, the vibration making his hips jerk involuntarily.
I look up at him through my lashes, letting every bit of worship and desperate need show in my eyes. Letting him see that this isn't manipulation or deflection—this is real. I want him. Need him. Am telling the truth in the only way I know how right now.
"Fuck, Val," he groans, his rhythm becoming less controlled, more urgent. His free hand grips the armrest hard enough I hear the leather creak. "You're perfect. So fucking perfect."
I hollow my cheeks, sucking hard, using my tongue to press along the sensitive underside. His thighs tense beneath my hands. A string of filthy praise falls from his lips, each word a stroke of heat low in my belly.
Behind me, I can hear Xavier's harsh breathing, the creak of his wheelchair as he shifts. Feel Zay's presence somewhere nearby, still watching. The knowledge that they're all seeing this, that I'm on display, sends another wave of arousal through me.
"Look at her," Xavier's voice cuts through the haze. "Taking it so well. Our girl knows what she's doing."
Asher's control is fracturing. I can feel it in the way his thrusts become less measured, deeper, hitting the back of my throat. I relax, letting him use me, my own pleasure coming from his loss of control.
"Gonna come," he snarls, the words guttural and raw. "Fuck, Val?—"
I pull back slightly, just enough so only the head is in my mouth, and look up at him. Making it clear I want this. Want him to come undone for me.
With a harsh shout, he does. Hot and thick across my tongue, flooding my mouth. I swallow reflexively, the taste of him—musky and salt and uniquely Asher—coating my throat. I keep my eyes locked on his the whole time, watching the way his face contorts with pleasure, the way his control completely shatters.
When the last pulses fade, I pull off slowly, licking him clean, making sure not to waste a drop. His hand in my hair gentles, becomes almost tender as he strokes my head.
"Good girl," he murmurs, voice wrecked. "Such a good fucking girl."
The praise makes my chest warm in a way that has nothing to do with arousal.
But I'm not done yet.
I turn on my knees to face Xavier. He's managed to get his jeans open, is stroking himself with long, slow movements that make my mouth water all over again. His eyes are hungry, possessive, dark with need.
