by Chantal Mer
“All of that is me trying to make amends.” His eyes dart around the room like he’s just realized he’s been framed.
Or caught.
“What about all of the people who work for you?” Step. I’m close enough to smell the fresh scent of his soap like he just jumped out of the shower. “Every single one of them was considered a parasite on society until you gambled on them.”
His eyes are glued to my mouth. Absently, he licks his lips. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”
“Even you?”
His head snaps back. “No. Not me.”
I want to reach for him and pull him into my arms. I want to soothe his aching, tortured soul. But I don’t move.
“Ash,” I whisper. “I want you.”
He shakes his head wildly like I’ve suggested we go bungee jumping from atop the Sears Tower without a bungee cord. “How can you want me after what I did to you?”
I raise my shoulders. “I don’t know, I just do.”
“I’ve never even apologized.” He sounds frantic, the energy pouring off him is frenetic.
“You just apologized two minutes ago.”
“I’ve never apologized for the hit. You apologized to me, but I’ve never apologized to you. You can’t be with someone who hasn’t apologized for hurting you.” His eyes are flashing and darting like he’s assessing how quickly he can free himself from a dangerous situation.
“I can’t?” Watching him, it dawns on me that Ash is using me and what happened as a way to punish himself. Like I didn’t play a part in what happened. And he’s using the incident to avoid fully living.
“No, you can’t.” He says the words as if he’s resigned to the fact, and I know there’s no arguing with him.
“So, apologize.” Easy fix. Ash apologizes, and we spend the night making up.
Is it makeup sex if the incident was ten years ago, you’re not dating, and you’ve never had sex with the person before?
“What?”
If the situation weren’t so sad, I’d laugh at his panic-laced expression.
“Apologize.” I make sure his full attention is on me before I speak my next words. “Apologize to me, Ash, so I can take you to bed.”
I swear to God, he audibly gulps. “That’s not how it works, Isaiah.”
I inch closer, toe-to-toe. Our bodies aren’t touching, but I can feel the heat radiating from his form. “Sure, it is. You apologize. I accept. We finally have sex.”
“You’re not serious.” His gaze shoots between my mouth and my eyes and back like he wants what I’ve offered but won’t take it.
It’s infuriating as hell.
“I’ve never been more serious in my life, Ash.” The roughness of my words belies the desperation I feel. Like if he walks away from this moment, there will be no more opportunities. Like he needs to be given permission to ask for forgiveness and know he’ll be absolved.
I hold my breath, giving him the time he needs to talk himself out of this and leave me standing alone with a snoring dog and a heart full of dreams I didn’t even know existed until Asher Delacroix Ariti came out of hiding by stepping onto a makeshift stage at a charity bachelor auction.
“I can’t.”
So caught up in my own torment, his rasp takes me aback. “You can’t apologize?”
Still a breath away, he looks at the sliver of floor between us and whispers, “No.”
What the fuck? I take a step back, then another, and another.
“You can’t apologize?” I grit out through clenched teeth. “You can’t fucking apologize? Is that what you just said to me?” Blood boiling would be an understatement. My blood is the fucking River of Hades.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? You, who claim to be so destroyed by what happened. YOU…” I jab my finger in his direction, the volume of my voice increasing with every pissed off word I hurl at him. “You can’t apologize. Why the fuck not?” I’m not sure if I’m more pissed about his not apologizing or that he’s unwilling to give us a chance.
Shoulders erect, chin raised, he takes what I throw at him like he’s been expecting my outrage all along.
Like he wants it.
Welcomes it.
But then, I look past my indignation and see sorrow and misery so great, it cuts through my fury. “Ash…”
“How can I apologize?” He collapses onto the couch behind him, as if it takes too much energy to stand. Elbows on his knees, head in his hands, he sits like it’s taking all of his effort to breathe.
Sitting at the opposite end of the sectional, I wait. The rage I felt seconds before has been obliterated by the torture this man is putting himself through.
“How can I apologize, when there are no words…” His voice cracks, but he clears his throat and continues, “When there are no words adequate enough to express how terrible I feel. How a day doesn’t go by where I don’t wish I had made a different choice. Wish that you were waking up every morning nursing new aches and pains, wondering why you were still playing the sport and planning for what you’d do when you retired. Wish that you were worrying about how to invest signing bonuses and multi-million-dollar contracts rather than how you’re going to get money for the next community who needs hockey equipment. Wish that I hadn’t hit you so hard that you’ll always have to worry about your health or what will happen if you get another concussion.” His sigh is long and agonizing, like the slow leak from a valve ready to burst. Like he’s been waiting for years to release the pressure that’s been building.
“Ash…” I want to reach for him. Hold him. Tell him everything is fine. But there’s too much space between us physically and metaphorically.
When his glassy eyes meet mine, I know anything I say will be meaningless until he forgives himself.
“How, Isaiah? How can I apologize when there are no words?”
We stare at each other in silence, my mind whirling. If I wasn’t in deep, deep like with this guy already, I would be after his impromptu speech, but a wave of remorse at missed opportunities pokes me.
We will never happen. And that makes me so sad, I want to curl up in a ball with Grinder and sleep for a week.
“I suppose you’re right,” I start. “When language cannot express the emotions we feel, how do we communicate what we need to communicate?”
He’s looking at me with a bit of surprise and a whole lot of interest.
Grateful that he’s still here, still listening, I keep going, “But if someone told me what you just told me.” I lift my palms up. “I’d know they were sincere. I’d know they were trying, even when they felt words were inadequate.” I wait until he’s looking at me again, and I pour as much feeling as possible into my next words because I need him to believe me. Need him to accept what I’m offering him. “And I’d forgive them.”
His head drops.
Seconds turn into minutes.
Then, his shoulders are shaking. Head still bowed, his shoulders shudder and tremble.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m next to him. My arms stretching around his quivering shoulders, pulling him to me. He complies as a choked sob eeks from his throat. Resting his head on my chest, I cradle and rock him, like I used to do with my nieces and nephews when they were tots and skinned a knee or had some other boo-boo. I kiss the top of his head and whisper soothing words, wanting to ease his torment, but not knowing what to do.
So, I hold him.
Time slows, and it’s just Ash and me. At some point, we’ve repositioned ourselves so we’re lying on the sectional, spooning. His long body is wrapped in my arms, and his head rests on my chest. Shuddering shoulders are still, breathing is even, and the weight of him in my arms is a blessing I never imagined.
Not sure where we’re going from here, I savor the feeling of us together. The heat of his body merging with the warmth of mine. The tickle of his thumb against my wrist as it sweeps in arcs over the sensitive skin. The moment is so impeccably sweet and perfect, I’ll long for it when it�
��s gone.
“If you were to forgive someone who couldn’t apologize,” Ash’s raw voice penetrates the quiet of the late night.
I increase the pressure of my hold. “Mm-hm.”
“Would you still want to take them to bed?”
Instantly my dick jumps, and all of the sexual tension that had been replaced by concern and comforting is back. My body thrums, but I keep my tone soft, for fear my enthusiasm will spook him. I kiss the top of his head; his soft waves smell of his shampoo. “Only if they’re you.”
The look he impales me with is filled with longing and reluctance, but most of all, it’s filled with lust. And damn if Ash isn’t sexier when he’s turned on and unsure. “Are you sure?”
“Are you?” I counter.
“I haven’t been sure about anything since I saw you at the auction.”
Shifting to sitting, Ash moves with me. I don’t want him to feel like he has to sleep with me as some kind of penance, I want him to want to sleep with me. To want me as much as I want him. “Ash, don’t feel obligated—”
He intertwines his fingers with mine. The left sleeve of his sweater, pushed to his elbow, shows off dark hair and darker ink that covers muscular forearms. “You’ve turned me and my world upside down. I want to do the right thing by you, but I’m selfish. So, fucking selfish.”
I lift a brow, unsure how he can think he’s selfish.
With the pad of his thumb, he brushes the apple of my cheek. “All I’ve thought about since seeing you, all I’ve dreamed about, is having you. And you having me.” He’s almost shy as he admits what he wants. “I’ve tried. I tried to put you first. Tried to think about what’s best for you. But, like I said, I’m selfish.”
“If wanting each other makes us selfish, so be it.” I stand, holding my hand out to him. “It’s late. Let’s go to bed.”
When he grins up at me and takes my hand, my body relaxes and tenses at once. And when he places his lips on mine, I’m transported.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ash
After checking on the dogs—Cila, taking up way too much space for a four-pound dog as she nestles with a snoring Grinder, whose backside is hanging off the edge of his enormous dog bed—I follow Isaiah as he leads me through the narrow hallway to a darkened room. He hits a switch, and a slice of light cuts through the shadows, showcasing a cozy room painted in navy, and a king-sized bed covered with a slate gray comforter that looks soft enough to float on.
“We don’t have to do anything,” he says. “It’s late, we can just sleep.”
Suddenly feeling foolish, like maybe I’ve misread everything, I back into the hallway. “I’ll get Cila and get out of your—”
Before I make it two feet, he grabs my wrist and yanks me to him. I’ve never been with another athlete. I’ve been with guys who were athletic but never someone who was a professional athlete. Every time a get a glimpse of the sheer power Isaiah still has, I’m surprised and turned on all at once. I’ve always held back with men, not wanting to intimidate or scare them with my size and strength, but something tells me Isaiah can not only handle it, he also wants it.
When he kisses me, there’s no subtleness or softness. The kiss is raw, hungry, almost violent.
I love everything about it.
When his lips release me, he—not so gently—pulls me back into the room. “Don’t you dare leave this house, Ariti. If I have to lock you in this room, I will.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” My wrist is still gripped in his hand, and he’s eying me like he doesn’t believe me.
“I’ll stay.” I bring my arm to my chest, thereby drawing Isaiah closer. With my free hand on his lower back, I pull him to me, letting him feel how much I want to be with him.
“Good.” He releases my wrist, his hands finding the edge of my sweater, pulling at the undershirt tucked into my jeans until his fingers are on my skin. “Take this off, Ash.” He tugs at my clothing.
Not needing to be asked twice, and liking the way he’s taking charge, I comply. His eyes heat and trace the curves and lines of the tattoos that cover my left pec, shoulder, and continue down my arm.
I take the bottom of his sweater. “May I?”
He nods, and I lift it over his head, tossing it to the pile with my things. My hands are on his chest before I can think. In the golden light from the lone lamp sitting on the dresser along the far wall, his skin glows. There’s a light smattering of black hair, but otherwise, his chest and stomach are smooth, and firm, and beautiful.
“You’re so smooth,” I say and think at the same time. My hands roaming, exploring, feeling.
“And you’re so hairy.” His mouth tips as his tongue wets his bottom lip, like he appreciates all the hair. Most guys don’t, but with Isaiah, it seems like it turns him on.
One finger traces a line from my collar bone, down my sternum, over my belly. When it hits the waist of my jeans, the one finger turns to several frenzied fingers as they pull and rip at the button. A wet tongue swirls around my left nipple. The sensation so fucking good, my head drops back as my nipple and my dick stand at attention. “Fuck.”
“Later. Right now, I want to see every inch of you.” In one swift move, he pushes my jeans and boxer briefs to my ankles, but before I can kick out of them, his hot, wet mouth is on me.
I groan or moan, I don’t know what, but some unintelligible sound leaves my mouth. My hands are in his hair holding, pushing, pulling. I don’t know what I want or what I need. The friction of his mouth with the perfect amount of suction, has my eyes rolling back in my head. A tongue slides up my shaft as he pumps with one hand and squeezes my ass with the other.
“You taste so fucking good.” He blows on the tip before plunging down again. My hips buck, and he takes my length, swallowing me whole.
“Need. To. Stop.” Stars are popping behind my lids. The fission at the base of my spine tells me I’m seconds away from spewing down this incredible man’s throat.
With a pop, he releases me, and before he’s fully risen, I lift him to me, taking his mouth and pushing him to the bed. I’m a wild bull. The need he’s unleashed is nothing I’ve ever experienced. I rip my mouth from his, and before he can protest, strip him of his bottoms.
And I’m stunned.
Taking him in, I stare.
He lifts to his elbows.
And still, I stare.
“Ash?”
I blink. “You’re beautiful.”
Eyes hooded, a smile breaks. “So are you.”
I shake my head. “No. I mean it. You are beautiful.” I wave a hand over his body. “Your skin, every muscle, you’re… You’re perfection.” I can’t swallow. His body reminds me of a Greek god.
“Come here.” He pats the mattress next to him.
Instead of lying next to him, I climb over him, taking his length in my hand. His eyes flutter shut, and I take advantage of the moment, memorizing the curve of his mouth, and the line of his jaw. I place a butterfly-light kiss on each of his eyelids before they flit open.
His hand plucks my anxious dick, and we’re pulling at each other, lips everywhere, teeth tugging, tongues swirling, and before I know it, I’m flipped onto my back. Isaiah, with both of our dicks in his hand, rubbing and pumping them together. The tenderness of moments before is replaced with a charge, an electricity the whole of Chicago could be powered by.
“I can’t wait any longer.” He rolls to the side and opens the nightstand. A condom is dropped on my chest before the cool of the lube is massaged into my asshole. A finger breaches my hole, and we both groan. “Do you know how many times I’ve fantasized about this ass over the last week?”
Another finger and I wrap my hand around his silky-smooth hardness.
“Do you, Ash?” The question is rough with need.
“As many times as I’ve fantasized about yours?” I grit out because talking right now seems impossible.
“More.” He crushes me with his mouth, his tongue taking mine h
ostage—though a willing hostage. When he rips away, he points his chin toward the foil wrapper on my chest. “Put it on me.”
Tearing open the package with my teeth, I roll the condom down his length. His shaft is long and perfectly straight. The tip of the head glistens with pre-cum and my mouth waters. “I haven’t tasted you yet.”
The oversight seems like a damn tragedy.
His cocky grin—the same grin I remember from our hockey days—causes my cock to jerk and jump. “Later. My dick may shrivel up if I don’t get it in you soon.” Pushing my knees apart and back, he wedges himself between. “I want to see you.” He fists himself, and I’m mesmerized by the motion. “See every reaction on that gorgeous face of yours.”
He slides in, and everything stills. The world tilts on its axis, and everything I thought I knew is wrong.
“Fucking A,” he moans, inhaling like the act of sinking into me has punctured his lungs. But then he moves, slow at first, and I grab my dick, sliding my hand over it at the same speed as Isaiah. Soon the tempo is fast and frantic as he juts in and out, my hand working at breakneck speed. The fine hair of his thighs brushing against the bottom of my ass cheeks. He bends over me, his hand covering mine as he takes over working my cock, his dreads curtaining us. He takes my mouth, and my hands cup his ass. When I finger his asshole, his grip on my dick tightens to almost painful. His power is unrestrained, unforgiving, and undeniable.
“How close are you?” He tugs on my cock.
“Close,” I grunt out.
His teeth gleam. “You gonna come with me, big man?”
I wiggle my finger and feel his ass tighten. “You gonna get me there?”
“Fuck, yeah.” Another squeeze. Another push from those sturdy legs, his movements becoming jerky and less controlled. “Now, Ash. Now.”
The fire at the base of my spine explodes at the same time Isaiah is grunting my name, his shudders demanding more and more of me. Hot cum lands on my chest and stomach. Before I’ve stilled, Isaiah’s mouth is on my still-shuddering dick, sucking the last remains of my orgasm and sending another wave of spasms through me.