by Olivia Chase
“I want to spend time with you. I want to do something that’s fun. That’s all. I’m not trying to prove anything.” Well, okay, I guess I am, truth be told. “Other than you should give me another chance, because I’m pretty fucking awesome around the house.”
She shakes her head and ducks it down, but I see a small smile on her face. “You’re ridiculous.”
No more arguments after that. She lets me help unload groceries. Her mom shuffles upstairs to go to bed, since she has to work the evening shift, so we take the cleaning supplies downstairs to the kitchen and get started.
Whitney’s dad remains on the couch the whole time. I see Whitney giving occasional peeks over at him, but he has his feet kicked up on the coffee table, cracking open a fresh beer. No one says a word to him, though the tension is thick.
I don’t remember their relationship being this…strained.
“Hey, you okay?” I ask her, giving a knowing look at the back of her dad’s head.
She frowns. Nods. “Um, yeah. Fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
Her frown deepens, and she grabs a cloth and wipes down the counter. Her circles on the surface grow more aggressive. “Well, I am. It’s just been stressful. Dad’s having a hard time at work. He’s unwinding, that’s all.”
I hold up my hands. “Whoa, I’m not attacking you.” I reach over and take the cloth. “You’re going to wear a hole in the granite if you keep that up.”
She huffs a sigh. Wipes a lock of hair from her face. “Sorry. It’s just…I’m not sure what to do to fix anything. I feel helpless.”
“I think you do enough.”
“It never feels like enough.” Her words are so quiet I almost don’t hear them. Then she lifts her head and gives me a smile that is sugary fake. Takes the cloth back. “So, we should hurry and finish if we’re going to make it to the fair, right?”
I let it go for now. I understand what it’s like to not want to be pushed to talk. “You got it, kitten.”
She makes a face. “Ugh, I thought you forgot about that nickname. Haven’t heard that in…” She draws her lower lip between her teeth and shrugs. “Well, in a while.”
I gave Whitney that nickname in tenth grade when she scratched a guy who grabbed her boob in the hallway. She came to me crying afterward, and I stroked her hair and praised her for standing up for herself. Of course, she didn’t know, but I made sure the dickbag never put his hands on her again…or even look in her direction.
He never ‘fessed up to anyone where he got the black eye, either.
Anytime that guy sees me even now, he makes sure to stay away, going as far as crossing the street or leaving restaurants mid-meal. No one fucks with the Becketts or the people we care about.
I grab a dish cloth and begin drying off the dishes in the drainer. My gaze keeps sliding over to Whitney. Just being in her presence feels right. Perfect. She’s humming a song I don’t know under her breath, wiping down the countertops. Her movements are hypnotic, and it takes me longer than it should to finish the dishes.
All I want to do is touch her again. Feel her mouth open up for me.
And more. So much fucking more.
She catches me staring at her and her lips part, a light flush crawling up her throat and across her cheeks. She’s so beautiful, it almost physically hurts to look at her. I don’t know how I didn’t recognize her true beauty before—God, I want to kick my past self for being so shitty to her and running away.
I know Whitney’s hesitant to let her walls down around me. I can sense it, her shyness tinged with fear.
I hurt her, I know, but I can make it up to her. I will make it up to her.
“What…what are you thinking about?” she asks.
“Do you really want to know?” I’m sure the answer to her question is in my voice. In my eyes.
A pulse starts to throb at the base of her throat. She nods, though her eyes look a little uncertain.
I move toward her, leaning down and drawing in her scent. My body goes hard for her again, my pulse jumping to match hers. “You on a bed, naked underneath me.”
She licks her lips. Swallows.
I continue on. “I’m thinking about your pussy soaked and tight around my fingers as I stroke inside you,” I say, wanting to see how much I can turn her on. “About your clit throbbing under my tongue, your wetness coating my mouth. I can’t imagine how fucking good your pussy tastes. I crave it so much.”
“Oh God,” she says, reaching one hand up to grip my shoulder. Her voice is tight and she arches toward me. “You shouldn’t say things like that. It’s…wicked.” Her words say one thing, but her body is screaming another.
“I’m just telling the truth. I’m going to taste you, Whitney. I’m going to make you come for me this time. And it’ll be my name crying out on your sexy lips.” I pull back and look her square in the eyes so she knows it’s a promise.
A vow.
Her eyes are hooded with desire, and I can see her nipples beaded through her thin bra and shirt. I want to dip my head down and draw the tip into my mouth. But not here. Not right now. I need her aching for me, not hesitant or nervous. I want her begging me to touch her.
Desperate and hungry for a pleasure only I can give.
“Now let’s hurry the fuck up so we can go,” I say, changing the subject. “We have a big fucking teddy bear or some other shit to win.”
She blinks, then laughs. Shakes her head. “You keep me on my toes, Asher Beckett.”
I press a small kiss to her lips and swat her on the butt. “That’s the point, kitten.”
Whitney
I gaze around the crowded fair, the afternoon sunshine spilling across my face and bare shoulders and legs. It’s a perfect late summer day. Park trees frame the wide expanse of fairground, where kids run around with ice cream cones and funnel cakes, and parents snack on pretzels or slushies.
I can smell hot dogs, mustard, the warmth of sugary treats.
A smile stretches across my face, and I clap with glee. “Oh my God, it’s perfect. I haven’t been here in so long!” I give Asher a hug. “Thanks for making me come.”
“You didn’t go last year?” he asks. His brilliant blue-green eyes draw me in.
My stomach tightens from his innocent question, and I keep my tone light. “I wasn’t really…I wasn’t in the mood for it.” Last year, I was holed up in my room, lying in bed, missing Asher and angry at him and wondering how everything went to hell. Not knowing what to do to fix anything and feeling so painfully lonely.
“Whitney.” His voice is low.
I turn to him and smile, pushing away memories of the past. I can hang around him and not get hurt again. I just need to be careful. And I will be—no way will I experience that pain I went through before. I should have known better. More the fool was I for not remembering who he is. The unattainable Asher Beckett, sexy and beautiful and never mine for more than a moment. A night.
I’m not going to ask for anything else from him. I do know better now. I also know I can’t deny the effect he still has on me.
“Let’s not talk about that right now, okay?” I ask. “Let’s just enjoy this afternoon and have fun. I desperately need it.” I didn’t realize how stressed I’ve been until right now, doing something just for me, something silly and frivolous and totally needed.
I’ve spent so many hours scrimping money and working, cleaning, trying to keep things afloat, that I haven’t taken any me-time in ages.
A dinging sound from the right makes me spin on my toes, and I squeal. “Look, one of those water shooter games! Let’s play that!” I dig into my pocket to find a couple of dollar bills.
“Oh, no. Put your money away.” Asher grabs my wrist. “You’re not paying for this—I asked you out.”
My heart gives a painful thud of excitement. “This sounds suspiciously like a date,” I tease. If I keep a jovial tone about it, I can be okay. Remember to take things as they are and not expect anything else.
Asher wants to be around me today. And honestly, I missed being with him. Even my non-friendly feelings aside. We always had fun together, no matter what we did.
He gives me that smile that always makes my panties melt, and I try to keep my face straight and not give away the surge of lust I feel. “This does suspiciously sound like a date, doesn’t it? Maybe we should just go with it.” He takes my hand in his and leads me toward the water guns.
My heart is in my throat, and I’m hyper aware of his fingers intertwined with mine. This is the first time he’s ever held my hand. It’s a small thing, a silly thing to focus on. But it makes me feel…special.
The entire time I’ve known him, Asher has never had a steady girlfriend. Over the years we hung out, he had girls he dated on and off. Girls I was painfully jealous of. Beautiful, slender, popular.
Girls who never lasted, my brain whispers to me.
I never could figure out what he saw in me, though. Why he wanted to hang out with me. But he did. At least, until that night.
And he’s here now, and trying to win me back. But as what? Not just as a friend. No, that kiss, the way he looks at me with heat in his eyes, that’s not friendly at all. It’s almost like a predator hunting his prey.
God help me, I want to be his prey. I want him to devour me.
We get up to the booth, and the woman running it gives us a bored look. She has long, scraggly gray hair and is missing a few of her teeth. “Dolla for four shots. Two dollas for ten. It’s a bargain.” Her voice has a heavy twang from the south.
I bite my lower lip and try not to laugh as Asher scratches his chin. “Gosh, that really is a steal,” he says to her. “Let’s go for the ten shots.”
I swat his shoulder. “You goof. I’ll just watch you this round. What are you going to win?”
“What do you want?” He turns to me, and while there isn’t any innuendo in his eyes, I know the answer to his question.
Him. God, I want him.
It’s probably foolish, but I do.
“Off the wall, kitten,” he adds with a smirk. The arrogant jerk knows exactly what I was thinking. Shit.
I fight the flush threatening to crawl up my cheeks. Turn my attention toward the wall of prizes. “That one,” I say, pointing to a massive purple unicorn hanging behind the woman. It has to be at least four feet tall, with a glittery horn that shimmers in the light. I don’t know what made me say that. It would probably cost more for him to win it than for me to buy it. But maybe I want to put him in his place a little. He’ll end up spending a few bucks, probably miss more shots than he gets, and we’ll settle on a small bear and it’ll be fine.
Asher eyes me, one brow raised. “Really?”
I lift my chin. “You asked what I wanted, not what I expected you to win.”
“Oh, so you don’t think I can win it for you?” There’s a teasing challenge in his tone.
“No, I don’t. No one ever wins those things,” I say with a smirk.
Asher slaps a twenty-dollar bill on the table. The woman doesn’t look impressed; she just points him toward the first seat and gives him thickly accented instructions—he has a certain amount of time to fill the balloons enough to make them pop.
He settles into the seat, and I see a change come over him, a focus that I only saw him have on the football field. Determination.
Asher aims, fires, fills and pops balloon after balloon. It’s uncanny.
“Where did you learn to—”
“Shh,” he says with a laugh. “I’m in the zone.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, but chuckle. I continue to stand behind him and watch as he works his way through the small prizes, then the medium. At this point, even the woman working the booth starts getting interested. She’s stopped picking at her hair to pay attention to what he’s doing.
There are even a small crowd of kids around us, pointing and talking about how awesome Asher is.
He ignores everyone, just steadily continues to shoot the balloons until the woman says, “Okay, fine, well done. Ya got it. Pick out your prize.”
Asher drops the gun and stands, points at the purple unicorn. When she hands it to him, he gives it to me, eyes locked hard on mine.
Message received, Asher. My pulse kicks into high gear, and I feel my core tighten. I know exactly what he’s telling me. That he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.
And what he wants is me. I feel it in the weight of his eyes.
I wrap my arms around the unicorn’s neck. Its fur is soft. In an attempt to lighten the mood and turn my attention away from my desire, I blurt out, “So what are we going to name it?”
He tilts his head at me. “Uh, what? It needs a name?”
I roll my eyes. “Duh. We have to name our love child.”
“Love child.” His eyes narrow. “That was awful fast.”
“You’re the one who gave it to me. You can’t back out of being a dad now.” I shrug. “It’s the law.”
“Fair enough.” He scratches his chin and rests his hand on my lower back, leading me away from the booth. “This is a serious thing. I mean, we just created a life together. We can’t name it any old fucking thing. First we have to find out if it’s a boy or a girl.”
“It’s definitely a girl,” I say with a chuckle.
“How the hell do you know that?”
I hold the unicorn up so its belly is facing him. “Do you see a penis anywhere? ‘Cuz I sure don’t.”
That makes him bark a laugh. He inspects the unicorn closely for several seconds, making a show of grabbing it from me and turning it over to inspect its ass. “You make a valid point, kitten. Okay, we had a girl. Congrats, Mom.” He pauses. “How about…Marshmallow.”
“Marshmallow the Unicorn. That’s our love child’s name.”
“Do you have a better idea?” He raises a brow.
“Actually, no. It’s perfect. I’m just curious why that name.”
“When I was in first grade, I was in the marshmallow club. Our goal was to stuff as many marshmallows in our mouth as possible at lunch. I loved the purple ones the best that came out around Easter—they were that color.” His chuckle slides over me, and he gives a bashful shrug. “It’s stupid, I know. I just remember thinking that was fun.”
My heart gives a painful kick. Learning these small things about him that I didn’t know before just makes me want him more. The arousal I felt comes roaring back to the surface, and my clit pulses with need. I squeeze my legs together. Don’t do this, I will myself. It’s just a regular…date. Or something.
I may be nothing more than a quick fling, an itch he wants to scratch.
It’s stupid, but right now I want to be a fling. I would take anything I could get to be closer to him. God, I’m a desperate idiot.
Asher takes Marshmallow from me, tucks it under his arm, and together we walk toward the funnel cakes. “You still love these, right?”
He remembers. That warmth spreads from my chest out to my limbs. I nod. He orders one for us and then we move to a bench near the fair’s perimeter and sit down. Marshmallow is propped on his other side, and he’s close to me, our bodies pressed along our thighs, our upper arms. I feel the heat pouring off him and it’s so hard to not lean closer into it. He smells like musk and man.
The powdered sugar sticks to my fingers. I lick the tip of my index finger, and I hear a soft groan.
“That’s so fucking hot, Whitney. Are you doing that on purpose?”
I slide the digit between my lips and then draw it back out again, locking eyes with him. My lower belly throbs with my pulse, and I feel myself growing wet from the heat in his eyes. “I wasn’t before, but I am now,” I whisper as I suck my middle finger into my mouth.
When I withdraw it, he grabs my hand and swipes his tongue out to lick my last two fingers, then slide his hot mouth along their length. I gasp at the wet sucking sensation. My pussy grows tighter, wetter, and I can feel my panties soaking now. Oh God, his mouth…it’s sinf
ul and magnetic. I want it on me, all over.
His eyes tell me he wants that, too.
“You owe me a reward,” he says when he pulls my fingers out of his mouth. His voice is harsh with the edge of desire. I can feel it pouring off him.
“I do?” My own voice is little more than a breath at this point. I’m flooded with hunger for him. Every bit of me wants his mouth and hands all over me. My pussy aches to be touched. I need him.
Asher’s bright eyes bore into mine. “I won Marshmallow for you. And you owe me a kiss for that.”
I swallow. I want his mouth on mine so badly I could scream. “Oh, is that right?” My voice is throaty, seductive. I hardly sound like myself. With Asher, I feel like someone else. Someone brazen, bold. Someone who lets her body lead her where she wants to go.
And where my body wants to go is up against his.
His eyes are hot and heavy on me as he looks me over. “All I’m asking for is a kiss. Just a simple thing.”
But I want more. I can’t deny it to myself. I want more of Asher, right now.
I lean forward and press my lips against his. It’s hard to keep control over myself, because I want to straddle his lap and ride him. But I remind myself that we’re in public, on a bench where anyone can see us. That I know a lot of people here and I can’t lose control. Even though I desperately want to.
The feel of his mouth on mine makes my arousal scream louder. My pussy is pulsing in time with my heart, a strong throb that reverberates through my body. I need more than just his mouth. I need his hands. His body. I need…I need…
He shifts to deepen the kiss, and I gasp in pleasure. Yes. God. Yes. His mouth tastes like sin and pleasure and everything I crave. He almost makes me forget where I am. Who I am.
Asher rips his mouth off me, his eyes hooded and dark. Raw lust pours off him. “I want to taste you.”
“You just did,” I say, drawing in breath. My chest is heaving.
His wicked smirk makes my stomach tighten and the air lock in my lungs. “Not your mouth, kitten.”