by Mari Madison
He nodded slowly, clasping his hands together in front of him, staring out into the water. For a moment, he didn’t speak and I half wondered if he was going to answer the question. Then, at last, he opened his mouth.
“Most people look at me and see someone who was born with every advantage,” he began in a slow voice. “And they wouldn’t be wrong, I guess. Growing up, I never worried about having food on the table or clothes to wear or a roof over my head.” He raked a hand through his hair. “But that didn’t mean my childhood was particularly happy.”
He sighed. “It’s hard to justify complaining about it—especially to someone like you who had to deal with so much real shit growing up. What is it they joke about? First world problems? But they were still problems for me. At times—big ones.”
“Go on,” I urged.
“Growing up, my family spent a lot of effort keeping up appearances,” he said. “Like any family in the public eye would, I suppose. My father was a household name and everyone expected him to live a certain lifestyle. And my mother—well, she had to always hustle to keep the station in the black. Wine and dine the advertisers, make them feel special. You should have seen the parties they used to throw. Wild swinger bashes at our beach house—with all the who’s who in San Diego. You’d be shocked if I started naming names.” He made a face. “I guess that’s called living the good life. But to be the only kid amongst all that hedonism—it was a bit of a nightmare.”
“I can imagine.”
“Usually I’d hide up in my room at night, pillow over my head, hands in my ears. Trying to block it all out. But sometimes they weren’t content to leave me alone. Sometimes my drunken mother would try to drag me downstairs to put on a show for her guests. Like I was some freaking show pony or trained monkey. And if I refused to perform? Well, let’s just say letting the family down came with . . . consequences the next day.”
I winced, my mind flashing back to what he’d said about Sarah and the boat ride. About how his mother had practically pimped him out to her favorite advertiser’s daughter. As if he were a prop, an asset to the family business, rather than an actual member of the family. Had she been doing this to Asher his whole life? No wonder he treated everything like a joke—when he himself had never been taken seriously.
“Anyway,” Asher continued, “on the bad nights, on the nights when I knew she would come for me, sometimes I’d escape out my window and run down to the shore. Down to the ocean where everything was quiet and peaceful and no one would demand anything from me. I could walk the shoreline all night, imagining I was some brave explorer, discovering a new world. One where no one could hurt me.
“The ocean didn’t have expectations of me. It didn’t need me to impress its friends. It didn’t try to make me into someone I wasn’t. Instead, it embraced me, welcomed me, warts and all.” He stared out into the calm waters, a contemplative look on his face. “It also gave me a feeling of power, too. I mean, there I was, some scrawny, scared kid who couldn’t even say no to his own mother. But out here, on the ocean, I was suddenly a god, able to tame nature itself. Taking on a mighty ocean wave and riding it to shore—reclaiming all the power I’d lost in real life.” He gave me a sheepish look. “Okay, that sounds dumb when I say it out loud.”
“Actually it doesn’t,” I assured him. “In fact it sounds amazing.”
“I guess that’s why I love the idea of doing a surf school for those kids,” he said. “They feel as helpless as I did back then—even if it’s for a different reason. If I can help them reclaim their power, their sense of self-worth, who knows what they may be able to channel that into someday?”
He turned to me, his face fierce with his ambition, and my heart squeezed at the determination I saw in his eyes. This was the Asher no one else saw. The one everyone dismissed before getting to know. This was the Asher who was worth getting to know.
The Asher who I was falling for—despite my best efforts.
I leaned forward, my lips crashing into his own with reckless abandon, my tongue plunging into his mouth. No longer content to hear his words—I needed to taste them. Devour them whole—despite the fact it was a terrible idea. In that moment, I needed skin against skin. Flesh against flesh. I didn’t care about the consequences, the future. All that mattered was Asher—sweet Asher—in my arms.
For a moment, he sat still, as if shocked into stasis by my unexpected move. But it didn’t take him long to recover. And soon his hands were dropping to the small of my back as he pulled me to him, my stomach swirling madly as he sat me on his lap, coaxing my mouth to widen, the kiss to deepen. My mind spun as I drank in the sweetness of the kiss, the heat from his hands as they slipped under my shirt and connected with bare skin. Soon I found myself grinding against him, rejoicing at the feeling of his growing arousal pressed up against my core.
“God, Piper,” he murmured, planting kisses along my jawline, his hands searing a path from my back to my hips, locking me in place. “You are seriously going to kill me.”
His hands reached up, cupping my breasts, and I moaned into his ear as his lips trailed kisses down my neck to the hollow spot in my clavicle. I pressed myself against him again, trying desperately to satisfy the soul-deep ache burning inside of me. My hands wrapped around his neck.
I knew it was wrong. I knew we shouldn’t have been doing this. But at that moment, for the life of me I couldn’t remember why. All I could focus on was the here. The now. The man who had his hands up my shirt.
Suddenly, the boat jerked, causing me to lose my balance. My stomach lurched and I would have fallen if Asher hadn’t tightened his hold on me at the last second. Heart pounding in my chest, I scrambled to my feet, breaking our embrace, looking around with horror.
The once glassy sea was now a blender, rocking and rolling and spitting chunks of foam. My eyes rose to see angry storm clouds had rolled in, smothering the horizon, all but blocking out the setting sun. A moment later, I felt the first drops of rain.
Asher rose to his feet. “Shit,” I heard him murmur under his breath. He walked over and scanned the instrument panel while I waited, barely able to breathe.
“What is it?” I demanded. Something about the look on his face told me whatever it was, it was not good news.
“Everything’s fine,” he assured me, though his tense expression told another story. “It’s just a small storm rolling in. A bit faster and harder than I would have liked but it’s no big deal.”
I swallowed hard, the adrenaline spiking through my veins. I tried to keep my eyes on Asher and not look out over the water. “We should get back to shore then.”
Asher was silent for a moment, staring at the instruments.
“Come on!” I cried, stomping over to him. But I had to stop and grab a pole for balance as a wave smacked against the side of the boat. The wind had picked up, too, and I had to reach up to push the hair from my face. “What are you waiting for?”
Asher turned to me, a guilty look on his face. “I’m not sure we’d make it to shore on time. And we don’t want to be capsized by the break. We’re fine out here. The boat can take a little rocking. We’ll just wait it out. Should pass completely through in about a half hour.”
I shook my head, fear thrumming through my veins. The ship might be able to take a little rocking, but could I? As if in response, the wind wrested the hair from my grasp, whipping it back in my face. The rain began to fall faster and my eyes stung from the salt.
“Are you okay?” Asher asked, peering at me. “Look, I’m sorry, Piper. I had no idea . . .”
“But you’re a weatherman!” I cried angrily, hating this feeling of panic welling up inside of me. It was so stupid. So embarrassing. Yet so, so strong. I stared out into the rain and wind and waves. My mind flashing back to that night. That terrible night.
Where’s Michael? Piper, where’s your brother?
I stumbled backward
, nearly falling over, the panic gripping me with icy fingers. What had I been thinking? This was the worst idea ever! I’d wanted to lose my fear of the ocean—not double down on it, for God’s sake!
Vaguely I could feel Asher’s hands on me, pulling me upright. Then, he led me down the stairs, into the little sleeping cabin I’d discovered on boarding, and closed the door behind us.
I sucked in a shaky breath, looking around. Thankfully the door had shut off most of the noise and chaos outside. And it was a relief to no longer be able to see the sea. At the same time, I knew it was still up there, the storm still hammering us from outside, and I could feel the boat rocking angrily in response. And here I was, clinging to Asher, as if he were my only lifeboat. We were both soaking wet at this point and water dripped down onto the little bed.
Finally, I managed to let him go, sinking down onto the bed, working to get my breathing back under control. Trying to ignore the way we were being tossed back and forth like a toddler’s toy.
“Do you get seasick?” Asher asked. “Because it may get rough in a few minutes.”
“Um, isn’t it rough already?” I managed to squeak. I had no idea, of course, if I got seasick, seeing as I’d never been to sea.
He gave me a rueful smile, then grabbed a pillow and offered it to me. I sank down onto it, staring up at the dark ceiling, working the breathing exercises the shrinks had taught me long ago.
It’s no big deal. It’s just a little storm. Think of it as trial by fire. If you can survive this, you can survive anything.
Asher scooted up beside me, propping his head up with his elbow and hand. With his other hand he reached out, gently pushing up my T-shirt and stroking my bare stomach with careful fingers. And as his thumb lightly dipped into my navel, I stifled a gasp, something other than panic now spiking within me.
“Shhh,” he soothed, still stroking. “Everything’s okay. The boat is very seaworthy. We’re in no danger, I promise you. We will not capsize. We will not sink. We can stay down here and forget it’s even happening.”
“Maybe you can,” I retorted before I could stop myself. But then his fingers drifted a few inches lower and suddenly I was feeling pretty damn forgetful myself. I bit my lower lip, heat surging through me at his touch.
“I can help you forget,” he whispered, his lips curling into a small smile, “if you’re interested.”
I was interested. I was very, very interested. In fact, I was ready to go for full-on amnesia mode if he was willing to take me there.
“I—” I started to say then eeped out loud as, without warning, his hand slid between my legs. Oh God, oh God. What was I supposed to be remembering again?
Asher pushed my knees apart, brushing a thumb along my inner thigh, all the while keeping his eyes locked on my face.
“This feel okay?” he asked in a soft voice.
“Um, yes?” I squeaked. Because in truth it felt far beyond okay. Far beyond ridiculously good if we were going to be technical here.
He grinned. “What about this?” He slid his hand upward, softly brushing against my mound. I almost bit my tongue.
“Not . . . bad?”
He laughed huskily, then reached up to unbutton my slacks, sliding them over my hips. I helped him shuck them off until I was bare except for my panties. He caressed me through the thin fabric, taking his time with me, while I did everything I could not to buck against him, desperate to relieve the pressure building inside of me like a wildfire.
Somewhere, deep down, I knew this was a bad idea. Something I should stop, something I would regret tomorrow if I didn’t. But right now, at this very second, I didn’t want to push his hands away. He felt good. He felt right. And his gentle strokes were making amazing strides in relieving me of my fear. In fact, when Asher pulled aside my panties and slid his fingers into my slick folds, I pretty much forgot I was on a boat altogether.
I was soaking wet—and not from the rain, either. I was grabbing the sides of the mattress with white-knuckled fingers. I was moaning and thrusting my hips against his hand.
But I was no longer shaking in fear.
“Do you like when I touch you?” Asher asked, his green eyes burning into me now. Filled with lust and desire.
“Y-yes,” I managed to say, pretty sure I was sweating at this point. “Oh, yes.”
He grinned wickedly, then lowered himself down before me, burying his head between my thighs. I almost leapt out of my skin as his velvet, hot tongue slid across my sex.
“Oh God, Piper. You taste as good as you look,” he said, sucking my cleft into his mouth, his fingers slipping, one after another, inside of me. His other hand reached up, cupping my breast, toying with the nipple as his fingers slid inside and out in a torturous rhythm. As his mouth sucked and nipped at my sensitive skin. Soon I found myself rocking against him, riding the wave of ecstasy, higher and higher until I crested at the top and practically screamed as the pleasure washed over me.
“Asher . . .” I managed to moan as heat and hormones pulsed through my body like fire. Asher looked up from between my legs, his mouth quirking to a pleased smile.
“Still afraid of the storm?” he asked.
“There’s a storm?”
He laughed. “Oh, yes, baby. There’s a storm. And it’s not even half over. Which means, you’re in need of more distraction.”
“What about you?” I asked, feeling a little guilty he was there, making me come, and I wasn’t doing a thing in return.
“Oh, you’re all the distraction I need,” he assured me. “You just lie back and let me do the work for once. That’s what you wanted, right? For me to step up to the plate?” He grinned wickedly. “You keep making those little sounds and I’m going to become a fucking workaholic.”
And with that he slipped between my legs again and I gasped as the sensations rocked over my now all-too-sensitive skin. I had heard of girls having multiple orgasms during sex, but had barely ever been able to achieve even one with any of my previous boyfriends. Mainly because they were more interested in achieving their own.
But Asher didn’t seem to care about that as he effortlessly brought me to climax again. I clutched the sheets and bucked against his mouth, scarcely able to believe anyone could feel this good.
“Okay, okay!” I protested, as, a moment later, he started in for round three. “I need a break! There’s got to be an OSHA regulation that says no three orgasms in a row.”
“Quitter,” he teased, but obliged, crawling up beside me and pulling me into his arms. I settled in, breathing in a sigh of contentment as my head rested in the nook between his head and his shoulder. I could feel his lips press against my hair for a moment, before he leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, still stroking my back with his fingers. All the raging hormones from before settled into a sated sleepiness.
“This is nice,” I said. And I meant it.
“It is,” he agreed. “Maybe the ocean isn’t half bad after all?”
I stiffened, his words sending reality in to crash the party. I turned to face the wall, feeling my throat tighten. A moment later the tears slipped from the corners of my eyes. At first, Asher didn’t move, as if he knew enough to give me that moment alone. Then he placed a hand at the small of my back, stroking me gently.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to bring things back into focus, then opened them again. “Nothing. I mean . . . I don’t know. I just . . . I want to let go of this fear, you know? And you’re doing a pretty bang-up job of making that happen. But at the same time it feels like a betrayal, I guess. Like by being this happy and this content I’m somehow betraying Michael’s memory.”
Asher’s hand stilled, but he didn’t pull away. “You don’t think your brother would want you to move on?”
“I don’t know. He was so young. To be honest, I barely re
member him.” I groaned. “That sounds awful, right?”
“It sounds normal,” Asher corrected. “How old were you again when he drowned?”
“Six. He was four.”
“Then it’s amazing you remember anything at all.”
“Yeah, well, my mother does a great job reminding me.”
Asher’s eyes zeroed in on me. “Why would she do that?”
I turned away. I didn’t want to talk about this. I really didn’t want to talk about this. But at the same time I knew if I didn’t, I was never going to get over this fear. I was going to have to live with it forever, a weight, dragging me down more every day. I didn’t know what Asher would think of me if I told him the truth. I didn’t know if it would change what was happening between us. But at that moment, I realized, I did need him to know. If we were going to move forward with whatever this was, he had to know the truth.
“Because it was my fault,” I blurted before I could chicken out. “I was supposed to be watching him and I let him drown.”
I turned, waiting to see the revulsion on his face—the horror in his eyes. The condemnation at the idea that I could just live with myself and move on with my life, knowing I was a murderer. That I had practically murdered my own brother.
And yet, as I studied Asher’s face, I saw none of the above. Just . . . confusion . . . if anything. But definitely not disgust.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “You just told me you were six years old. How could you be expected to watch him?”
“I watched him all the time,” I protested. “When my mom would go out or whatever. It wasn’t a big deal. I mean, I didn’t think it was at the time.”
“What happened, Piper? Tell me the whole story.”
I sighed. “It was Thanksgiving night. My mom and her boyfriend at the time . . . they had something they needed to do. So they left me and Michael on the beach. Told me to watch him while they were gone.”
“They left you alone on the beach?” Asher demanded, looking offended on my behalf. “At night?”