by Gemma James
“You just came all over my face!”
“That’s not why you’re crying.” His tone softens. So does his grip on my hands. “What’s wrong?”
“You did it out of anger.”
“I didn’t—” He cuts off, his expression stricken. “Fucking hell.” He crawls off of me, and I count my way through endless seconds as I get myself under control. When I turn over to face him, I find him sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to me, shoulders hunched. His head in his hands.
“Ashton?” Fear strangles my voice because it’s happening. We’re ruining our friendship.
He takes in a deep breath then lets it out. “God, Sadie. I’m sorry.” The remorse is so thick in his voice that I scramble across the mattress.
“It’s okay,” I say, kneeling behind him and snaking my arms around his shoulders. In response, he brings his hands to my forearms and holds on to me.
We’re holding on to each other, in more ways than one.
“It’s not okay. You weren’t ready for that.” He lets a heavy beat pass. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“I provoked you on purpose.” Honesty is the only thing that’s going to get us through this.
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I’m scared.” The words are a blast to my ears, the echo tainting the room with a truth I don’t want to admit.
“What are you scared of, Sawyer?”
“Everything, but mostly…getting too close to you.”
Too attached is what I should have said.
His chest shakes with bitter laughter. “It’s a little late for that. The thought of you with anyone else makes me jealous as fuck.”
“Yeah, we’ll maybe that’s the problem. You’re not supposed to get jealous, Ash. And I’m not supposed to feel so fucking scared. This was supposed to be…uncomplicated.” Before I can form my next thought, he extricates himself from my arms. Turning around, he grabs my chin between his fingers.
“Let me uncomplicate shit for you. I’d rather fuck you than your pretty mouth.” Slowly, he runs the pad of his thumb over my lower lip. “But I’ll settle for it.” He dips his thumb between my lips, and the salt of his skin infuses my tastebuds.
It’s the taste of pure Ashton.
“You should know,” he says, his voice lowering to a sexy husk, “that I’ll settle for whatever you’ll give me.”
Stunned by his confession—even though I already knew the truth on some level—I pull back, and his hand falls to the mattress.
“I can’t do this anymore. I’d rather have you as a friend than mess everything up because we can’t control our hormones.”
His eyes narrow, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing.
“If you believe this is a case of hormones, then you’re deluding yourself more than I thought. We’re not teenagers in high school. We’ve known each other too long to write this off as casual.”
“You’re right,” I say with a gulp. “Which is why it’s time for us to stop.” Scooting off the bed, I search for my discarded clothing. I get as far as spotting the puddle of my dress when he pulls me back, his fingers gripping my chin again in that immovable hold of his.
“I owe you a punishment.”
“You can’t be serious. C’mon, Ash. You just said we’re not in high school. I’m not some little girl that needs a spanking.”
“Oh yes, you do need a spanking, but that’s only the beginning.”
“No, this is the end. You taught me how to blow a guy, so it’s time to move on, just like we said we would.”
His fingertips press into my jaw. It’s not painful, but it does drive home a point; Ashton is not someone you say no to.
“You’ve got a punishment coming, but if you still want to call it quits afterward, I can’t stop you.”
I should say no. This thing between us has gone too far. When tears and jealousy start creeping in, that’s never a good sign, and I’d rather preserve our friendship than continue to play with fire, no matter how hard it’ll be to walk away from him.
“When?”
Now he does let me go, seemingly mollified by the concession in my tone. “I’ll text you.”
“That’s all you’re gonna tell me?”
“Yep. Your curiosity will keep you from backing out. Am I right?”
He is absolutely right, but I’m not about to admit it.
Chapter Twenty
Sadie
I’ve managed to avoid Ashton all weekend. But now Monday has arrived, and with it comes the inevitable; I can’t avoid my father and Jake forever. I’m standing in my father’s office, my sweaty hands clasped behind my back, feeling like I’m fifteen again.
“You are not to see Ashton anymore. Do you understand me?”
“You can’t tell me how to live my life. I’m an adult.” I’ve been an adult for nearly five years now. Maybe Ash is right. When am I going to grow a backbone and stand up to the indomitable Joseph Sawyer? Problem is I stood up to him the day I announced I wasn’t continuing my education in law school, and I’m not sure I’ll survive another confrontation like that.
But marrying Jake isn’t an option either, and neither is giving up Ashton’s friendship.
“Legally, you’re an adult,” my dad says, running a hand through his hair, “but your judgement suggests otherwise. I’m only trying to protect you, Sadie. I don’t want you around that Levine kid anymore.”
“What do you have against him?”
“Where do I begin?” He rises from behind his monstrous desk and takes a casual stroll around his office, ticking off the reasons on his fingers. “He spent the majority of high school in detention, was arrested for possession, had an absent father, not to mention he’s a college dropout.” He stops in front of his giant bookcase full of law books, his mouth a severe, disapproving line.
“Well, you’ve obviously done your homework.”
I don’t tell him how Ash was arrested his sophomore year because he took the fall for Bryce’s pot. Bryce already had a troubled past, and one more charge would have sent him away for a while. Instead, Ashton took community service and probation and helped his friend clean up his act.
I also don’t point out that the absence of Ashton’s father wasn’t his fault, but it did cause him to act out in high school. As for dropping out of college…I’m kind of wishing I’d done the same at the moment. Or at the very least, I wish I’d explored what I wanted in college instead of following someone else’s plan for me.
“I’m not heartless, Sadie. I see how Ashton has turned his life around for the better. That still doesn’t mean he’s good enough for you.”
And that’s when I realize he isn’t going to back down, no matter what I say. “If you can’t understand that Jake and I aren’t happening, then I might as well clear my shit out of here now.”
He clenches his jaw, and I fear that look on his face—all hard lines, unforgiving angles, and a turbulence in his gaze that is all too familiar. “You know how I feel about such language.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, more out of habit than an actual sense of remorse.
“I did not fight tooth and nail to get you to where you are today just to watch you throw it away on some punk. He’s not good enough for you, sweetheart. You need a man with ambition.”
“Jake has ambition all right. He’s very ambitious when it comes to screwing around with his assistant.”
“That is enough!” He takes a deep, calming breath and glances at the watch on his left wrist. “I’m due in the conference room in five minutes. We’ll discuss this later.” He picks up a pile of folders and hands them to me on his way to the door of his office. “Going through these should keep you busy for a while. Highlight anything with a July date.”
I grit my teeth as I take the files from him. It’s grunt work—something an assistant would be asked to do. This is my father’s way of punishing me.
Seems he isn’t the only one with punishment on his mind. I’m mind-numbingly deep into the task wh
en my cell vibrates on my desk. At first I ignore it, but I’ve read the same paragraph of this boring transcript about six times, so when my phone goes off again, I peek at the screen.
Ashton: We need to discuss your punishment.
Even as a flutter of…something goes off in my chest, I clench my jaw as I tap out a reply.
Me: I’m still angry at you.
Ashton: I thought we put that past us Friday night. What’s going on?
Me: My dad is on the warpath. He’s not happy about the stunt you pulled at dinner.
Ashton: Be angry at me all you want. What I said to your father is true.
Me: You didn’t have to cause a scene.
Ashton: You weren’t going to stand up for yourself, so I had to do it for you. If you think I was going to let that asshole put a claim on you, you’re insane.
Me: I wasn’t about to get engaged to Jake.
Ashton: You weren’t about to express your outrage over your old man’s underhanded tactics, either. Admit it, Sawyer.
Me: You had no right to interfere. It’s my life.
Ashton: It’s about time you started acting like it.
Someone clears their throat, and I tilt my chin up from my phone to find a man standing next to my desk. “Can I help you?” I ask.
“Sadie Sawyer?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Got a package for you.” He sets a rectangular shaped box on my desk then holds out a screen for an electronic signature. After I scrawl a pathetic version of my name, I thank the delivery guy.
A good five minutes tick by before I find the courage to open the box. It’s white with silver embroidery accents, and I’d bet money it’s from Ash. I can feel it—especially since he stopped texting me the instant the delivery guy appeared at my desk, almost as if he knew.
Because he sent whatever is in this box.
I lift the lid, and one glance at the contents has me shoving it back on. Cheeks warming, I sneak a peek around the office, but it’s just as empty as it was ten minutes ago when I gave in to boredom and started arguing with Ashton via text. Everyone’s been holed up in the conference room for the last two hours.
It’s just me, the temptation of Ashton’s texts, and this damn box.
Me: What did you send me?
Ashton: Didn’t you open it?
Me: For like two seconds. Jesus, Ash. You can’t send that type of stuff to me at work!
Ashton: What’s the matter? Would your father and JJ the Jerk find it in poor taste that I sent you crotchless panties?
My eyes go wide. All I’d seen was a pile of plum purple lingerie—very sexy and expensive-looking lingerie.
Me: What the hell, Ash?!
Ashton: I take it you didn’t explore your gift. That’s okay. You’ll have plenty of time later at the hotel.
Me: What hotel?
Ashton: The one you’re going to after work. The key to our room is at the bottom of the box. Room 381.
An anxious butterfly takes flight in my gut. There’s something about a hotel room that inspires sex, and a large part of me wants to give Ash my virginity. The other, more logical part of me realizes he’s already taken too much of my heart as it is. Every time I’m near him, he chips away at my resistance. Determined to stay strong, I fire off a reply, my thumbs flying over my phone’s screen.
Me: I can’t do this.
Ashton: Yes, you can.
Me: You know I’m not ready for this.
Ashton: Ready for what?
Me: Sex.
Ashton: Are you saying you might be ready for it eventually?
Me: Well yeah. I don’t plan to stay a virgin forever.
Ashton: Let me rephrase that. Are you saying you might be ready for it eventually with ME?
Shit, he would have to ask the tough question.
Me: I can’t answer that.
Ashton: I didn’t think so. That’s why I don’t plan on fucking you, so you can chill out.
Me: But you’re going to “punish” me.
I hope he can detect the sarcasm in that statement.
Ashton: Fuck yes. And you’re going to enjoy every minute of it. Except for one thing.
Me: And what would that be?
Ashton: The part where I don’t let you come.
That does sound torturous. So why am I tingling between my legs at the thought? I don’t have time to think about it further. The door to the conference room opens, and my father and several of the partners start to trickle out.
I put my phone away and get back to work, determined to keep busy enough to edge out thoughts of Ashton in a hotel room, but there’s no amount of willpower in the world that can keep me from wondering what he’s going to do to me tonight.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sadie
Ashton is a pervert, plain and simple. Sure, he’s a gorgeous pervert with his endearing cocky smile, hard muscles I want to grope for hours, and the mischievous and sexy glint that lights his eyes when he’s turned on.
He’s still a pervert.
The lingerie ensemble I took out of the box and laid on the king-sized bed in the hotel suite is evidence enough. Plum colored lace shelf bra—the kind that will leave my nipples exposed—and matching crotchless panties. Not just crotchless, but this scrap of lace opens in the back as well, which tells me one thing.
Ashton’s got plans for my ass.
A pair of black thigh-highs and garter belt complete the outfit.
I gaze around the large room, impressed with the suite despite my nerves. The side facing out is a wall of windows dressed in gauzy curtains that flow to the floor. I can imagine them billowing into the room if the windows were left open. A doorway leads into a bathroom that appears bigger than the kitchen in my apartment.
He went all out for this night, which makes me wonder what he’s up to. Surely, he could have gotten this punishment thing over with at his house?
So why a hotel suite?
I’m equal amounts intrigued, scared, and excited. As I’m fingering the soft lace, my cell dings from inside my purse on the nightstand. I dig it out, and one glance at the screen kicks my heart into overdrive.
Ashton: Be ready in ten minutes. I want your sexy little body in that lingerie. Wait for me on your hands and knees on the bed. Face the headboard and don’t move when I come in. Understand?
Is he serious?
Jesus, he is.
I shoot off a quick “yes” then grab the lingerie before hurrying into the bathroom. There’s a jetted tub, and I’d love nothing more than to spend an hour in it, soaking in hot water and bubbles. It sounds like heaven.
But there’s no time for wishful fantasies of relaxation. I freshen up quickly before dressing in Ashton’s slutwear. Even if it is racy, leaving me too exposed and vulnerable, I can’t help but admire my figure in the full-length mirror. With my hair cascading around my shoulders—because I know he likes it down—and my breasts spilling over the shelf of the deep purple bra, I’ve never felt sexier.
What the hell is Ashton doing to me?
Maybe the real question I should ask is what did I do to myself by getting into this situation to begin with? What did I think was going to happen when I crawled under that table and put my mouth on his cock?
Problem is, I wasn’t thinking at all.
I was drunk, desperate, and drawn to Ashton. I’ve been drawn to him for years, but that night, after witnessing what went down in Jake’s office, ignoring my attraction to Ashton Levine was impossible.
And though I’m standing in a hotel room, dressed like a slut and feeling like one, I can’t regret my actions.
We’re gonna be fine. Our friendship is too strong to let this come between us. We’re just having some fucking fun, Sadie.
I return to the bed, eye the clock on the side table, and groan. My heart thuds to the bottom of my gut. I spent too much time in the bathroom, and now I’ve only got two minutes left. Heart pounding a furious tempo in my chest, I crawl onto the mattress and
face the headboard, just like he instructed.
Instinctively, I spread my knees and arch my spine until my ass is elevated. I know it’s what he wants.
Me, vulnerable.
My pose submissive and exposed.
Air drifts between my legs, reminding me that there’s no material covering my pussy and the slit of my ass. My nipples tighten into two hard buds. Jesus, I’m turned on. My breaths come fast and thready, then stall altogether as I hear a card slide into the lock, followed by the beep that signals Ashton’s entry into the suite.
“Damn, Sawyer, you’re a sight.”
I’m tempted to turn my head and look at him, but I don’t. Not because he told me not to, but I can’t muster the courage to meet his eyes while I’m on my hands and knees, dressed like this. His quiet steps bring him closer, and I sense him hovering behind me at the end of the mattress. I can’t be sure what he’s up to, but it sounds like he’s unpacking something.
“What are you doing?”
“Setting up.”
“Setting up what?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
I bite back a growl, but my frustration vanishes when I detect the unmistakable sound of his zipper, followed by the slide of his jeans. He crawls onto the mattress behind me, over me, one hand propping him up while the other brings a black rubber thingamabob to my mouth. The thing is intimidating, especially when he teases my lips with the contraption.
“Open your mouth, Sadie.”
“What is that?”
Shit. I know what it is, but I don’t want it in my mouth.
“Open your mouth and find out.”
I hesitate. He waits me out.
Because he knows me too well—knows how easily I buckle under his demands.
“Will you take it out if I want you to?”
“No.”
“What if I take it out myself?”
“You won’t be able to.”
God, his low tone at my ear sends a gush of liquid desire straight to my sex. I want to press my thighs together, but I don’t dare move from my position.
He smashes the gag against my lips, ending our argument, and adds firm pressure until I can’t help but part my mouth. He shoves it in, and I feel him shift on his knees between my spread legs as he tightens the strap around my head.