by Olivia Chase
“You…” She rubs herself against me, and impossibly, I grow even harder. “You feel so good. Taste so good.”
“Whitney.” It’s all I can say. Just her name. The only word pulsing through me. I ache for her so badly, she’s all I can think about.
Her honesty, her realness, they threaten to undo me. I’ve never been with someone who’s been this raw and genuine. Not focused on trying to look sexy, but just in the moment.
I reach down and stroke her bare pussy. Her gasp of pleasure lets me know she wants it too. “God, I fucking loved eating you,” I tell her against her mouth. “You drive me crazy.”
“Asher.” It sounds like a prayer spilling from her lips, and the intensity of the moment sets me on fire. “Please. Please.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know.” She whimpers when my fingers push into her again. “I want you. I want…to feel you. Fully. Please.”
It’s sunset now. Red and pink light slants through the window shade, illuminating her skin. She’s breathtaking, a goddess laid out before me. Innocent and seductive, her body ripe for me to pluck.
I lean down and draw her nipple into my mouth, savoring the gasp of arousal that erupts from her lips. Her nipple grows tight under my ministrations. I bite, suck, lick, and she starts to writhe under me when I stroke her cunt harder.
Her wetness soaks my palm. She’s so fucking ready for me.
“I’m going to fuck you now, Whitney,” I tell her.
Her nails digging into my back is my answer.
I reach over to my drawer and draw out a condom from the box. Sheathe myself then settle back between her legs. In all this time I’ve known her, all these years, I’ve never gone this far with her.
I want to make her mine. Right now.
I stretch out on her, her thighs propped around my hips. Nudge the tip of my dick to her entrance. I see her stiffen for a moment, her hands stilling on my back.
“Tell me to stop,” I order her. “If you don’t want this, tell me.”
She sucks in a shaky breath. Exhales. “No. I’m… I want it. Please. Please, Asher. Make love to me.”
Love. The word sends a hot flush pouring through me.
I can’t help it—I push inside her, and when she groans and her thighs spread open, thrust all the way deep until my belly is pressed to hers. Oh my fucking sweet Jesus, she’s so tight and hot and wet and I can feel her cunt squeezing around my dick, and I can’t breathe for wanting her.
I pull out, then thrust again.
Again.
Whitney’s moans mirror my own. She presses her knees against me, her thighs shaky, her torso arching against me. I bite her nipple between my teeth, my cock pulsing, blood pumping, body tight and aching. Her cry of pleasure, the way her nails rake my back and scrape my skin, elicits more.
I pull back, grip her thighs in my hands so tight I’m sure it’s going to leave bruises. I withdraw all the way, then slam into her so hard she cries out.
Pull out. Push in again. Again. Again.
I hammer her mercilessly, fucking Whitney until she can’t breathe, until she’s nothing more than a writhing body beneath me, crying for pleasure, for completion. I pound. Hard.
“Asher!” she screams. Her nipples brush against my sweaty chest. My whole body is covered in a sheen of sweat. I reach up and grip her hair, tug her head back to expose her neck. Bite the delicate flesh and swallow the cries of pain and pleasure. “Oh, God!” Sweat beads on her skin as her body slicks against mine.
My cock hammers into her, and I arch my pelvis so I stroke her G-spot. Reach my free hand down and swirl along her clit. “I want you to fucking come again for me, Whitney.” I don’t just want it. I need it, more than I need air. More than I need any other thing in this entire world.
I want this beautiful and sweet girl to give me this gift.
“I’m…I’m so close,” she breathes. Her legs start to shake in earnest, her pelvis pumping against me. She’s so lovely and wet, and I can smell the heat from her cunt.
I press down on her pussy, let my thumb push on it, then shove the digit side to side to stimulate her.
That makes her move. “Yes! Oh God, that’s…” She gasps, and her hips buck against me. I continue my frantic pace of fucking her and rubbing her clit. “That’s…”
Her whole body stills for a long, beautiful moment, and I can see on her face how she’s about to burst forth.
And then she does, erupting on me in a wet, heated rush that leaves me dizzy. “Yes, yes, oh God, Asher! Asher!” Her voice cries out my name as she comes around my cock, and I continue to slam into this intoxicating woman who has made me a little insane in this moment.
When her body starts to slack, I move my fingers from her pussy and grip her hip again.
She parts her lips. “I need…for you to come in me,” she breathes. “Will you do that, Asher? Will you come inside me?”
The words alone get me right to the fucking edge. I’m about to fall over the edge. My balls are tight, my dick so hard it almost hurts. I’m pumping in her hard, erratically, and I push harder. Harder.
She moans, reaches down to touch my pelvis right above my cock, stroke my skin there, and it drives me wild. Fuck. Fuck. I need to come so badly. I don’t think I’ve ever needed to come as much as I do right fucking now.
“Whitney,” I groan. Our bodies are slick with sweat, sliding along each other. My balls are aching to spill themselves. My thrusts grow my erratic, harder. She meets me thrust for thrust, her nails digging into my back hard enough to break the skin.
I don’t fucking care.
It feels good, the way she hurts me. A surge of something comes over me. I reach up and grip her jaw, my hand cupping her throat. Her eyes are hot and hard on me, primal, begging me to do whatever I want.
So I fuck her.
I fuck this beautiful woman beneath me. And when my orgasm starts to surge, I increase my speed, gasp, pump harder.
Then it spills out, a gush, a tidal wave, pouring from me. I can’t contain my cry of pleasure when I come inside Whitney. I’m frozen, my body a plank, my dick pulsing with wave after wave of come.
It takes several moments for me to ease up, for my body to relax. Finally I’m able to move again, and I pull out and curl up against her side.
My entire body is lax. Muscles pliant. I wrap my arm over her damp torso, and she shifts so her mouth is caressing my brow.
“Wow,” she says against me, her breath puffing on my face. “That was…wow.”
I laugh, though I barely have the energy to. “Yeah. We should do that more.”
Her answering chuckle fills me with warmth. I draw her closer, heedless of the warmth in the room. I just need to feel her against me. Need the security of her body. I ignore my brain trying to whisper why I need it so badly.
Try to tell myself it’s physical, and not much more than that. Because I know that’s a fucking lie. I know what I feel for her is more. How could I not?
But I’m not ready to face anything else than that right now.
I clear my throat. “So…you’re going to school in the spring semester?” I make myself ask, recalling what Rylie said at the bar. Whitney had mentioned a long time ago that she was saving up for college, but I had no idea she was this close to going.
A small part of my brain can’t help but say, Figures. I have amazing timing.
She draws in a slow breath. Turns on her side, stretches, and rests her small palm against my hip. “Yeah, I’ve finally saved enough to enroll in January.”
“That’s great,” I tell her. Because I’m not really sure what to say. Truth is, I quit school to be here with her, but she’s going to be leaving. Does that make me a total fool? I don’t know. Whether it does or not, it’s isn’t her fault. She had no idea I was planning to do so. After all, I was the dick who didn’t talk to her for a year.
Irony. Once I figure my shit out, she figures her shit out, too—and it doesn’t involve me. My sto
mach sinks.
I don’t know where this will leave us. What will happen with us. What to think. I was impulsive in leaving my school, and I don’t regret it. But now I’m feeling anxious, because I up and changed my life, and she isn’t changing hers.
It grows quiet between us as we lay there beside each other. I don’t know what she’s thinking. But I can’t help but wonder. Even if she were going to stay here, what did I think was going to happen between us? Am I really ready for something deep and emotional?
The thought kind of freaks me out. I make myself stay in place, though. I can’t pull away from her the way I did last time. That was cruel and harsh, I know. But the same concerns are still there. What does this mean? How will this change us? What do I want, really?
I want her—but what does that mean? Long-term?
I don’t fucking know, and I haven’t really thought about that much. I don’t think I can right now. I don’t want to leave the bar, leave my family again. Do I? I just got back here. And besides, where would I go? Near her campus, to hang on while she attends school?
Too much shit to think about right now.
Whitney sighs and stretches. “I’m so sleepy,” she murmurs.
I push out all the emotional drama in my mind, make myself focus on the moment. Stroke her naked hip, draw my sheet up over our bodies. “Let’s take a little nap then,” I say to her as I will myself to fall asleep.
Two weeks later, and I invite Whitney out for some grub at Aunt Sylvia’s.
It’s been fourteen days since that first night we had sex. Two weeks of flirting, seductive texts, nights filled with passion. Every moment I haven’t been at the bar or sleeping, I’ve tried to spend with her.
“This pie is ridiculous,” Whitney moans as she takes a bite.
“I told you. Aunt Sylvia has a way with key lime pie,” I declare. I grin at her before taking my own bite. The tangy-sweet taste fills my mouth, and I groan. God, I don’t know how the woman does it, but she makes it taste like I’m in the Florida Keys.
She shifts in her seat. Takes another bite. I try to not watch her sexy plump lips wrap around the forkful of food. Everything Whitney does is sexy, even if she isn’t aware it is. Especially if she isn’t.
Aunt Sylvia comes and pats me on the back. “You know I wanna ask you why the hell you’re home, boy.” Her dark brown gaze locks on mine, and I squirm. She’s not one to fuck around with. Aunt Sylvia isn’t really my aunt—she married my grandfather, who died, but she likes to be called Aunt. She’s pretty intense and kind of crazy. She fits right into our family.
“I know,” I tell her. I grip her hand. “I promise I’ll talk. But not right now, okay?”
She narrows her gaze. Stares at me for a long moment. “Fine, but I’m not letting you get away without talking to me, you little shit. You’re the worst of the three, you know.”
I blink. “What? Me? Jax is a total jerk, and Smith—”
“Your brothers spill their shit as soon as I open my mouth.” She laughs. “You’ve always been quiet and closed off.”
I pat her hand. “You’re good at making anyone talk. You should work for the CIA.”
“Eh, screw them. Shitty benefits, I bet.” She smirks. “Eat your pie, you ass. It’s gonna get warm.” With that, she saunters away.
“She’s an interesting person,” Whitney says with a laugh.
“Yeah, we were shocked at first when our grandfather married her, but they worked well.”
We finish our pie, and I try not to look at Whitney.
She’s as addictive as the best pie Aunt Sylvia ever made, and then some.
When we’re not having sex, we’re hanging out, talking. Whitney says Marshmallow misses me—she keeps the unicorn in her bedroom. I’ve taken her out to the movies, to dinner, on walks in the park. Anything to have her near. I can’t stop craving her, hungering for her presence. Her laugh. Her smile. Her eyes. Whitney is like a narcotic.
“Asher!” a deep voice says from behind us. A hand claps me on the shoulder, and I look up to see Dwayne, a guy I graduated with, standing there peering down at me. His eyes are bleary, hazed most likely with the weed he smokes daily. “Holy fuck, is it really you? Haven’t seen you in ages! How are you, man?”
“I’m fine.” I shift my shoulder away so his hand falls down.
Dwayne slides in beside me on the booth seat and grins, his gray teeth bold and proud. The guy has smoked dope every fucking day since we were in middle school. “Dude. So what are you doing? How’s college? You being savage on the football field?”
I stiffen. “I’m not in school anymore—I’m home, working at the bar.”
“Whoa. Really?” Dwayne draws back, shock in his eyes. “So you gave all that up? That’s fucking crazy.”
“No it isn’t,” I say, but it doesn’t matter. Dwayne gives a friendly goodbye to us and moves away from our table, already heading toward other people.
I draw in a steadying breath. Whitney is staring at me, and I can’t read the expression on her face.
I’m not going to talk about it. Not now, not with her. We’ve spent the last couple of weeks growing close again. Sharing our thoughts. Having amazing sex. I will not fuck that up.
Whitney clears her throat.
I give her a warning look. I don’t want to fucking go into this now. I’m tired of people bringing up what a mistake I’ve made. I swear to God, if I hear it one more time, I’m going to fucking snap. I haven’t made a damn mistake moving back home. I’ve done what is right for me.
She nibbles her lower lip. Eyes me. “Are you okay?” she finally asks.
I nod. “Fine.”
“You don’t seem like it. Do you want to talk?”
“Nothing to talk about.” I drop my fork on my plate and shove it away from me. This shit is getting old.
Her brow creases. She rests her fork on her plate, too. “I just worry, because we aren’t talking about it at all. It’s like the elephant in the room.”
“I—”
Her phone buzzes on the table. I shut up, and she bites her lower lip and picks it up. Her brows knit in concern. “It’s my mom. Hold on please.” She answers. “Hey, what’s up?” A pause. Her face falls. “Oh, no. Is he okay?” Another long moment, then she says, “Okay. Yeah, I’ll be there.” She hangs up and looks at me. “My…my dad lost his job, and he’s upset. I should go home. Can you drop me off?”
My heart falls, my own issues fading to the background in the light of her clear upset. A deep frown line mars her brow. “God, Whitney. That fucking sucks. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She braves a smile. “I just need to go. I’m sorry.”
I toss some money on the table and grab her hand.
Whitney
Asher pulls up in front of my house and idles the car. We didn’t talk at all the whole ride here. I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts, wondering what I’m going to find when I go through the front door. Will Dad be passed out now, in a sullen snit, or will he still be screaming? Mom didn’t say much on the phone, just wanting to warn me for when I come home that he’s in a bad mood.
“You sure you’re fine?” Asher asks me. “I can come in with you if you need me to.”
Dad’s a good man, but his temper when he’s drunk can be scary. I don’t want Asher seeing it. Partly because I don’t want him judging our family and partly because I’m embarrassed.
Besides, Dad might start taking pot shots, and I don’t want Asher in the line of fire. Asher won’t put up with any bullshit, and it could start an argument or escalate the situation even more.
“I’m fine, thanks.” I reach for the handle, and Asher takes my other hand, stopping me in place. He tugs me toward him and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. The sweetness almost makes me want to cry, since I’m already all keyed up about my dad. I nod, giving a weak smile, then exit the car.
When I open my front door, Mom’s standing in the kitchen, her back to Dad, who’s in the living room sitting on the couc
h, staring at a sci-fi movie on TV. There’s a stony silence in the house. The tension is almost visible.
I step over to Mom and give her a hug. “Everything okay?” I ask her quietly.
She shakes her head, and I see tears sliding down her cheeks. “He got fired for being drunk at work and chewing out a client.” She reaches up and presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. “He came home stinking drunk and yelling.”
Shit. “What are we going to do now?”
Mom shrugs and begins scrubbing at dishes in the sink. “Who knows? Your father does whatever the hell he wants.” The bitterness in her voice surprises me. I know Mom gets upset when he drinks like this, but she’s never seemed this…cynical, this raw.
Maybe she’s growing tired of it. Can’t blame her for that.
“Want me to talk to him?”
“You should stay out of the way,” she tells me. “He’s liable to explode. You know how he gets.” She grabs a dirty glass and dips it in the soapy water. Scrubs. Her entire focus is on the dishes, like she has to keep busy.
My heart squeezes in pain for her. I kiss her cheek. Maybe I should try talking to him. Sometimes I can get him to relax and calm down, even laugh. And given the tension in the air, it could help.
I head into the living room and sit down beside him. “Are you okay?” I ask him.
He doesn’t take his gaze off the TV. “Peachy. Everything’s splendid, Whitney. Why do you ask? I’m sure your mother already filled you in on the bullshit.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. I mean, it’s his fault he got fired, but saying that will only make the situation worse. I reach over and squeeze his upper arm. “Maybe some sleep will help.”
“Maybe not having another woman nagging me will help.” His tone is snippy, and it hits me square in the chest.
“I’m not trying to nag,” I say, but he continues.
“You’re just like your mother.” Acid drips from his tone. “It’s a wonder I managed to get through life without having you two telling me what to fucking do.”