Page 38 of The Rest is History

He reaches over me for the lube, flicks the cap open with one hand and, turning me onto my stomach, he allows the lube to drip directly onto my asshole. The cool sensation brings a moan to my lips and I lift my ass for more.

Again. The image of Reece’s soft hands blasts through my head. Asher’s finger sinks into me. I moan out loud and I can’t be certain that it has nothing to do with these intrusive thoughts about Reece.

I bury my face into the pillow, dropping my hips back to the mattress. My heart thumps inside my chest.

Asher covers my back with his body. The warmth of his skin soothes me, but not much.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Asher asks against my nape.

“Nothing,” I whisper.

He encourages me onto my back. “You’re tired. Let me make you feel good and then you can get some sleep.”

I nod desperately. Reece isn’t just a passing thought anymore. His face fills my head, my mind conjuring up close-up images of his lips — that Asher once kissed. His hands— that Asher once held. His body — that Asher once touched. Made love to.

Asher slides my legs over his shoulders, leaning forward to kiss me, and enters me slowly.

I wrap my arms around him.

Reece’s parted lips when he’s concentrating flashes through my head. The smile on his face when I tell him he’s done a good job stacking the logs or clearing up the trailers.

No. Stop.

I hide myself and my shameful thoughts in the crook of Asher’s neck.

“Baby, something’s wrong,” Asher whispers in my ear. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing,” I breathe against him.

Reece’s hands, so soft and lovely.

“There is no decorum between us,” he murmurs. He moves inside me, withdrawing slowly and then pushing back in with equal ease. My dick is hard and pressed between our stomachs, leaking for thoughts of Reece and the slide of Asher’s cock inside me.

“I can’t stop thinking about him, Asher,” I blurt out, my words ending in a horrifying cry.

He stills. His cock swells inside me.

“Baby, no,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry. You were right. We shouldn’t have offered—”

He lifts his body a fraction. Just enough to force us to look at each other. “What have you been thinking about, sweetheart?” He asks. I search his face for anger. Judgment. There is none.

“He’s just like you used to say.”

Asher begins to move inside me again. My eyes drift closed for a moment to enjoy his slow fucking. Then, “He’s so soft. So easy to talk to. So—”

Asher’s eyes never leave mine. He touches my forehead with his. “So what, my love?”

“So beautiful, Asher. I’m so sorry.”

He hits my prostate. My hips come off the bed, my ankles tighten around his shoulders. He drowns us in a kiss so wild all I can do is cry into his mouth for my shame.

Asher’s hips jerk harder and faster while we kiss. “Baby. Sawyer, baby,” he chants into my mouth.

As we fuck, wrapped up so tightly in each other, realization begins to hit me in small doses. Then larger ones. And then, larger still until I’m overcome by the knowledge that my husband is . . . turned on.

I lose my mind, flying right into the storm. And there I find Asher. It’s chaos, and we’re in the middle of it and we can’t stop. I can’t stop. We’re not ourselves and it’s fucking glorious, and I want it so badly. So badly.

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