Page 39 of The Rest is History

Tearing my mouth from his, I pull him even closer to me. Then, turning so my mouth is near his ear, I whisper, “What was he like?”

Asher groans and I feel it in the jerk of my dick. I feel it in the clench of my ass around his cock.

“Tell me, Asher, sweetheart.”

Asher fucks into me wildly. His words come out in passionate gasps. “He’s not as shy as he seems, baby. He was so wild when we fucked. He liked to be talked through sex,” he pants into my ear. “He liked to be told how good he is, how bad he is. How good he felt.”

I’m not myself anymore. My balls tighten. I knew he’d be wild. “What else, Asher?”

Asher bites down on my jaw. Sweat drips from his forehead, wetting my face. I reach up to lick across his temple, taking his sweat into my mouth. “He liked to be called names.”

“What names did you call him?” I turn my face to bite along his jaw.

“I called him my fucking slut. My perfect cock whore.” Asher is close.

“What if—”

“No, baby. Don’t—”

But I’m not myself. I can’t stop. “What if he were here right now?” I blurt out.

Asher swells inside me.

“Would you fuck him?”

“Sawyer, baby—”

“Would you fuck him for me, Asher? Please, baby. Would you fuck him for me?” I’m so lost.

Asher bites down on my shoulder. I cry out for the sharp stab of pain. And as he comes, filling me with his semen, and I explode between us, our orgasms are driven forward and upward by that one word uttered in the dark. A shameful secret given birth between us in this one moment. “Yes.”

Chapter 17

Asher

My arms are still wrapped tightly around Sawyer long after the tremors have left our bodies. My cock, soft now, remains inside him. My cum oozes out of him and drips down my balls with every periodic flex of his ass.

There is no decorum between us, but where do we go from here?

I never saw this coming, yet, I’m not surprised. Of course, Sawyer would see only the best of who Reece is. He sees the best in everyone. But . . . no one has ever made it this far into our private lives.

Sawyer has no hard and fast rules by which he lives his life. He’s very simple in that way. He trusts himself and what feels right to him. He doesn’t overthink things or overcomplicate them. He doesn’t ask for much, so when he does ask, it’s a big deal.

But this?

He wants to move but I can’t let him go. I press my lips to his neck. “I love you,” I whisper, trying to give him some safety and silently asking him to do the same for me.

“I love you,” he whispers back.

Only then do I slowly withdraw from his body, moving to his side and pulling him into my arms. He keeps his face hidden from me.

I leave it at that because I don't know how to face him either.

When we made the rule about no decorum between us, I never imagined that it would include something like this.

Eventually, when it’s obvious Sawyer’s shame is greater than mine, I press a kiss to his forehead. “You’re tired,” I tell him. “Go to sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

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