Page 74 of From Asher, With Love

“No.” I shake my head as I move my hand from the pulse in her neck to her chin. “You’re doing something to me.” I grip onto it and steal her breath with my mouth.

She moans, and her body melts into mine. She wraps her hands around the back of my head, keeping my mouth pressed to hers. My cock twitches, but I tell it to calm down, at least until I get some food in my stomach.

When the elevator dings and the doors open, I wrap my hand around Charleigh’s again, leading her into my home.

“Come on.” I drop her hand and remove my suit jacket, tossing it onto the sofa lining the front entrance. “I’m starving.”

Charleigh stops and doesn’t walk any farther inside, instead looking around my place with intrigue.

The floors are covered in a deep brown hardwood. Thick wooden beams stretch across the ceiling.

She gazes at my place, tentatively taking one step, then another. There’s a large kitchen opening up to the living space. Set on the dining room table are two plates filled with steak, asparagus, and some kind of roasted potatoes. Two glasses of red wine are also set out. I look around, wondering if my private chef is still here, but the blue kitchen towel is folded on thecounter next to the stove—a clear indication he’s gone for the night.

The apartment is dark, with only the bit of light coming from the undercabinet lighting in the kitchen and a few lamps scattered around the main living area. I stand by the dining room table, studying our plates, expecting Charleigh to want to sit down and eat, but she doesn’t. She’s too wrapped up with the size and look of my place.

I cross my arms and watch her, unable to wipe the smile off my face.

When she spots the tall floor-to-ceiling glass windows lining the entire floor, she walks across the room until she’s only inches from them.

I join her and stand beside her.

“Your place is…” She pauses, taking a breath as she presses her whole hand to her chest. “Your place is incredible. I’ve never seen the city from this view.”

“It’s my father’s place, actually.”

“Really?” She snaps her head in my direction.

“Yes.” I nod, pressing my hand to the glass and gazing down at the city.

“Your father used to live here?” she asks. “He wasn’t always in California?”

I’m assuming she’s guessing based on the last note I ever left her, given that I never talked about my dad before I moved to live with him, and the time I carried her down the stairs after I’d shared a slice of my life back in California.

“No, he’s a New Yorker, actually,” I tell her, feeling myself open up to her in a way I never do with anyone else. “I didn’t know this until I left to live with him, but he used to work in the city… as a real estate executive for one of the brokers on Wall Street.”

“What?” She turns to face me and crosses her arms over her chest. “He was in real estate, too?”

“The night of the fire, my mother told me something.” I scratch at the stubble lining my chin. I hate talking about my mother sometimes. A wave of guilt always follows the memories. Especially the ones where she’d look at me with empty, bloodshot eyes. “It didn’t make sense at the time, but later, after I moved to California, my father told me the story of how they met.”

Charleigh’s delicate neck bobs as she swallows. This is the first time I feel myself opening up to her completely.

Fire spreads across my chest, and instinct tells me not to continue, but then I look into Charleigh’s eyes and fall for her all over again. She’s the only person on this earth who has ever truly seen me.

“Before I came to your house that night…” I stop, emotion swelling inside me. “The night your dad found us, before I snuck into your bedroom, I had an argument with my mother. She was nearly black out drunk or high on some kind of drug. I doubt she was clearheaded about anything she was saying, but she mentioned my father living here on Wall Street, in this apartment.” I look around, taking it all in. Pieces of my dad still linger. Large pieces of art hang on every wall. Each surface is appointed with care and precision, just how his home is back in California.

“So, how did they meet?” Charleigh asks.

“I didn’t know until I went to live with him, but he and my mother met when she worked at one of the restaurants down the street. Every day, he would go in for coffee, buying enough to supply each of his coworkers. At that time, he was an intern for one of the firms. After a couple weeks, he gathered the nerve to ask her out on a date, and it wasn’t long before their relationship grew. He fell for her fast and found himself stuck betweenbuilding his career and building a life with her. He wanted both, but the more time he spent climbing the corporate ladder, the more my mother grew paranoid. Eventually, her paranoia got the better of her, and no matter what my father did, she wouldn’t change her mind.” I rake my fingers through my hair, shoving it off my forehead.

I sit on the bench of the grand piano set in the middle of the room. “My mother told me my father lied to her; said he wanted nothing to do with her when she told him she was pregnant with me. But that wasn’t true, Charleigh.”

Her eyes well with tears as she slowly walks toward me. I part my legs, and she settles between my thighs, standing in front of me as she cradles my face with her small hands and pulls me up to gaze at her. I place both of my hands on the small of her back, slipping them under her sweater to feel her skin.

“Whatwasthe truth?” she asks softly.

“After I moved to California, my father never went out of his way to tell me the truth. In his eyes, he wanted to build our relationship organically and not dwell on the past. But after a while, I remembered what my mom had told me, and I was dying to know. One day, after one of our surfing sessions, he finally broke down and told me. My mother didn’t tell my father she was pregnant with me until he had decided to leave the city after they split. He didn’t find out about me until I was two years old. She wrote him a letter, explaining that she had a child and needed his support money. He showed me the letter. He stepped up, offering to help in any way he could. She only ever wanted the money, never intending on letting me see him. You know, my father said he tried to reach out to me every week. He’d call, but my mother always ignored him, or when she did answer, she’d tell him I didn’t want to speak to him. He sent child support, but she never used it on me. That’s how she was always able to afford to pay for her drugs and herdrinking habit. Unless she’d run out, then she would go snooping through my shit for money. He asked time and time again for me to fly out to visit him for the summer, but my mother never allowed it.”

“He never took her to court over it?” Her eyebrows pull together.

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