Page 61 of Faking All the Way
Asher blows out a long breath, his hands tight on the steering wheel. “I don’t even know what being a good son means anymore. Would it mean forgiving him for everything? Letting go of all this anger I’ve been carrying around?” He shakes his head. “I’m not sure I’m ready to do that. But…”
“But what?” I ask softly.
He glances at me, and there’s something vulnerable in his expression that I rarely see. “I’m tired of carrying it around. This weight. This anger. It’s exhausting.”
I swallow hard, empathy filling my chest. “It’s hard to let go of the things that have been part of us for so long. They start to define us and become part of our identity. But maybe they don’t have to.” A wry smile tugs at my lips. “I mean, I used to let my relationship with Daniel define me, but I’m learning not to anymore.”
Asher’s jaw tightens, and he scowls. “I’m really glad I set that fucker straight this morning. Watching him storm out after I told him you used to fake it with him was satisfying as hell.”
I can’t help but laugh at the reminder and the memory of Daniel’s face turning red. But then other memories flood my mind. Last night. The darkness. The sounds we made. The way Asher looked at me, the things he said. My pulse skips and my body heats up just thinking about it.
The words come out before I can stop them, blurted without thinking. “I was faking it with you too, you know. Last night.”
I don’t want to admit that I actually came, and this feels like an opening to make it clear I didn’t, to hold on to some dignity. Even though it’s a complete lie.
The atmosphere in the car changes instantly. Asher goes completely still beside me, his breathing shifting. Then, without warning, he pulls over onto the snowy shoulder of the road, the car sliding slightly as he brakes. He puts it in park and turns to look at me with an intensity that steals my breath.
“Were you?” His voice is low, rough, almost a growl.
My heart lurches in my chest. But I can’t tell the truth. There’s no way I can admit to him that I came so hard I saw stars, that the fantasy he created with his words affected me more than any real sex I’ve ever had.
I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. My chin moves up and down jerkily as I nod.
Something in his face says he doesn’t believe me. He stares at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine like he’s trying to read the truth there.
“If things were real between us, bright eyes,” he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper but somehow filling the entire car, “you’d never have to fake anything. You’d scream louder than you did last night, and it would all be real. Every sound, every breath, every fucking second of it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Asher
Kat’s breath hitches at my words, a soft sound that goes straight to my cock. Color floods her cheeks, spreading up from her throat in a wave of pink. Her mouth parts slightly, her lips forming a soft, unconscious pout that makes me instantly regret letting those words slip out.
I shouldn’t have said it. Should’ve kept that promise locked inside where it belongs, filed away with all the other things I want but can’t have. But when she said she was faking it with me last night, something inside me snapped. Some part of me still doesn’t believe that’s true, can’t accept it after watching the way her body responded. The way she shook, the sounds she made. That wasn’t acting.
The car idles on the snowy shoulder, the engine rumbling quietly. The windows are starting to fog up, condensation building on the glass from our breathing and the heat of whatever this thing between us is. Kat stares at me with wide green eyes, her lashes fluttering as if she’s struggling to process what I just said.
Wrenching my gaze back to the road takes everything I have. It’s like physically tearing myself away from her. But I manage it, forcing myself to look at the snowy pavement ahead instead of at her flushed face.
I reach over and adjust the dashboard controls with more force than necessary, the low whoosh of the defroster filling the silence between us. The sound is loud in the quiet car, but it doesn’t do anything to cut the tension. Then I check my mirrors and pull back onto the road, gripping the steering wheel too tight.
The air between us feels heavy and loaded. The car is silent but practically screaming with unspoken tension. Every breath feels too loud. Every small movement she makes, every shift of fabric, feels magnified. I’m acutely aware of her sitting there beside me, of the fact that less than two feet separate us.
By the time we reach the cabin driveway a while later, I’m wound so tight that I might snap. My arousal is coiled like a spring, making it hard to think about anything except how much I want her. How easy it would be to just say fuck it and do something about it.
I clear my throat, my voice coming out as a low rasp. “I should clear the driveway here too.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Kat says, and her voice is breathless in a way that makes my cock twitch. “You already did so much today with your dad’s place.”
“I don’t mind.” I need something to do with my hands other than reach for her. Need the physical work to burn off some of this energy that has nowhere else to go. “It won’t take long.”
I park, and we both get out into the cold air. She heads toward the main cabin, glancing back at me once before disappearing inside.
I head upstairs to the guest house to change into better clothes for the task, stripping out of the suit that I’ve beenwearing since last night and pulling on jeans, a thermal shirt, and my winter coat. When I come back down, I grab the shovel from where it’s propped against the front of the cabin and throw myself into the work.
The physical exertion is a poor substitute for the release I really need. My muscles burn as I work, throwing snow to the side in rhythmic movements. But it doesn’t help. I keep thinking about the look on her face when I spoke to her in the car. Something in her expression was almost like a challenge, like she wanted me to make good on the promises I was making.
I know I shouldn’t have said it. Shouldn’t have let that slip out, shouldn’t have crossed that line. But the worst part is that I meant every word. If we were really together, I’d spend hours figuring out exactly what makes her fall apart. I’d learn every sound she makes, every way to touch her that drives her crazy.
