Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Poison

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my heartbeat.

The air between us is charged, crackling like a live wire.

Asher stands just a few feet away, his hazelnut eyes boring into mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak.

My heart's pounding in my chest so loud, I'm sure he can hear it.

He steps forward, closing the gap between us until there's barely any space left.

I can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the familiar scent of leather and musk.

It's intoxicating, pulling me in despite every warning bell going off in my head.

"Polly..." His voice is softer now, almost tender.

It catches me off guard, and before I can react, he closes the remaining distance between us.

His lips crash against mine, and all rational thought flies out the window.

It's as if a dam has broken, and everything we've been holding back for years comes flooding out in that one kiss.

His hands are on my hips, gripping me tight, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us. I gasp against his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring, demanding.

"Fuck, Ash," I manage to breathe out when we break apart for air.

But he doesn't give me a chance to say more.

His lips find mine again, more insistent this time, more desperate.

We stumble backward, and my back hits the cold wall of the tour bus.

It jolts me, but not enough to break the kiss. His hands are everywhere—my hair, my waist, my ass.

It's overwhelming, consuming, and I can't get enough.

"God, I've missed you," he murmurs against my neck, his breath hot against my skin.

"Shut up and kiss me," I demand, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him closer.

"With pleasure," he growls, and then he's kissing me again, harder this time, more urgent.

My hands slide under his shirt, feeling the hard planes of his chest, the muscles tensing under my touch.

He shudders, and I can't help the triumphant smile that spreads across my face. I've still got it.

"Polly," he groans, his voice thick with need.

"Stop," I whisper, breaking away from his lips and placing my hands on his chest.

The word is weak, almost a plea, but it's enough to make him pause.

His hazelnut eyes lock onto mine, searching, questioning.

"Polly..." he starts, but I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of lust clouding my mind.

"Just... give me a second," I mutter, though even as I say it, my fingers are curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer again.

Damn it, why does he have to feel so good?

"Don't want to stop," Asher growls, his voice low and rough, sending shivers down my spine.

He leans in, capturing my lips once more in a kiss that steals my breath.

It's like he's pouring years of pent-up desire into every touch, every caress.

"Me neither," I admit, and that's all it takes for us to lose all control.

We collide with an urgency that feels almost primal, mouths crashing together in a frenzy of heat and need.

His tongue slides against mine, and I moan into his mouth, clutching at him like he's the only thing keeping me grounded.

"Fuck, Polly," he breathes out, his hands sliding down to grip my hips, pulling me flush against him.

I can feel how hard he is through his jeans, and it sends a jolt of arousal straight to my core.

There's no room for hesitation now—we're both lost in this whirlwind of desire.

Our kisses are frantic, almost desperate, tongues intertwining in a dance of raw need.

My hands roam over his body, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the heat of his skin beneath my fingertips.

It's intoxicating, overwhelming, and I can't get enough.

"Clothes. Off. Now," he grunts, tugging at my shirt.

"Impatient, aren't we?" I tease, but I'm already helping him yank it over my head.

"Goddamn right," he growls, and then his hands are everywhere, exploring, claiming.

"Fuck," I gasp as his mouth finds the sensitive spot on my neck, sucking and nibbling until I'm writhing against him.

My fingers fumble with the button of his jeans, desperate to get them off, to feel him inside me.

"Need you," he whispers, and there's something raw and vulnerable in his voice that makes my heart clench.

"Then take me," I challenge, my breath hitching as he pulls my bra down, exposing my breasts to his hungry gaze.

"Don't have to tell me twice," he says, and then his hands are on me, rough and demanding, and I can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel.

"Fuck, Asher," I moan as his mouth closes over one nipple, sucking hard.

My hands are behind his neck, clutching, pulling, needing more.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmurs against my skin, and I can feel the smirk in his words.

"Less talking, more action," I pant, tugging at his jeans.

"Your wish is my command," he says, and then he's lifting me, slamming me against the wall with a force that knocks the air from my lungs.

"Shit," I gasp, wrapping my legs around his waist.

His hands are on my ass, squeezing, kneading, driving me wild.

"Fuck, I want you so bad," he groans, grinding against me, and I can feel just how much he means it.

"Then fucking do it already," I snap, my nails digging into his shoulders.

"With pleasure," he growls, and then his hand is between us, ripping my panties aside with a roughness that sends a thrill through me.

"Ready?" he asks, his voice hoarse with need.

"Always," I whisper, and then he's thrusting into me, and it's everything.

"Goddamn," he groans, his forehead resting against mine as he starts to move, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through me. "Missed you. Missed this."

"Shut up and fuck me," I demand, clawing at his back, needing more, needing everything.

"Gladly," he growls, his grip on my hips tightening.

He pulls out almost entirely, then slams back in, the force of it making me cry out.

The sound echoes through the room, a mix of pain and pleasure that drives me wild.

His hand moves to my neck, fingers wrapping around my throat with just enough pressure to make my pulse quicken.

He squeezes, not too hard, but enough to remind me who's in control. I love it. The edge of danger, the thrill of giving myself over completely.

"Fuck, you're tight," he mutters, his voice strained. His eyes lock onto mine, dark and intense. "Always loved how you feel."

"Harder," I demand, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Don't hold back."

"Oh, I'm not." he says, his voice low and rough.

He pounds into me, each thrust more brutal than the last.

My back scrapes against the wall, the friction adding another layer to the sensation.

It's pure bliss, the kind that makes everything else fade away.

"Yes," I moan, arching into him. "God, yes."

"Take it," he hisses, his grip on my throat tightening. "Take all of it."

"More," I beg, my body trembling with need. "Please, Ash."

"Fuck, Polly," he groans, his pace relentless.

His free hand moves between us, finding that sensitive spot and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. "Come for me."

"Almost there," I gasp, my vision blurring.

The world narrows to the point where our bodies meet, the slick heat, the electricity sparking with every movement.

"Now," he commands, his voice harsh. "Come for me, baby."

"Yes," I cry out, the orgasm tearing through me.

My muscles clench around him, pulling him deeper, holding him there. It's too much and not enough all at once.

"Fuck!" he roars, his own release following close behind.

He shudders against me, his grip on my throat easing but not letting go.

We stay like that, locked together, riding out the waves of pleasure until we both collapse, spent and breathless.

"Goddamn," he mutters, resting his forehead against mine. "That was..."

"Don't," I cut him off, shaking my head. "This doesn't change anything."

"Polly," he starts, but I silence him with a look.

"Get dressed," I say, pushing him away gently. "We can't do this again."

"Fine," he grumbles, but there's a glint in his eye that tells me this isn't over.

"Goodbye, Ash," I whisper, turning away.

I gather my clothes, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. This might have been incredible, but it's not what I need. Not anymore.

"See you around…Poison," he says the moment I put my cut back on, his voice tinged with regret.

My heart is still racing as I make my way back to Sydney's tour bus, trying to shake off the lingering sensation of Asher's hands on my skin.

This can't happen again. It won't happen again.

But despite my reservations, I can't deny the small, treacherous part of me that wants nothing more than to turn around and run back to him.

I pull open the door to Sydney's tour bus, stepping inside and letting it close behind me with a thud.

The air inside is cooler, a welcome relief from the heat outside.

My heart's still in overdrive, and I'm trying to steady my breath.

"Well, well, well," Dex's voice greets me. He's lounged back on one of the worn leather seats, a beer in his hand and a smirk playing on his lips. He looks too much like the Cheshire cat for my liking. "Look who decided to come back."

"Hey, Asshole," I mutter, avoiding eye contact as I make my way to the small kitchenette.

I need water. Something to calm my nerves.

"Interesting walk you had there," he continues, taking a slow sip from his bottle. His eyes never leave me as I fumble with a glass. "Saw you with your ex. Anything interesting happen?"

"Nothing interesting," I say flatly, filling the glass and downing the water in one go. I don't look at him. Can't afford to let him see the turmoil in my eyes.

"Is that so?" His tone is dripping with disbelief, but I ignore it.

"Yes, that's so." I turn and lean against the counter, meeting his gaze head-on.

My shirt's ripped, and I know it won't escape his notice, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of reacting to it.

"That's funny," Dex laughs, the sound harsh and mocking. "Considering your shirt's ripped."

I freeze, gripping the edge of the counter.

My fingers brush over the jagged tear near my shoulder, a brutal reminder of what just happened.

"Touchy, aren't we?" he drawls, leaning back in his seat.

"Drop it," I growl, stepping closer. The anger is rolling off me in waves, but he doesn't seem fazed. If anything, he looks more amused.

"I'll drop it. But you should know, Poison, secrets don't stay hidden for long around here," he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

"Good thing I'm not trying to hide anything," I shoot back, even though we both know it's a lie.

The air between us crackles with tension, but I refuse to back down. Not now, not ever.

"Sure," he says, shrugging. "If that's what you want to believe."

"Fuck you, Dex," I mutter, turning away from him again. I need to get out of here before I do something I'll regret—like punching that smug look off his face.

"Maybe later," he calls after me, his laughter echoing through the bus as I storm down the narrow hall.

I slam the bathroom door behind me, leaning against it for a moment as I try to catch my breath.

My heart is pounding, my mind racing with everything that's just happened.

Asher's touch still lingers on my skin, and I can't shake the memory of his hands, his mouth, his body pressed against mine.

"Get it together, Poison," I whisper to myself, pushing off the door and moving to the sink.

I splash cold water on my face, hoping it will help clear my head. It doesn't.

I glance at my reflection in the mirror, taking in the mess of my hair, the wild look in my eyes. And the torn crop top.

I groan, pulling it off and tossing it aside. I can't go back out there like this. I need to find something else to wear. Something that won't make Dex's knowing smirk burn even deeper into my skin.

I rummage through the small closet, finally finding an old band tee that will have to do. It's better than nothing. I pull it on, the fabric soft and worn, but at least it's intact.

Taking a deep breath, I step back out into the hall, ready to face whatever comes next. Because no matter what happens, I won't let anyone see me break. Not Dex, not Asher, not anyone.

"Poison," Dex calls from the front of the bus, his tone lighter now. Almost teasing. "You coming back out or hiding all night?"

"Keep dreaming," I mutter under my breath, but I force myself to move forward. To face the music. Because running away has never been my style. That's Asher's thing.