Chapter 20

twenty

. . .

Sloane

“Asher? It’s Brian. Open up, man. I need to talk to you.”

We both freeze.

My heart plummets. Asher straightens, running a hand through his hair as he mutters under his breath. “Of course it’s Brian.”

He turns to me, his expression shifting from annoyed to amused as a mischievous glint lights up his eyes. “Looks like you’re about to get a front-row seat to the show. Closet. Now.”

“What?” I hiss, already backing toward the corner.

“You heard me.” He gently nudges me toward the door of his closet, his voice dipping into that teasing tone. “Unless you want Brian to find you here and start a whole new round of trivia about us. ”

I glare at him but duck into the closet, the door closing softly behind me just as I hear the front door creak open.

Through the slats, I watch as Brian stumbles into the room. His shirt is untucked, his tie loosened, and there’s a distinct flush in his cheeks.

Asher leans casually against the wall, his arms crossed. “What’s up, man?”

Brian flops onto the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I just needed to talk. About Jacklyn.”

Of course he does.

Asher exhales, his posture relaxing as if he’s already bored. “What about her?”

Brian hesitates, glancing up with a mix of hesitation and frustration. “You dated her, right? Back in freshman year?”

Asher shrugs. “Yeah. For, like, two months. It wasn’t a big deal.”

Brian’s lips press into a thin line. “Not a big deal? Come on, man. She’s…she’s amazing.”

“She is,” Asher agrees easily. “She’s also with you now. So why does it matter?”

Brian doesn’t answer immediately, his hands fidgeting on his lap. Finally, he blurts out, “Because you’re…you.”

Asher raises an eyebrow. “Me?”

“Yeah, you!” Brian gestures vaguely, his voice rising. “You’re Asher fucking Knox. The golden boy. The quarterback. And, let’s be honest, the guy everyone knows is…you know, gifted. ”

I bite down on my lip, trying not to gasp—or laugh.

Asher, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. He tilts his head, his smirk deepening. “Gifted? That’s one way to put it.”

Brian groans, running a hand through his hair. “You know what I mean. It’s like you’re the guy everyone’s supposed to measure up to. And then there’s me. The guy who can barely keep Jacklyn’s attention when you’re in the room.”

Asher’s amusement fades slightly, replaced by something sharper. “Brian, Jacklyn’s with you because she wants to be. Stop comparing yourself to some short-lived thing that ended years ago.”

Brian exhales sharply but doesn’t look convinced. “Yeah, but…does she? I mean, did she ever talk about…you know, how gifted you are?”

Asher’s jaw tightens. “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”

From the closet, I’m biting my lip so hard it’s a miracle I don’t make a sound.

“Fine,” Brian mutters, waving a hand. “What about Sloane?”

My stomach flips, and I hold my breath.

Asher doesn’t react right away. “What about her?”

Brian leans forward, his voice dropping. “You’ve been eyeing her all night. Don’t deny it.”

Asher’s smirk returns, lazy and confident. “Sloane and I? Nah. Not my type.”

The words sting more than they should, even though I know he’s lying.

Brian exhales, looking relieved. “Good. Because I don’t need another reason to feel like I’m stuck in your shadow.”

Asher claps him on the shoulder, his tone firm. “You’re overthinking. Go home, get some sleep, and talk to Jacklyn tomorrow. You’ll feel better.”

After a moment, Brian nods, pushing himself to his feet. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

The door clicks shut behind Brian, and silence fills the room, broken only by my shallow breaths. Slowly, I step out of the closet, brushing down my sweatshirt like I can somehow smooth over the tension still lingering in the air.

Asher turns to me, one eyebrow raised, his smirk firmly back in place. “Well? Enjoy the show?”

I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes. “So, I’m not your type, huh?”

He chuckles softly, stepping closer, his gaze locking onto mine. “If I’d said you were, Brian would still be here, whining about it.”

“Right,” I say, tilting my head. “You did it for him.”

“For both of us,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

My heart skips as he reaches out, his fingers brushing against mine, his touch deliberate but slow, like he’s giving me a chance to pull away.

“Still,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, “it was convincing.”

His smirk deepens, and he steps closer, until the space between us disappears. “Was it?”

I barely manage a nod before his lips capture mine, soft but insistent. The kiss is a tease at first, but then his hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and all pretense melts away.

I sigh against his mouth, my fingers gripping the hem of the baggy sweatshirt I’m wearing. His hands shift, helping me pull it over my head, and the moment it drops to the floor, I feel his gaze sweep over me.

My hand moves instinctively, sliding over his chest and down his stomach, pausing just above the waistband of his sweatpants. I glance up, biting my lip as I feel him harden beneath my touch.

“You weren’t kidding,” I murmur, my voice soft but laced with wonder.

“About what?” he asks, his tone smug.

I trail my fingers lower, brushing against his hardening length in a way that makes him inhale sharply. “About being gifted. I certainly don’t mind.”

His eyes darken, his smirk fading into something more intense. “Careful, Sloane,” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp. “You keep saying things like that, and I might forget I promised to behave tonight.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to behave,” I whisper back, my cheeks flaming even as the words leave my lips.

For a moment, the only sound is our breathing, tangled and uneven, before he presses his forehead against mine.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs, his lips brushing mine in the faintest of kisses.

“Oh like you don’t love it,” I reply, feeling bold.

His laugh is soft, almost reverent, as his hands slide down my sides, gripping my hips like he’s grounding himself. “You have no idea.”

The smirk is back, sharper this time. “You wore the shorts,” he says, his voice a mix of approval and amusement.

“You told me to,” I reply, my cheeks flushing.

His thumb brushes along the waistband, his touch deliberate. “You’re good at taking orders.”

“Maybe I just like making you happy,” I counter, trying to match his teasing tone.

His grin widens. “It’s working.”

For a while, it’s just us, the air charged with unspoken tension and lingering touches. But then Asher’s expression softens, his hand stilling on my waist.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, his voice quieter now.

“Sure,” I reply, my heartbeat slowing just enough to hear the faint crack in his tone.

“Does it feel…weird? You know, me and Jacklyn.”

I blink, caught off guard by the question. “What? No. Why would it?”

His gaze searches mine, as if he’s waiting for something to change in my expression. “I don’t know. Some people might think it’s…complicated.”

I reach up, cupping his cheek gently. “Asher, you and Jacklyn were a blip. Barely a footnote. It’s not even a thought in my mind.”

The tension in his shoulders eases, and a small, genuine smile tugs at his lips. “Good.”

The moment lingers between us, the air thick with anticipation as his hands slide along my waist. His lips brush against mine, teasing, but there’s something more in his eyes—curiosity, maybe, or a flicker of hesitation.

“Asher,” I murmur, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “What about you?”

“Hmm?” His voice is low, rough, the sound of it sending shivers down my spine.

“Does it bother you?” I ask softly.

His brow furrows. “Does what bother me?”

“That I…” I hesitate, my cheeks flushing, but I force myself to continue. “That I used to date your frat brother. The former starting quarterback no less.”

Understanding dawns in his expression, and his lips twitch into that signature smirk. “No,” he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “I couldn’t care less.”

Relief floods through me, but then his smirk deepens, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“Although,” he adds, leaning closer until his breath brushes against my ear, “I do hope he doesn’t recognize your moans. Sharing a wall with Joe now would make that…awkward. Or maybe I hope he does.”

My cheeks burn, and I swat at his chest, laughing despite myself. “You’re unbelievable.”

He cocks his head and runs a hand down my side. “Well believe it.”

Suddenly, I get hit with a strange, knot in my stomach. Maybe it’s just my insecurities seeping in but…“I just…I guess I don’t know what you see in a girl like me.”

“What do you mean, girl like you? You’re fucking sexy, Sloane. Oh fuck. When you rub your ass into me like that…”

I spin and grind on him, then reach my hand behind me, and into his briefs.

“You know what you’re doing. Sloane you’re grabbing my cock…fuck. We shouldn’t do this.”

I grin. I’m starting to learn the little games he likes to play. “No?”

He reaches his big hand under my shorts.

“No. You might get wet. Really wet.”

“Too late for that.”

“Yeah. You’re fucking soaked.”

He presses two fingers onto my clit, playing with me, and with his other hand he pulls my shirt over my head.

“No bra tonight,” he comments.

“No bra.”

“You’re learning what I like.”

“I am,” I moan.

Pulling his hand off of me, I move to his couch, and look him in the eye. “Sit.” I pat the cushion.

“Oh, you’re telling me what to do now?” He bites his lower lip.

“I guess so,” I grin.

“I like it when you take charge,” he says.

My insides warm. I secretly file that quote away under things Joe DeRollo would have never said to me because he had to control every single interaction we had .

“Yeah?” I ask, as Asher sits on the couch. “Why is that?”

I kneel between his legs, my tits out on display for him. He runs a hand through my hair.

“Because I trust you. And I like you. But mostly because I trust you. And I think if you have a fun idea, I want you to take charge.”

“So what fun idea do you think I have right now?”

Asher sits back with his arms behind his head. “I have no idea. I’m along for the ride, like I said.”

My breath hitches as I glance up at him, my knees pressing into the soft mattress as I sit back between his legs. The room is dim, the only light coming from the desk lamp in the corner, casting shadows across the hard planes of his stomach and chest.

God, he’s ridiculous.

My eyes trace the line of his abs, the faint ripple of muscle that flexes with each shallow breath he takes. His skin looks impossibly smooth under the golden glow, and I can’t help but wonder how it would feel under my fingertips—or my tongue.

I bite my lip, my gaze dropping lower. His briefs cling to him in a way that feels almost unfair, leaving nothing to the imagination. The bulge there is impossible to ignore, and heat floods my cheeks as my thoughts spiral into territory I know I shouldn’t entertain.

But I do.

I imagine leaning forward, pressing my lips to the sharp line of his hip, trailing kisses lower until he groans my name. I wonder how he’d react if I ran my tongue along the waistband of his briefs, teasing him, making him beg.

Would his hands tangle in my hair, guiding me where he wants me? Or would he let me take my time, watch me explore him at my own pace?

My pulse races as my eyes flicker back up to his face. His smirk is gone, replaced by something darker, hungrier. He’s watching me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, and it makes my stomach flip.

I should look away, say something, anything to break the tension, but I can’t. Not when every nerve in my body is screaming to touch him, taste him, memorize every inch of him.

My fingers twitch at my sides, and I take a shaky breath, my voice barely audible when I finally speak. “You’re…something else.”

His grin returns, slow and lazy, as his hand slides to my chin, tilting my face up. “And you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, “are driving me crazy.”

The tension between us is electric, crackling in the silence as I let my fingers skim along the edge of his waistband. His breath catches, the sound sending a ripple of heat through me, and for a moment, I hesitate, caught between my nerves and the undeniable pull of him.

“Go on,” he murmurs, his voice rough and encouraging.

I glance up, and the look in his eyes steals my breath. Dark, intense, and completely focused on me, like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

My hand moves on instinct, slipping lower, and his sharp inhale is all the confirmation I need. The heat of his skin beneath my fingers, the way his body tenses—it’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and impossible to stop.

“You’re killing me,” he says, his voice thick with restraint, but there’s a flicker of a smirk on his lips that tells me he’s enjoying every second of this.

His hips shift slightly, almost involuntarily, and the way his muscles tense beneath my touch sends a shiver racing through me. The heat between us is palpable, the air charged with something primal and unspoken, and it takes everything in me to keep my movements steady as I trail my fingers lower.

Finally, I slip a hand inside his briefs, the soft fabric giving way to the warmth of his skin, and pull him out.

My insides flip as I see him again, the sight both thrilling and a little overwhelming. I shouldn’t be surprised by his size—he’s already been inside me, after all—but somehow, I still am.

He’s hard, hot, and impossibly thick in my hand, and my breath catches as I take him in. My fingers move instinctively, wrapping around him as I marvel at the weight, the silky smoothness over unrelenting steel flesh.

“Asher…” I whisper, barely able to get his name out. “Fuck.”

His hand comes up to cradle my jaw, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. His eyes are darker now, heavy-lidded with desire, and the way he looks at me—like I’m the only thing holding him together—makes my knees weak.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve got a porn star dick,” I finally laugh. “That’s all.”

“You’re full of surprising compliments,” he laughs, his voice like gravel, his thumb brushing over my cheek.

I bite my lip, unable to stop the small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “You don’t seem too upset about it.”

He chuckles, low and rough, the sound vibrating through me. “Upset? No. But if you keep looking at me like that, Sloane, I’m going to forget every good intention I ever had tonight.”

“You have good intentions with me? How sad,” I say, as I bring another hand to stroke him with both. Bringing my mouth to his tip, I add some saliva to the precum I’ve been spreading, and run my tongue up and down his shaft.

“Oh god, you look fucking sexy as hell, Sloane.”

His voice is rough, almost reverent, and the way his muscles tense beneath my touch sends a thrill straight through me. I wrap my lips around his tip, my tongue swirling slowly before I begin to bob up and down, finding a steady rhythm. I love that I’m making him lose control, watching him unravel piece by piece as I push him closer to the edge.

“So fucking good,” he groans, his voice dropping lower, rougher. His hand moves to the back of my head, not forcing but guiding, his fingers tangling gently in my hair. He’s big, almost too much to take, but I don’t relent, my determination only growing stronger.

“You like sucking my cock, Sloane?” he growls, his tone dripping with praise and possession.

“Mmm hmm,” I manage to hum around him, nodding slightly. The sound of my muffled response sends a shiver down his spine, and I feel the twitch of his length against my tongue. My absolutely drenched shorts are proof of how much I love it, my arousal pooling between my thighs with every deep, guttural sound he makes.

“Yeah, that’s it. Take me a little deeper. Oh, baby. Fuck yeah.”

His words ignite something bold and electric in me, a spark that catches fire. I move with renewed purpose, each motion deliberate, savoring every hissed curse and strangled groan that spills from his lips. The heat between us is overwhelming, consuming, and I’m drunk on the way he reacts to me, like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

The tension in him builds, his hips lifting slightly, chasing the pleasure I’m giving him. His breaths are uneven now, ragged and raw. “You’re gonna make me—fuck, baby—don’t stop.”

And I don’t. I keep going, caught up in the power I have over him, the way his entire body responds to my every move, until he’s trembling beneath my touch, teetering on the edge.

“God yeah,” he says, his tone equal parts praise and desperation. “Oh, you take me like such a good girl…”

A soft noise escapes me, and his hand threads through my hair, his grip firm but careful as he guides me, his thumb brushing against my cheek. The way he moves is deliberate, measured, like he’s trying to hold himself back even though I can tell he’s close to snapping.

I glance up at him, and the look in his eyes—raw, unguarded, and completely focused on me—makes my stomach flip. There’s something vulnerable in it, like he’s given himself over completely, and it makes me want to keep going, to take him higher, to see how far I can push him.

His breaths come faster, his grip tightening just enough to make me feel grounded, and the tension in his body coils tighter. “Sloane…” he murmurs, his voice breaking slightly. “You’re gonna ruin me. You know that, right?”

I smile against him, my hands steady as I press further, feeling him tense and hearing the quiet, almost inaudible way he groans my name.

His breathing is ragged now, his hand tightening in my hair as his head falls back against the couch. Every sound he makes fuels me, and I can feel the tension in him building, coiling tight like a spring about to snap.

“Sloane,” he groans, his voice a low rasp that sends a thrill straight through me. “You’re gonna make me explode if you don’t stop soon. And there’s something else we need to do.”

I glance up at him, and his eyes are dark, heavy-lidded with desire as he looks down at me, my hands still wrapped around his dick, stroking him while I tease him with my tongue. The way he’s watching me, like I’m the only thing that matters, sends heat rushing to my cheeks and a flutter through my chest.

His hand moves, sliding from my hair to cup my cheek, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. “I need you to ride me, baby.” His voice soft but charged with intent. “Do you want that?”

I nod softly and my breath catches, my pulse racing as I nod, words failing me.

“Come here,” he says, leaning back, his smirk returning as his hands slide down my sides to rest on my hips.

I rise slowly, slipping my shorts off with a deliberate tease, letting them pool at my feet before stepping out of them. His eyes sweep over me, his smirk deepening as he takes in the sight of me.

“Damn,” he murmurs, his voice low and appreciative. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

My cheeks flush, but I don’t hesitate as I climb onto the couch, straddling him. His hands are on me immediately, steadying me, guiding me closer as our bodies align.

“Ready, baby?” he asks, his voice a mixture of softness and need.

I lean in, my lips brushing against his ear as I whisper, “I’m your dirty little secret. I’m here whenever you want me.”

The words are playful, but they carry a spark of truth, and I feel his body respond, his grip on my hips tightening as a soft curse slips from his lips.

“You say that like I’m the only one getting what I want,” he mutters, his voice rough as his hands slide up my back, pulling me closer.

I smile, my heart racing as I meet his gaze, the world around us fading until there’s only him, and this, and the undeniable pull between us.

“How do you want it this time?” He asks.

“What do mean?”

“Slow? Hard?”

He runs a hand up my neck to my chin, and turns my face to look me in the eye.

“Just kidding. I’m not asking. Rough is how you want it. I already know.”

Rough .

I want it rough , my eyes say, though maybe I’m too sheepish to admit it.

His gaze turns positively devilish, as he grabs hold of my hips and increases the pace, stretching me and filling me to brim.

A gasp escapes my lips, unbidden and raw, as a shiver races down my spine. The sensation is overwhelming—too much and yet not nearly enough. He holds me firm, guiding me with a confidence that leaves me breathless, every motion sending sparks of heat rippling through me.

I don’t know how he does this—how he manages to make me feel completely undone and utterly invincible all at once. It’s intoxicating, the way he takes control while still making me feel like I’m the one with all the power.

He’s everywhere, surrounding me, consuming me, and I don’t want it to stop. I don’t want him to stop. Ever.

My hands grip his shoulders for balance, but it’s more than that—it’s grounding myself in him, anchoring myself to the one person who’s making me feel things I didn’t think were possible.

The heat builds between us, sharp and insistent, and my mind spins with thoughts I can’t hold onto. How he feels so impossibly perfect. How I never want this moment to end. How he’s utterly ruined me for anyone else.

“Asher,” I whisper, his name barely audible over the pounding of my heart, the rush of blood in my ears.

His hands tighten on my hips, pulling me down harder, and the look in his eyes—dark, wild, and utterly focused on me—sends a fresh wave of heat flooding through me.

I’m not sure who’s more in control anymore, but it doesn’t matter. All I know is that I’m his in this moment, completely and without question, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

He slows his pace for a moment, and, pausing inside me, gives me a deep, wet kiss.

“On your hands and knees on the couch,” he whispers.

Obediently, I pull myself off of him, and get into position on the cushion next to him.

“You ready?” He says in a low growl, running a hand over my ass.

“Uh-huh,” I say, my voice breathy, waiting for him to enter me on all fours.

The anticipation coils tight in my stomach as I glance back over my shoulder, catching sight of him. The visual alone makes my breath hitch—a raw, unfiltered image of him fisting his thick length, slick with my juices, his jaw clenched in barely contained restraint as he runs his eyes over me.

It’s almost too much, the way my body responds to the sight of him. Heat floods me, a desperate ache building low in my belly. I grip the edge of the couch, steadying myself as the tension inside me sharpens, intensifies.

He’s watching me too, his gaze dark and unrelenting, and the sheer hunger in his eyes sends a shiver rippling down my spine. I can feel the anticipation in the room like a living thing, crackling between us, and it’s enough to make me almost spasm without him even touching me.

My mind spins with the possibility of what’s coming, the way he’ll stretch me, fill me, overwhelm me. I don’t even realize I’ve bitten my lip until his low, gravelly voice breaks through the haze, as he presses inside of me.

This time, he doesn’t wait for me to get used to his size, relentlessly pounding into my hips from behind.

“Oh God, that’s tight. Hot Nerd…Sloane…you’re ruining me.”

Me the one ruining him?

The next while is a mix of light spanking noises and muffled screams, as I do my best not to wake up the whole house.

The dam finally breaks, and I moan, my body arching as pleasure crashes over me in a way I’ve never felt before—a warm, orgasmic wave that wraps me from head to toe, consuming every inch of me. My fingers curl into the sheets beneath me, gripping them as if they’re the only thing keeping me grounded while my body spirals out of control.

“Asher. Oh, Asher…”

His name falls from my lips like a prayer, breathless and raw, and I barely register the sound of my own voice. But he does. I feel it in the way his hands tighten on my hips, his fingertips pressing into my skin, grounding me and spurring me on at the same time.

I shift instinctively, pressing back into him, and the reaction I draw from him sends another wave of heat coursing through me. A deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest, and I can feel it vibrate through me, matching the rhythm of our connection.

“Sloane,” he mutters, his voice strained, almost reverent. His pace stutters, just slightly, as if he’s savoring every second. His palm slides up my back, warm and firm, trailing over my skin until he reaches the base of my neck. He lingers there, his touch both commanding and comforting, and I shiver in response.

I turn my head slightly, catching a glimpse of him in the low light—his eyes locked on me, his mouth slightly parted as he loses himself in the moment. “Look at me,” he murmurs, his tone both rough and tender. My heart skips, and I comply, twisting just enough to meet his gaze over my shoulder.

The intensity in his expression undoes me completely. There’s hunger there, yes, but also something deeper, something that scares me as much as it excites me. “I need to see you,” he says again, his voice breaking on the last word.

It’s like a tether snaps between us, and everything sharpens. This isn’t just sex. This is…something else entirely. Something that fills the air between us, electrifying and heavy, yet impossibly perfect.

I cry out as another wave takes me, my body trembling under his touch. He growls in response, his rhythm faltering as he chases his own release. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he rasps, his grip on my hips firm, anchoring me as he thrusts deeper.

My vision blurs, and I’m drowning in sensation, his name tumbling from my lips again and again. His breathing grows heavier, rougher, and I feel him start to shake.

“Gonna come,” he groans, his voice ragged. His hands slip down to my waist, holding me steady as he pushes closer to the edge. “Where do you want it?”

I exhale shakily, my mind foggy but sure of one thing. “Inside me,” I whisper, the words barely audible over the pounding of my own heartbeat.

He curses under his breath, his grip tightening as his movements grow frantic. “Fuck,” he mutters, his forehead dropping to my shoulder as his body gives in.

I feel him pump inside me, his release pulling me even deeper into the haze of ecstasy.

Our ragged breaths mingle in the quiet room, the tension that had bound us so tightly finally giving way to something softer, lazier, as we slump together onto the couch. His chest rises and falls against my back, our bodies still tangled, completely spent.

Minutes pass—maybe ten, maybe more—as we bask in the warm, languid aftermath, neither of us moving. The world outside doesn’t exist anymore; it’s just us, our heartbeats still thundering in sync.

Eventually, I feel him stir. His arm wraps around me, pulling me closer, and his fingers trace gentle circles along my shoulder before moving to stroke my hair.

“So…” he whispers, his voice low and teasing, “again?”

I laugh softly, my head tilting back against his chest. “Is this real life?”

His chuckle vibrates through me, warm and reassuring, and I can’t help but smile as the moment lingers, feeling impossibly content and completely unsure of what comes next.

“Why can’t you just enjoy a good thing once in a while, Sloane?” Asher mutters as he wraps me up in a kiss, and drags a finger down my side.