18. Asher

I’m still kind of reeling that Lani’s even here. Playing it cool when she walked into my room and then basically apologized was fucking hard. I couldn’t believe it.

She’s here.

Of her own volition.

She wanted to hang with me again. She came all the way to Hockey House to initiate this connection.

And now she’s walking into my room. When I first suggested it, she went kind of pale, and for a second, I thought she was about to bolt again. But my little flight risk surprised me yet again, and now she’s hovering next to my neatly made bed while I proudly point out a smaller bookshelf dedicated to my Harry Potter obsession.

Is it lame that I’m so into this magical world?

Probably.

But those books got me through some shitty years in boarding school, and I will forever be grateful to J. K. Rowling.

Lani’s lips rise into a wide grin as she moves around my bed and crouches down beside the shelf.

“Wow.” She fingers my Harry, Hermione, and Ron Pop! Figures, then picks up my wand, casts a little spell, and laughs at herself while I drink her in like she’s the most beautiful thing in this world.

Because she is.

That smile.

Her playful laughter as she picks up my Goblet of Fire replica.

I want to tell her that I’ve been gifted most of this stuff, but it’d be a lie. I’ve been buying myself a couple things a year, hiding them away in my room so the guys won’t hassle me for my obsession. All of the stuff that I deem to be the coolest is in my man cave—comic books, video games, my signed Gretzky jersey. But my trivia board games, my Lord of the Rings figurines, and my coveted Harry Potter collection—yeah, that stuff stays in here with me. And now she’s seeing it. I’m letting her into my inner sanctum.

“Oh wow! You’re collecting the illustrated editions!” She carefully pulls out Chamber of Secrets and thumbs through the pages. “Aren’t these stunning!” Her eyes bulge. “I’d love these on my shelf.” She lets out a snort laugh. “I’d love a shelf! There’s just no room in our dorm for extra things like this. My books are stored in a box under my bed, which is very sad.” She puts on a pout, and I feel like I’m seeing a real version of Lani that she doesn’t even realize she’s showing me.

No wonder Caroline always goes on about how great she is.

This woman crouching by my bookshelf is unchecked, unhindered… carefree. I saw glimpses of her at the quiz night and once or twice in Denver. I like it.

Shit, I really like her.

A lot.

I just stand there watching her admire my stuff. She slides the book back onto the shelf, then notices something behind me.

“A piano.” She pops up with a grin. “You’ve got your own piano!”

“Well, it’s not mine. My aunt and uncle asked me to store it for them, and I didn’t want it getting damaged, so I keep it in here.”

“And you never play it?”

She brushes past me, her luscious curves setting my arm on fire as she squeezes past. It takes everything in me not to snatch her wrist and drag her back against me. I want to feel her lips again. I want to kiss a trail down her chin, licking a path from her collarbone to that valley between her tits.

She’s got a great rack. It’s full and luscious. Those fun bags could find a happy home in my hands. Or my hands would be fucking happy, anyway. My whole body would.

She is one fine woman.

And she’s sitting on my piano stool right now, her fingers tentatively touching the keys. She plays a few chords like she’s reminding herself.

“How long’s it been since you played?” I move to stand behind her.

“A few years. We have a piano at home, but my younger brother always hogs it. He’s going to be a concert pianist, apparently.”

I snicker. “You think he’s good enough?”

She turns to look at me and winces. “No. But no one can tell him that.”

With a soft laugh, I move in beside her, perching on the edge of the stool, then start up the bass line for “Heart and Soul.”

She grins at me, then kicks in with the melody, and we play a few rounds before she launches into “Für Elise,” and I quickly join in with the bottom hand. We find our rhythm easily enough and don’t fuck up the song too badly. We muddle our way to the end, both laughing by the time we’re done, and then I try to find the chords to play the opening for Beethoven’s Fifth, because I know she likes it.

I screw it up and she laughs, correcting me.

Our hands brush, and there goes that electrical charge again.

It fires right up my arm, and maybe it has an effect on her, too, because she goes still and looks right at me. She’s searching my face, and I think I’m reading her right. There’s a look of heated desire in her eyes that I can feel pulsing through my body as well.

Unable to help myself, I lean in, giving her a chance to respond.

And she does.

She fucking does.

I can hear the angels singing as she shifts on the seat, her boob squishing into my arm just before her lips touch mine. I let out a soft moan of approval before swiveling for a better angle. My elbow hits the piano keys and a disjointed chord fills the air, making us both snicker, but we can’t part our lips for long enough to let the laughter last.

Her fingers curl around my neck, pulling me close as she angles her head to deepen the kiss. Our tongues lash together, my hands curving around her waist so I can pull her tight against me.

She comes willingly, and I take advantage while I can. Who knows how long it’ll take her to pull back this time.

The thought makes a knot form in my stomach.

I try to ignore it, letting my hands wander up her back, then taking a risk and brushing my fingers up her side. I curve one of those luscious boobs and give it a gentle squeeze, testing the waters.

She doesn’t jerk back with a gasp.

She doesn’t gape at me, then slap me across the face.

Instead, she groans like she wants more, so I brush my thumb over her nipple and get another sizzling response.

Fuck yeah!

My elbow hits the keys again, a jarring sound coming out of the piano that doesn’t make either of us laugh this time.

“Should we move to the…?” I can’t even finish my sentence, too caught up in kissing her to bother.

“Yeah,” she pants into my mouth, and we stumble off the stool.

As soon as we stand, she starts kissing a trail down my neck, her hands roaming my naked torso as she licks and nibbles her way to my pecs. She sucks my nipple, then draws a circle around it with the tip of her tongue. Fuck, that feels good. My hands scramble for a feel of her skin, my fingers wriggling beneath her shirt.

She pulls back and I tense for a second, but then she raises her arms, silently telling me to pull her shirt off.

Not a problem.

I whip the fabric off, throwing it over my shoulder and smiling down at that beautiful body. Her boobs are tucked away in a sexy, lacy bra that has my mouth watering.

Reaching for her tits, I cup them both, one per hand, rubbing my thumb over the lace and watching her nipples protrude in response.

“Hello, ladies,” I murmur with a grin before diving for that valley and licking a path between them.

She groans, cupping the back of my head as I suck her nipples through the lace.

My hands weave around her back, unclasping her bra with practiced efficiency. Standing tall, I glide the straps off her shoulders. She bites her lip for a second before whipping the bra off and laying it on my piano stool. I want to stand there and take a mental picture of these world-class assets, but she launches herself at me before I can.

Our chests mold together, and that skin-on-skin action is fucking fantastic. I want her so badly, my love stick is standing to attention, poking into her while her nipples brush against my naked chest.

Holy fuck, she’s awesome!

I shuffle us a little closer to the bed, bending down to pick her up and wrap those sexy legs around me. She kisses my shoulder, nibbling a path up my neck and sucking my earlobe as I climb onto the bed and lay her back down.

Her boobs jiggle and I capture her right nipple between my lips, sucking her like she’s my favorite popsicle. Which she is. Fuck, she tastes good.

A soft breath pops out of her, followed by an appreciative moan, and then she’s scrambling to pull down my shorts.

I help her out, letting my cock out of his cage. He’s one happy guy right now, eagerly seeking out a dip in the love pool.

Her fingers wrap around me and I groan, sucking a little harder on her nipple while she breathily asks me, “Got a condom?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I reach into the top drawer of my nightstand while she shimmies out of her jeans and underwear.

By the time I’m suited up, she’s naked on my bed and I’m kneeling between her legs. I would usually draw this out a little, play with her pussy until she’s a wet mess, but she seems keen to get on with it, snatching my arms and pulling me down on top of her.

“You want this?” I quickly check, although I probably don’t need to bother because she’s grabbing my dick and lining us up already.

I kiss her cheek, then pepper little kisses to her ear as she parts her folds and nudges my head into her entrance.

She’s already kind of wet, and I can’t help a soft grunt of pleasure as I push into her.

She closes her eyes, biting her lip and tipping her head back as I go a little deeper, then pull back and sink into her again.

Fuuuuucccckkkkk. This feels so damn good.

I bury my cock in her warm oasis while she digs her fingers into my hair, clasping a handful and fisting my locks. I find us a rhythm, her slick heat making it easy as I trail my hand down her body and hook my fingers under her ass.

This almost feels too good to be true. To get to this point. The last two times we kissed, she pulled away and took off. I don’t know what changed for her this week, but I’m now buried balls deep inside her, and I feel like the luckiest guy on the fucking planet!

“So good,” I whisper in her ear. “You’re so fucking good.”

Licking her lobe, I kiss a trail back to her mouth and am about to slide my tongue between her lips when she breathes out a soft command.

“Stop.”

I don’t compute at first and complete another thrust before I hear it loud and clear.

“Stop. Please. Stop.”

Jerking up, I look down at her face. “What?”

“I need you to stop.” Her voice pitches, her face buckling like she’s about to lose it. But then she whimpers and covers her eyes with trembling fingers. “Please. Just… get out.”

I immediately do as she asks, my pulsing dick whining at me, then going into the five stages of grief as I try to figure out what’s wrong.

“Are you okay?” I softly ask, brushing my fingers down her thigh.

She flinches away from me, curling into the fetal position.

“Did I hurt you?”

Her hair rustles on the pillow as she shakes her head.

She’s still covering her face like she’s embarrassed to look at me.

I resist the urge to touch her again and shuffle back on the bed. “It’s okay.” I try to comfort her, but I’m not exactly sure what to say.

“Really?” Her words are muffled by her hands.

“Of course.” I frown, desperate to see her face so we can actually talk about this. Do I reach for her? Do I…?

Fuck, I don’t know what to do.

This has never happened to me before, and a small part of me is frustrated that yet again she’s pulling away from me. But a much bigger part of me is worried, because that look on her face when she asked me to stop was…

She was scared.

I reach for a tissue, getting rid of the condom. She peeks out from behind her hands and watches me throw the balled-up tissue in the trash.

Rolling over, she eyes me, like she’s worried about what I might say next, so I keep my mouth shut. I glance at her and try for a reassuring smile, but I don’t know what the hell crosses my face.

This is awkward as fuck.

Shit, why did I even start this? I should have known better. Of course she was going to pull away. It’s like she’s letting me have her in small increments, but never the whole way.

I don’t get what is going on in that brain of hers. I?—

“You stopped,” she finally whispers, sucking in a breath.

I look back at her, running a hand through my hair. “You told me to.”

Her eyes start to glass over, and I can feel my eyebrows dipping.

“Wait, did you not want me to stop? I… I’m very confused right now.”

She lets out a shuddering breath and wriggles to the head of my bed. Sitting up against the headboard, she curls herself into a little ball, wrapping her arms around her knees like she’s trying to hide from me. She stares at my bedroom wall, falling into some kind of catatonic trance. She’s shaking.

And it’s freaking me out.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or say right now, so I keep my movements slow, shuffling off the bed and finding my shorts on the floor. Pulling them on, I adjust my disappointed cock, then gaze down at her.

She’s still staring at the wall, refusing to look at me. I frown, scratching my whiskers and then reaching for the blanket at the end of my bed. Draping it around her, I step back and try to catch her eye.

“I’m not going to touch you unless you want me to, okay? You’re safe here.”

Her eyes dart to mine and she grips the edge of the blanket, tucking it under her chin, which is now trembling as well.

Fuck. What is going on in her head right now?

I crouch down, resting my hands on the edge of the bed and softly asking, “Did something…?” I lose my question and let out a sigh. “I really want to understand what’s going on. I don’t know how to help you. I don’t even know if you want my help. I just…” Another sigh pops out of me, and I’m running my hand through my hair again, then scrubbing it down my face.

She sniffs and shakes her head, but then her expression buckles like she’s about to start ugly crying on my bed.

Oh shit. I’m not cut out for this!

My brain starts scrambling for excuses to escape—Can I get you a drink? Something to eat? Anything that will take me out of this room and away from whatever is brewing.

But what kind of asshole leaves a girl to cry on her own?

So I force myself to stay, to stew in this uncomfortable silence.

My knees start to ache, so I change position, resting on the edge of the bed and making sure I’m not touching her.

After what feels like a freaking eternity, she sucks in a breath and opens her mouth. Nothing comes out at first, until a slow tear starts to trickle down her nose. “When you have sex and, um…” She sniffs. “If things have already started, and then something feels off, so you ask him to stop…” Her jaw starts to tremble, her voice turning into a squeak. “And he doesn’t. What is that?”

Understanding works through me, followed quickly by a rage as hot as a firestorm. I clench my jaw and struggle to get out the words. “It’s rape.”

Her expression crumples. “I thought so. That’s what it felt like.” She starts to cry and then whimpers, “He didn’t stop.” She lets out a choking sob. “He raped me.” She covers her face and screams into her hands. “He raped me!”