Ashton finds my lips once more and he kisses me softly as we come down from our highs. Then after a few minutes, he lifts me to my feet and sets about cleaning me up.
No words are said as he grabs the bottle of shampoo I’ve left on the side and squeezes some into his palm before he begins washing my hair.
He rinses it out before conditioning it and making a start on my body. His touch is so gentle as he works over every inch of my skin with the creamy bubbles.
He watches me with fascination, stares at every part of me like he can’t believe I’m here with him. I gasp in half shock, half pleasure when his fingers slip between my legs to clean me.
Desire coils in my lower stomach once more making me wonder if it will ever be enough with him. If I’m always going to need more.
I bite down on my bottom lip as he continues to work me. But right before I climb the final crest of my orgasm, he stops.
But he doesn’t step away, instead, he takes my hand in his, squeezes some of his shower gel into my palm, and gestures to his body. Not needing any encouragement to touch him, I rub my palms all over his chest and abs. I drop lower to his V and smile when his once again hard cock twitches. But I don’t reach for it. Not yet. Instead, I slip behind him and rub at his tense shoulders, down his back, and over his ass. I squeeze lightly as he groans at my touch, pulling me back around in front of him and forcing us both back under the stream of quickly cooling water. I’m amazed it lasted as long as it did. We must have taken it from the entire building.
No sooner have the bubbles left our skin does Ashton reach out behind me and cuts the water off.
Our bodies brush against each other and my breath catches as he stares down at me, his eyes bouncing between mine. It feels like he’s looking at me for the first time. It’s fascinating as I try to read everything he usually keeps hidden in his dark depths.
But no sooner has he started, does he step back and the moment is broken.
Reaching behind him, he grabs a towel and wraps it around my body before doing the same to himself, only he tucks his around his waist.
I expect him to walk to the door and leave me here. The thought alone leaves me feeling cold. But that’s not what he does, instead, he sweeps me into his arms and carries me out and to his bed where he lays me down, rips the towel from my body, and crawls over me.
His hands land on either side of my head and he stares down at me, droplets from his hair hitting my face and running down to the sheets beneath me.
“Ruby, I don’t...” He lowers his head to mine. “I don’t have the words to tell you how you make me feel, how much that just meant, so let me show you instead.”
He takes my lips in the deepest kiss I’ve ever experienced before he sets about what he just promised.
By the time he drops down beside me and pulls the covers over both of us hours later, there’s not an inch of my body he’s not touched, kissed, licked, dare I say it... loved. I lost count of how many times he made me come and how many times his name rolled off my lips as I dove headfirst into pleasure. But it’s safe to say that as he pulls me into his arms and drops his lips to my shoulder, that I’m well and truly exhausted.
When I finally wake, the sun is up and the bed beside me is empty.
My heart drops that he’s not here. But I guess I’m not really surprised. I know that last night—or the previous one—wasn’t the beginning of something for us. It was just... well... needed.
After all our time together, the growing tension. It was inevitable. And now it’s over... I guess we just go back to hating each other like before, or we somehow find a way to exist around each other.
I blow out a breath and swing my legs from the bed.
My body aches and when I look down, I find red marks all over my breasts and thighs and fingerprint bruises on my hips.
A wave of heat washes through me as I think about our time together, about all the ways he made me come, about all the things he made me feel.
My heart aches once more for the broken boy I found on the shower floor.
I want to say he screwed up last night. But we weren’t—we aren’t—a couple. I guess he had every right to go running into someone else’s arms. I just really wish the sight of the two of them together didn’t hurt so damn much, didn’t feel like such a betrayal.
I pull on a clean pair of underwear, sweats, and a zip-up hoodie before pulling the door open and stepping out to discover what kind of mood Ashton might be in—assuming he’s here, of course.
I see him the second I step out of the bedroom and I instantly know that his walls are back up. I can tell by the hard set of his shoulders.
He’s only wearing a pair of black boxer briefs as he stands with his palms on the kitchen counter, staring out of the window, I can only assume directly into the apartment opposite because there’s nothing else to look at.
Walking over, I come to a stop beside him to discover what he’s so fascinated with.
In the living room in the other apartment, there is a little boy doing puzzles with his dad. The boy is probably eight or so, and he looks so happy.
Ripping my eyes away from the two of them, I look toward Ashton. His expression is tight, his jaw tics, his eyes a little wet.
I open my mouth to say something but I don’t get the chance because the buzzer goes off.
“Shit,” he mutters, twisting away from me and slamming his hand down on the button to let whoever it is in.
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering who it is as he runs his fingers through his messy hair and looks up to the ceiling.
Whoever it is apparently doesn’t need dressing up for because he doesn’t make any effort to go to his room to find some clothes.
“Who is it?” I ask, finally finding my voice.
He turns to me, his eyes dark and cold in a way I remember all too well. I told myself in the bathroom last night that it was a one-night thing. I knew this, yet looking at him right now, knowing that was exactly what it was. It hurts. It really fucking hurts.
Everything in me wants to walk over and wrap my arms around his waist, to tell him that everything is going to be okay. But I don’t think he’d even accept it if I tried.
His lips never so much as part to answer me, although his eyes do run the length of my body, lingering on the red marks that aren’t hidden by the open hoodie and bralette I’d pulled on.
There’s a knock on the door a few minutes later and he wastes no time in answering it.
I haven’t looked at the time, I haven’t even thought to. But the second I hear a familiar voice, I realize my mistake. My stupidity.
“Morning, are you both—” Stephen stops talking the second his eyes land on Ash, they narrow, harden, and then turn on me.
I should wrap my hoodie around myself, cover up the marks that Ashton was staring at only seconds ago, but under his angry stare—much like his son’s—I’m frozen, powerless to do anything but stand there and be judged by him.
“No,” Stephen says after long, excruciating seconds. “No, Ash. No.”
“Stephen, it’s okay,” Mom says, shocking the fuck out of me. She places her hand on his shoulder and he visibly relaxes.
“It’s... it’s...” he stutters, looking back to Ash, who doesn’t look like he really gives a shit about anything right now, let alone his father’s opinions about his decisions. Then Stephen’s spine goes ramrod straight and he turns on Mom. “Wait,” he spits. “You knew... about this.” He aimlessly waves his arm around behind, kinda pointing to the two of us. “And you never told me.”