Ash: A Bad Boy Romance (21 page)

“He’s the bad guy—you can’t do this.”

“Cullen’s no more a bad guy than I am,” she says with a sigh. “We’re just about matched in that department. It was time for me to face that piece of my history—of my history with him. And believe me, love, it’ll benefit you in the long run. I’ve got you taken care of for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t understand, Bianca. Please—” My voice is still hoarse from holding back angry, futile sobbing.

“You do as I say. You leave.
Without
that boy. Divorce. Be done. Move on.”

There’s a click on the other end of the line, and I’m left standing in Ash’s kitchen, wondering what the hell just happened.

Present Day
 

I wake up, and I don’t know what time it is. It’s still dark, and the light of the moon plays through the blinds. But I’m on the wrong side of my bed, and there isn’t a window on this side of my room. Also, I’m naked.
 

Naked, my body sore in a way it hasn’t been in the entire three years I’ve been away from the United States.

Fuck
.
 

I sigh heavily and turn on my side. Ash is next to me, breathing deeply, the tattoos covering his arms and chest contrasting against his skin in the moonlight. Tentatively, I take my fingers and trace over his new ink: tribal designs under each collarbone, and symbols of the Irish mafia still uncovered on both forearms. He once told me that tattoos were another way to escape the life he didn’t want to have—the job where he hurt people for a living, the empty apartment he went home to every night, the places in his mind he didn’t want to go. He said that the five tattoos he had when I met him were all evidence of nights he wanted to gamble and lose himself in the rush of alcohol and money.
 

With the evidence I see here, it seems he had a lot more of those dark times in the years since I saw him last. My throat grows tight, and the unwelcome tears fill my eyes again.
 

There’s history here, Summer, even if you won’t admit it. Even if you don’t want to see it.
 

Priya’s words from before echo in my head.
 

This man is a distraction, yes. But if I came to the program, happily married, a clean cut husband in tow, would Priya have made the same pronouncement today?

Ash is scarred, and ink covers a solid quarter of his body now.

That’s not all of him. Maybe it’s not. Maybe the sex clouds my judgment, like it always does. I let it cloud me then. Or I thought I did. I might be doing the same thing now. I gulp when I think about it—his fingers moving inside of me, his tongue dancing over my clit, tasting me with unabashed need.
 

And the words he said. I’d never imagined him telling me that, never even wanted it. I just wanted someone to protect me, wanted his body to stay next to mine for the journey home. I didn’t think of love, not then, not even in my darkest moments away. I thought of the warmth of his lips, the feeling of his arms encircling me, holding me, making me feel safe against the storm rising around me.
 

I didn’t consider love, not because it wasn’t
possible
. But because it would hurt so much worse if it were a possibility. It didn’t seem real then because we’d never spoken those words.
 

I remember a thought I had then.
Let us be married for real.
 

We weren’t then. Are we now?

Ash stirs and opens his eyes, blond-tipped eyelashes fluttering sleepily. Like it’s instinct, he turns and pulls me into his arms, pressing his lips to mine and kissing me, tongue glancing against mine. He groans with need, and I feel his cock growing hard against my thigh. In the darkness, this feels like a different story, a time and place completely separated from the life I so desperately wanted to create. His hand finds my breast, cupping it like it’s delicate.

He brings his mouth close to my ear. “Next time you wake me up, Sunshine, make sure you do something about
this
right away.” He catches my hand and brings it down to his length, groaning as I start to stroke it.

Now is not the time for thoughts or considerations. A jolt of electricity starts in my core, giving life to the flame of desire, the one that this man, and this man alone, was ever able to create. I’m sore, but I’m wet again, my sex pulsing as I feel him beneath my hand. I lick my lips and move down, pushing the white sheets away, bending over him to do what I’ve wanted since the moment I saw him again. My mouth waters for him, for the feeling of his hot skin, the taste unique to the man before me. I lower my mouth to his tip, licking away a salty bead of precum and then encasing him, taking him as slowly as he entered me with his fingers, a centimeter at a time until he’s groaning and tangling his fingers in my hair. My tongue moves down over his shaft, and then I take him into my mouth again.

“Stop, baby,” he moans. “I need—fuck—I
need
to come inside of you.”
 

A force takes over my body at the sound of his words. I feel an undeniable pull to Ash, to the fierce outline of his muscles, the strength of his hands. I moan against him and side up his body, positioning myself over him and lowering myself to his cock. I’m so wet I know he’ll slide right in. I know I should reach to his bedside table, rifle through his drawers and find a condom. I blush bright red thinking about it, still stroking him as I angle myself over him. I
need
this, I need to feel him bare even though I never have before.
 

Like he’s reading my mind, he brings his hands to my hips and squeezes me there, his gaze catching mine. “I waited for you,” he says. “I’m clean. I know you were always on—”

“I am.” On the pill. But it’s not here with me tonight, and I shouldn’t be doing this. But the doctor told me it would take intervention for me to get pregnant—especially after what I went through in Syria.
 

“I’ve always wanted this, Sunshine. I can’t imagine how good you’ll feel,” he says, eyes hooded with lust. The need inside me drives me forward.
 

We’re married. We have been for more than three years.

My mind feels clouded with lust, like I’m swimming through deep water and can’t quite find my way to reason. The center of my body tightens, arousal coursing through me, the tension and need growing tighter than it ever has. Slowly, tenderly, I lower myself onto his cock, taking the head inside and feeling the stretch of muscles and the heightening sensation of being filled. It’s better than I thought it would be. His skin is hot against mine, closer than I’ve ever been with anyone before. My sex starts to pulse as I move lower, powerful sparks moving through my core and undoing everything I came here for.
 

“Holy fuck,” I mutter. “It feels so good. God...” I feel light as air as I bring my fingers to my clit. Ash holds my body in his hands and grins, moving his hips, abs tensing, bringing his body up into mine, fucking me from below. Each time, he comes closer to filling me to the brim. I try to push myself further down onto his cock. The pulses coursing through my center become stronger, more tenacious, begging for release.
 

“You feel so good, my love,” he sighs. There it is, that word again. My face must change because Ash reacts, bringing me to meet the base of his cock and pulling my body into his. I moan, long and loud, my body moving against his in some kind of primal rhythm. He leans in and kisses my neck as his hands roam over my body. Every motion seems to drive him deeper inside me, pulling me closer to him. Frenzied, needy, I ride him with my arms around his neck, pushing my clit against the base of his cock and whimpering with need. All at once, the fire raging through me flares, and I’m lost in the sensation pouring through me, every cell in my body filled.
 

Ash leans in while I’m at my height and looks me in the eyes. “I love you, Summer,” he whispers, his breath ragged.

I come hard, harder than I ever have, my heart beating so hard it might fly from my chest. He rolls over on top of me, pinning my hands and slamming his cock into me, and the tension starts to build as he pummels me, taking his pleasure and riding my orgasm like it’s his own. I whimper. My body aches, but the pain beats in time with pleasure, and I come again, shaking. “I love you too.” I sigh the words, barely saying them.
 

The muscles in his stomach tighten, and he moans, angling his hips, thrusting hard into me one last time. His cock pulses inside of me, and he fills me with his warmth. A rush runs through my body as the aftershocks roll through me. My throat grows slick and tight, and I sob as he releases my arms. I throw them around his neck. He speaks to me then, his words blending together and relaxing me until I’m no longer racked with sobs.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” I say, wrapping my legs around him and drawing him in tighter. He nods and runs his fingers through my hair.
 

But I do know why. Because this is what I want—far more than my job, far more than my home and the simple, quiet life I focused on for years.
 

I want Ash, with his black eye and the angry red scar on his cheek. Despite my past. Despite his present. Despite anything and everything standing in our way.

This is everything.
 

The walls of my life feel like they’re crashing down around me. Before this, I’d only been kidding myself. And it’s only now, here with him, that the world seems right again. It feels like the pieces of my existence are being restored, like everything is finally coming together.

Like the life that crumbled down and broke could now be mine for the taking.

Three Years, Three and a Half Months Ago

Cullen’s club is dark when I walk in, but I see him sitting at one of the tables, a glass of whiskey in front of him. There’s another waiting for me. My whole body clenches like a fist as I sit down across from him.

“You said you’d keep your hands off of her. Will you?” My voice is hard with rage, even though he hasn’t tried anything. But I know what he’s capable of. Just because he
let
me get away with what I did doesn’t mean he’ll leave either of us alone for good. Her life—her body—he might spare that. But she needs to get out of town.

“Can’t see beyond the girl waiting back at your apartment, can you?” Cullen sits across from me, sipping one of the fucking vintage whiskies he’s collected. He smiles at me, much more collected than I thought he would be.
 

“She’s my
wife
.” I clutch my glass, just waiting for him to spew some evil bullshit.

“Ah, is she? All this time I couldn’t get in touch with you, I was trying to tell you to call off the hit. Bianca’s an old friend, after all. And she’s shared some information with me that enlightens this little situation.”
 

“You talked to Bianca? She was supposed to—”

“Supposed to get out of town. We know.” He snaps his fingers and looks to the back room. The gray door opens, and I expect one of his men to appear. Instead, I see a familiar face—almost like Summer’s. Green eyes, broad cheekbones, but with blond hair streaked gray. Her hands aren’t tied and her body is intact.

Cullen gives Bianca a nod, then gestures to me. “Ash here has gone and married your girl to protect her.”

“You told me.” She smirks at me, and something in her expression reminds me very much of Summer. The cut on her right cheek is fading into a scar. It’s jarring to know that Cullen did it—and here they are, talking to each other like they’re
cozy
. “She’s still going back to finish her residency, isn’t she? Tell me she is. She can’t be here. Not anymore. I asked too much of her...” Bianca walks up to the bar and pours herself a vodka with lime.