Page 155 of Gravehouse

My board cuts a clean line, and I’m smiling. Actually smiling. Wind roars in my ears as I lean harder into the slope, chasing speed. For once, he disappears from my head.

A hand clamps around my arm and the force spins me in a controlled circle. Expensive cologne fills my nose as we slide to a stop in a drift, my back hitting a solid wall.

“Happy birthday, Venom," he murmurs, so low only I can hear.

My lungs stop working until I feel dizzy, and I lean into his warmth. “Ah, I should have known Khloe wouldn’t listen to my rules.”

“Rules?” Asher slides around to the front of me, and holy fuck, six months didnothingto cool what he does to my body.

His head tilts. “Now you and I both know I don’t follow any rules.”

I sniff. “True.”

“So I’ve come to this conclusion.” His hand laces with mine.

“Oh, and what is that?”

The corner of his mouth tips up. “That I’m done giving you space.”

My chest aches. I picture him in my bed, his mouth on my skin each morning until I forget every nightmare that came before him.

I want him more than I want anything.

My smile slips. Cold sinks through my gloves as my fingers loosen around his.

The House needs heirs, and Asher still has no idea what Emeric took from me.

He deserves a choice.

“Asher…” I shake my head, but his grip tightens. “I can’t do this to you.”

“Do what?” His free hand finds the back of my neck, fingers sliding through my hair. Drawing me forward, his forehead touches mine.

My throat closes.

“You have a family line to continue. La Maison needs—and I…”

Have survived bullets, blades, captivity, and Emeric’s bullshit. Yet this… this I can't even say.

I can’t have children.

“I know, Venom.”

I still.

“I know what he fucking did to you, and I wish I could bring him back alive so I could kill him all over again.”

He caresses the frantic pulse in my neck. “Maybe this time I’d leave his body parts in his piano instead of sending them to Parker and Aléia.”

For a moment, he goes distant, fingers flexing against my neck. Maybe he’s back in that room with Emeric, reliving each butchering moment.

“But I can’t.” His breath warms my frozen lips. “He’s dead, yet he still has you thinking you owe people shit.”

“Asher, your family…”

“Atlas and Punk can spit out some kids once they’re done pretending they hate each other.”

A broken laugh escapes me.