Page 91 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
Asher, bless his soul, is playing along with me, helping fight the awkwardness together with me by pretending it doesn’t exist until it actually doesn’t. We pretend there are no reasons for it to be there, and after a few weeks, it isn’t. So, in many ways, we’re back to how we started before he barged into his room the morning of the polo match and revealed his insecurities about depending on others.
That was the moment I realized that he’s vulnerable. The moment that had me questioning the killer side of him. If there isn’t that moment, there isn’t the next tender moment and the next and the next. So, I fought to forget that memory, and when I finally did, it was easier to forget the kisses that came after
and the intimate handholding
and the conversations we have just by squeezing each other’s hands
and the looks we still steal from one another
and how angry it made me when those people spoke poorly of him
and how great it felt to defend a man that I admire deeply
and how time is just a construct when we kiss
and how he knows that I dip my cookies in water
and—
I shake my head.
I’m supposed to be forgetting about him not thinking about him more. Asher is on a flight to Italy. This is a rare break for me. Since Monica’s screw up with not knowing about the polo charity match until last minute, Asher has been around more. About a month has passed since the event, and a new school semester has even begun, but until now, Asher hasn’t left the state once.
He spends most of his time in the Black Enterprises office building, which still means I have the penthouse to myself for most of the day, but at night, I feel him slither into the bed beside me. It’s the bane and highlight of my day all at once.
Even with Asher in the city, we don’t talk much. I won’t go out of my way to avoid him, though I want to. I refuse to put in the effort to avoid him, because it means acknowledging that there’s something between us to avoid. I can’t do that yet. Everything is still too raw.
So, I upped my coursework to twenty units and am always losing myself in mindless tasks. When I’m not doing schoolwork, which I still do in the penthouse, I’m physically wearing myself out, whether in the gym or Asher’s shooting range.
That’s where I am now, taking out my emotions on a piece of paper with the outline of a man on it. The loud bangs of the gunfire are being drowned out by pop music. I have Bluetooth headphones on underneath the soundproof ear muffs I wear when I’m on the range. A playlist I got from Rogue is blaring into my ears, so loud I can’t even hear my own thoughts.
I press the button beside me, and the target paper moves forward. Once I unclip it, I study the holes. I’ve gotten a lot better, but I doubt I’d be able to do this to a person. In a real life situation, I probably won’t even have the guts to pull the trigger let alone do so with accuracy.
Not that I need to.
That’s what Xavier’s for.
Entering the attached armory, I put away the hand gun I’m using and exit into the hallway. Xavier is standing beside the door, his eyes scanning the wide hall. He stays out here whenever I’m messing around in the armory, because he won’t be able to hear any threats beyond the armory’s soundproof walls.
If there is a threat, he presses a button on the door, and an alarm will sound off in the range and armory, which can only be entered through the range. When that happens, I’m supposed to enter the armory, which doubles as a panic room. There, I’m to press a sequence of numbers, and the doors will lock in a way that can only be opened from the inside.
Monitors of what’s happening outside will slide down from the ceiling. They’ll be high definition, live, and equipped with audio. Protocol also has me putting on full body bulletproof gear that covers my arms and legs and calling the police if I don’t hear from Asher within fifteen minutes.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: the security is overkill.
Even after the two shootings, I still think this.
When he sees me, I hand Xavier the target paper I’ve annihilated. He grins and says something that looks like, “Better,” but I have my headphones on still and can’t hear a thing. I tell him I’m going to take a bath, so he stays outside the bedroom door when I enter the room.
I strip my clothes off, leaving a trail of fabric on the floor until I’m completely naked. I’ll clean it up later, before Asher returns. I’m dancing to the beat of the music, enjoying the freedom of having this place to myself again, when I enter the bathroom and see Asher.
I freeze. He’s in the shower, completely bare. He has a hand on the marbled wall and the other on his hardened cock. With his eyes closed and his head under the running water, he hasn’t spotted me yet, so I don’t leave.
If you ever happen upon someone like Asher stroking himself as water drips down his muscular chest… well, you’d be lying to yourself if you say you wouldn’t stop to stare.
I stand, rooted to the floor, as his hand strokes up and down the length of his enlarged cock. I feel myself gasp, but I don’t hear it past the sound of the music coming from my headphones. Asher stills, his hand stopping midway up his cock, and lifts his head up.
When his eyes lock on mine, I thought he’d stop, but he doesn’t.
