Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Asher stared at me. “Whatever it is screwing with your head, saying that shit, you better straighten it now, ‘cause I ain’t coming back. You kicking me to the curb like this, playing some sort of game? I don’t play games, flower. I’m disappointed it seems you do, it means you’re not who I thought you were,” he clipped.
I flinched. “You don’t know me,” I half whispered. “You spent one night with me, you don’t know anything about me.”
He stepped forward. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he declared hotly. “I spent that night inside you, exploring every inch of you, not just your body, but your fuckin’ soul, flower. You opened up to me, not just your legs, you gave me everything. Now in the harsh light of day you’re running scared? Don’t do that shit, you’ll regret it,” he growled, his hands moving to my neck.
I blinked a couple of times, trying to clear my vision of the tears obscuring them.
“You need to leave,” I told him, ignoring the beautiful sentiment, and truth behind his words. As insane as it was. He was right. It had been more. The most it could be. And the only thing it could be. The best night of my life. Who knew the best night of my life would be followed up with the worst day of my existence in the space of a couple of days?
His face wiped of all emotion. “You better be sure of this shit, flower,” he ground out. “I’m not fuckin’ around. I ain’t waiting for you,” he continued his voice hard.
“Please leave,” I repeated, unable to say anything else.
Asher’s cold expression searched my face and he stepped back, shaking his head. “Fuck this,” he muttered.
He turned his back, giving me one last view of his cut, of him, before he mounted his bike and roared off.
I stood woodenly on the doorstep, watching him go, my heart bleeding, and my expression blank.
He didn’t look back, once.
Asher, Present Day
He lied. He did fuckin’ wait. Three years Asher waited for Lily to get her shit together, for her to grow up, realize what was real between them, to come back.
Three years of agony, of dreaming of her, trying to forget her, fuck her out of his system.
He didn’t grovel. He wasn’t gonna follow her around like a puppy dog, trying to convince her to take a chance on them, on him. Nope. He wasn’t exactly sure whether she was playing fucked up games, or was genuinely scared of the depth between them from just one night.
He knew one thing, though, she was a fuckin’ liar. She felt something. He knew that. That night, being the first man into her sweet pussy, the first to explore her sweet little body, best of his miserable life. Superseded the night he got patched into the Sons.
That scared him shitless. That one night and one bitch could get under his skin, and play games with his mind. Worse that she stayed there for three fuckin’ years. He watched his brothers find it. Grab a hold of that shit, claiming their Old Ladies, happily being pussy whipped. Even fuckin’ Bull found that shit. But him. No. For a year he watched her, in agony and anger at her coldness, at the way her gaze flickered over him as if they were strangers. He didn’t miss the fleeting times when her mask slipped, the times that gave him some kind of fucked up hope. Then he saw nothing of her. She stopped working at Gwen’s store. That was worse. He wanted to watch her, follow her, make sure she was okay.
He didn’t do that. Not only would that make him a lovesick pussy, but a stalker also. So he waited. Though he tried to lie to himself and say he didn’t. Tried to act like she wasn’t all he thought about when he drilled into club whores—it wasn’t her milky white skin, her long blonde hair, her fucking piercing eyes that he pictured.
“Asher?” Lucky brought him out of his pining. Good thing too. He needed to stop this shit. Now. Needed to move the fuck on and stop acting like a fucking chick. Enough was enough. He had been holding onto this shit for too long. He’d been holding onto the feeling she had given him that night. The feeling of home. He’d never had one, not a real one, not since Benjamin. With her soft body in his arms was when he felt it. He knew it had been fucked up, insane even, the way he felt about her. The certainty he had for what was between them. He’d held onto insanity for too long.
“Yeah?” he jerked his head from where he was working on a car in one of the bays.
Lucky leaned casually on the car. “Just wanted to know if you were going to the funeral,” he asked with a blank expression.