Page 64 of Ruthless Rebel

“Spooning you, Logan taught me how,” I reply, snuggling back into the amazing fucking pillows he has.

“What the fuck is spooning?” His body is still tense and rigid, as if he thinks that will stop me.

“It’s another word for cuddling, now just give in and be the little spoon,” I grunt, forcing my leg between one of his, until I am comfy.

“I’m not a little fucking anything,” he exclaims, and I smirk into his back, the coppery tang of blood on his skin mixing with his natural scent, and driving me completely insane.

“Oh trust me, baby, I know, but you just cut out someone’s heart in my honor, so the least I can do is cuddle you,” I sigh softly, breathing him in, and waiting for his body to relax into mine.

“Cassie says cuddles can make anything better.”

I nod, stifling a yawn as sleep begins to claim me again. “That kid is strong, and smart as a whip, just like her dad,” I mumble, slowly drifting off into peace.

“Lincoln,” Ash whispers, pulling meback from my almost unconscious state, “Are you okay?” he asks, and I nod, pulling him in even closer.

“I am now.”

When I wake up again the sun is high in the sky, shooting beams of light across the bedroom and illuminating the remains of last night. Blood stains the sheets, and our skin, our rumpled clothes are a mess on the floor, and there on the nightstand still sits the bloodied jar and box of chocolate. Yet the only thing I can focus on is Asher. At some point in the night I must have turned onto my back, because I am lying flat in the middle of the bed, and Ash is curled into my right side. His head is resting on my shoulder, one of his legs thrown over mine, but it’s the palm of his hand resting on top of my left pec that snags my gaze.

His hand is resting on my heart, the same hand that cut out someone else’s mere hours ago, for the crime of just hurting me, and yet still he would deny this if I let him. His body is curled around mine and still he thinks he doesn’t own me, and I him.

Doesn’t he see that we’re inevitable? We always were.

Logan brings me from the brink of darkness and forces me to dance in the light, but Asher meets me right there in the black of night, his wounds so similar to my own, and it’s time we started embracing that.

I stroke my hand up his spine, pulling him from a sleep so deep, I’m sure he finds it strange, because he snaps awake, his eyes flaring wide and taking in his surroundings, until they land on me. He frowns at first, no doubt recalling the events of last night, because his eyes then flick between my side and the stuff on the table, before coming back to me, noting our closeness.

“Morning,” I rasp, my throat dry and coarse and in desperate need of hydration, and he instantly sits up.

“Are you okay?” His hands slide down to where he bandaged me up, but then hesitating a little, as if he isn’t sure he has free rein to touch me. Like he didn’t save me from the brink of death justhours ago, and then become an executioner in my honor.

“You tell me,” I toss back, not wanting to admit how much pain I’m in, but of course nothing gets past Asher Donovan.

Almost reluctantly he pulls himself away from me, stalking from the room until he returns a moment later with a bottle of water, some painkillers, and a trash bag. I gratefully chug down the meds with some water, before he puts the bottle on the nightstand next to the bloody jar, surveying our surroundings with a blank, clinical look.

“Did you sleep okay?” He asks, once again looking slightly nervous in his own room, and I can’t help but bait him.

“You mean while you were suffocating me with your cuddles?” I ask, and he glares at me in warning. “Don’t give me that look, Dark Prince, you were an excellent little spoon.”

“I thought we established there isn’t anything little about me,” he snaps, glancing around at the mess of the room, and my eyes instantly drop to the morning wood currently being contained by his black boxers.

“Oh trust me, I know,” I grit, forcing myself into a seated position, and allowing his heated gaze to burn over me.

“We should shower and get cleaned up,” he starts, picking up the clothes from the floor and tossing them all in the trash bag, before focusing on the sheets.

“If you want me naked and wet, all you have to do is ask,” I flirt, pushing myself to the edge of the bed, but it ends in a groan of pain, my hand flying to my side.

Ash is next to me in an instant, his arm flying around my waist to help me. “Are you okay?” He asks, his head too close to mine, and I breathe him in and nod.

“I’ll be fine, it’s not the first time I’ve been stabbed, remember?” I grunt, and his eyes darken, flicking to the now healed scar that sits on my shoulder blade.

“Yes, I remember,” he spits quietly,helping me to my feet, as I use the side table for support, not hiding my smile as I survey the milk duds and my heart in a jar.

“Who knew you were such an excellent gift giver,” I muse, and his eyes drop, as he makes quick work of stripping all the sheets from the bed and tossing them in the bag too. Only then does he move back towards me, his arm once again sliding around my waist, as he leads me to the ensuite attached to his room. “Why did you do it?” I finally ask, not caring how bold the question is, and I feel his body tighten, before he positions me against the sink, and leans into the shower to turn the hot water on.

“Do you think you’ll be okay to shower, or do you need some help?” His eyes now avoid my gaze, as he opens a cupboard and pulls out some fresh towels and puts them on the rail. “Your bandages are taped over with a waterproof material, but I’ll change them once you’ve showered anyway, just to be safe,” he carries on, still careful not to look at me.

“Asher,” I grind out his name, grabbing his arm to stop him from rambling, forcing him to look at me. “Tell me why you did it,” I demand, already knowing, but still needing the confirmation.

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