Page 40 of Devious Delusions

I thought the police were calling about the break-in or my crazy episode.

He lets out a long harsh breath through his nose before his stilted agreement comes. “I’ll be there when I can.”

Ending the call, he throws his phone on the bed. He continues to thrust into my mouth and barks, “Don’t.”

I let go of the t-shirt and hold his thighs so he can see I’m not going to add further pressure to his shoulders. I see my husband, the man I’ve been in love with since I knew what love was, in a new light. He’s not arrogant or temperamental, he’s drowning under the weight of responsibility, but I can give him a safe space to breathe for a moment by cutting off my own ability for air. It’s my fault for making his life harder anyway, so I give up all control with the knowledge that my husband, the man my mind made me hate, will protect me no matter what happens, because that’s who he really is.

He smiles warmly at me and rests his hands on the bed above my head. That’s the last thing I see before he fucks my throat with abandon. He grunts and my nose is squashed against his abs, but I don’t remove my hands from his thighs.

Hugging his thighs, I attempt to relax my throat as I gag; it mixes with the sounds of him groaning. My stomach constricts as he turns even rougher and fucks my throat harder. I can’t take it and my gags are violent. Pushing against his thighs in a panic, I try to get him to slow down. I choke and spit froths from the side of my lips, but he grits, “You can take it all.”

I push my head back into the mattress, trying to get some air, but he grabs my hair, holding me immobile, and slaps my cheek.

“Anytime, any-fucking-where, remember?”

I want him to force me to do it and he does it automatically without me having to ask him and feel the discomfort of thinking I’ll be rejected. Holding my head with both hands, he drags my mouth up and down his dick and moans. His thighs twitch and he presses his knees above my shoulder. It pushes him even deeper into my throat and tears run down my temple, splashing against his palms.

Sound cuts off, other than my choking, with Asher’s palms pressed flat against my ears to give him better leverage as he fills my throat. Every muscle in his body is pulled taut and his balls pulse against my chin as I choke from the amount of cum blocking my throat. There’s a brief moment I think he’ll remain on top of me, stopping me from drawing in air. But he turns onto his side and pulls his hips back enough for me to breathe.

My throat burns as I pull my head out of his hands. Thick spit and cum drip from my mouth onto his twitching dick and he groans, “Fuck, baby. Sit on it and ride me.”

A breathless, exhausted laugh leaves me, and he grabs my arm to pull me up to lay beside him. We both move slowly as he gently wipes my chin with his thumb. His eyes are softer and thepain in them undoes me. It’s so deep like he’s not capable of any other emotion.

I’m stopped from examining it as he slowly leans forward, lining his lips up against mine. I move back and press my fingers against his chest as I whisper, “Your cum is all over my face.”

My cheeks heat but he smiles and that pain in his eyes is hidden.

“I know,” he says and grabs my jaw, pulling me forward.

His kiss is soft, and I comb my fingers through his hair as I shuffle forward so our chests are touching. This is my favorite part: where he holds me and he pulls me on top of him as he turns onto his back. His arms wrap around me as though he’s trying to pull me into his chest, and I smile against him.

Asher moves his head to the side and sweetly kisses my cheek. His lips don’t leave my skin as he asks, “Do you love me, Delilah?”

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and there’s no need to think about my answer when I know it more than anything else in my life. “Yes. You’re the first person I ever loved.”

Whatever reason my mind has for making up fake memories and tricking me isn’t important when I have Asher. He’s everything I ever wanted, and he can be rough when I need him to but his arms are safe. They stop my confusion and I rest my hand on his chest, directly over his heart, and close my eyes.

His voice lowers further, and I wouldn’t hear him if it wasn’t for the question being asked into my cheek. “You’re the only person I have ever loved. Can you say the same?”

My sore throat dries because all of my teenage mistakes are going to hurt him if he finds out the truth. I want to be this new person and as much as I know some of my memories are false, the ones involving Kane can’t be. They’re too visceral and I know I loved him, I know how he felt, and I know what it was like to sneak in and out of his room so Asher didn’t catch me. The fuzzymemories started after my parents sent me to the hospital, so Kane has to be real, the same way Asher has confirmed that the other memories from my childhood are correct. Each thud of my heart gets faster and more painful as I lie. “Yes.” Tears burn the back of my eyes as I quickly change the topic and prolong this moment with my husband’s arms around me rather than admit my idiotic teenage mistakes. “What did the police want?”

Everything falls silent and I will my heart to slow down. It’s guilt, I know it is. but there’s no way to explain to Asher that I slept with his dead brother, his brother I killed. We were teenagers, stupid idiots, and he wasn’t this Asher. I don’t know which Asher he was, and my tears are building from the frustration of my fucked-up fucking head. Why can’t I have the stability of being able to trust myself? Instead, all I have are questions and guilt that intensifies as I question my memories.

Was he this Asher all along?

If he was, I never would have touched Kane. Inmymemories, he was too focused on networking and taking over his family’s business, and Kane was all that I had. I look up and watch him staring off into space. The pain is back on his features, his breathing slows, and the teenage version of Asher that I remember was formidable. He was like me at that time, unable and unwilling to show emotion. We both enjoyed being spoiled bastards, playing with mommy and daddy’s money and thinking we had the world at our feet.

Fuck, maybe we’ve both changed and those versions did exist, but we stopped them and my mind has created an alternate universe where we refused to change. In the alternative universe, Asher died and I was alone, but we’ve changed and this is real life, so I kiss his chest and soften my voice. “You can talk to me. I’m your wife, remember? Here for anything and everything you need?”

Slowly blinking, he looks at me and some of the pain lessens in his eyes. It’s not an appropriate time to point out that all my mother’s etiquette and rules on how to be a perfect wife have actually come into use as he takes in a shaky breath and whispers, “My mom was in an accident, and…” he trails off to breathe like it’s the hardest thing in the world, “and now my dad has disappeared apparently.”

I slowly get up and realize how inappropriate it is to have the conversation in the position we’re in. Wiping my face with the back of my hand, I ask, “When are we going?”

There’s no answer. He freezes and stares at me like I’ve developed a second head.

“What?” I ask.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, he speaks slowly, battling with every word. “They struggled…” He audibly swallows. “After the…everything.”

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