Page 52 of Asher
“The hell it doesn’t.” My voice sharpened. “We’re out here, hiding from every goddamn threat that wants us dead, and you think now’s the time to keep secrets?”
“I said drop it.” His voice was strained, as if he were barely holding himself together.
That only made me more certain that whatever had happened was serious. I stepped back, crossing my arms, trying to keep my own frustration and anger in check.
“Fine. Keep your secrets. But don’t expect me to sit here and pretend everything’s okay,” I said flatly.
He winced, his hands clenching into fists. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is,” I snapped.
The fear of losing him, of him walking away before I could figure out what the hell this thing between us was, coiled around my chest like barbed wire.
“You want to keep me in the dark? Go ahead. But don’t act like I’m the one making this complicated,” I added.
His eyes flashed with anger. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel like I’m being ripped in two every goddamn second?”
“Then say it!” I shot back, my voice rough. “Say what’s really going on instead of pushing me away.”
His mouth opened, then closed again. His jaw worked, like he was chewing over words that refused to come out.
The silence between us grew thick, suffocating.
I wanted to shake him, to force him to tell me what was happening in that head of his.
But more than that, I wanted him to stay. To not disappear behind those walls he built so well.
I swallowed, my voice softening. “Asher… if you’re going to leave, just say it now.”
He went still, his eyes widening. “What?”
“If you’re going to walk away, I’d rather know now than be blindsided later,” I told him.
Something snapped in his gaze, like a wire pulled too tight finally giving way. He surged up from the chair, crossing the distance between us in two steps.
Before I could react, his hands grabbed the front of my shirt, bunching the fabric in his fists.
“Do you think I want to leave?” His voice was a raw whisper. “You think this is easy for me?”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I opened my mouth to respond, but the words evaporated.
The closeness of him, the heat radiating off his body, short-circuited my thoughts.
And then, before I could think better of it, I reached up and cupped the back of his neck, pulling him down to me.
Our mouths collided in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was desperation and frustration and fear, all tangled together.
His lips were warm, demanding, and when he kissed me back, it felt like a dam breaking.
My heart pounded so loudly I could feel it in my ears. I drank him in, the taste of him, the way his body pressed against mine.
It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
His fingers loosened on my shirt, then slid up to my shoulders, gripping me hard. How often had I imagined this moment?
I backed him up until his hips hit the edge of the table, never breaking the kiss.
My tongue traced the seam of his lips, and he opened to me with a low, shuddering breath.
